Mother West Wind When" Stories"

Original

OF all the joyous sounds of all the year there is none more loved by Peter Rabbit, and the rest of us for that matter, than the soft whistle of Winsome Bluebird in the spring. The first time Peter hears it he always jumps up in the air, kicks his long heels together, and does a funny little dance of pure joy, for he knows that Winsome Bluebird is the herald of sweet Mistress Spring, and that she is not far behind him. It is the end of the shivery, sad time and the beginning of the happy, glad time, and Peter rejoices when he hears that sweet, soft voice which is sometimes so hard to locate, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.

So Peter loves Winsome Bluebird and never tires of seeing him about. You know he wears a very, very beautiful coat of blue, the blue of the sky when it is softest, and you love to lie on your back and look up into it and dream and dream. It always has seemed to Peter that Winsome's coat is one of the loveliest he ever has seen, as indeed it is, and that it is quite right and proper and just as it should be that one having such a beautiful voice and bringing such a beautiful message should himself be beautiful. He said as much one day when he had run over to the Smiling Pool to pay his respects to Grandfather Frog.

"Chug-a-rum! Certainly. Of course," replied Grandfather Frog. "Winsome Bluebird has a beautiful nature and his beautiful coat is the reward which Old Mother Nature has given him. It has been in the family ever since his grandfather a thousand times removed was brave enough to become the herald of Mistress Spring."

"Oh, Grandfather Frog, that sounds like a story," cried Peter. "Please, please tell it to me, for I love Winsome Bluebird, and I know I shall love him more when I have learned more about him. His great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather must have done something very fine to have won such a lovely reward."

"He did," replied Grandfather Frog. "He became the herald of Mistress Spring when no one else would, and bravely carried his message of gladness and joy where it was sadly needed, in spite of cold and hardship which no one else was willing to face."

"Please, please tell me all about it," begged Peter.

Grandfather Frog appeared to consider for a few minutes, and Peter waited anxiously. Then Grandfather Frog cleared his voice. "I will," said he, "because you ought to know it. Everybody ought to know it, and Winsome Bluebird certainly never will tell it himself. He is too modest for that. It happened a great while ago when the world was young. Mr. Bluebird was one of the quietest and most modest of all the birds. He wore just a modest gray coat, and no one took any particular notice of him. In fact, he didn't even have a name. He never quarreled with his neighbors. He never was envious of those to whom Old Mother Nature had given beautiful coats, or if he were, he never showed it. He just minded his own affairs and did his best to do his share of the work of the Great World, for even in the beginning of things there was something for each one to do.

"Old Mother Nature was very busy those days making the Great World a fit place in which to live, and as soon as she had started a new family of birds or animals she had to leave them to take care of themselves and get along as best they could. Those who were too lazy or too stupid to take care of themselves disappeared, and others took their places. There was nothing lazy or stupid about Mr. Bluebird, and he quickly learned how to take care of himself and at the same time to keep on the best of terms with his neighbors.

"When the place where the first birds lived became too crowded and old King Eagle led them out into the new land Old Mother Nature had been preparing for them, Mr. Bluebird was one of the first to follow him. The new land was very beautiful, and there was plenty of room and plenty to eat for all. Then came Jack Frost with snow and ice and drove all the birds back to the place they had come from. They made up their minds that they would stay there even if it were crowded. But after a while Old Mother Nature came to tell them that soon Jack Frost would be driven back from that wonderful new land, and sweet Mistress Spring would waken all the sleeping plants and all the sleeping insects up there so that it would be as beautiful as it was before, even more beautiful than the place where they were now. She said that she should expect them to go to the new land and make it joyous with their songs and build their homes there and help her to keep the insects and worms from eating all the green things.

"'But first I want a herald to go before Mistress Spring to tell those who have lived there all through the time of snow and ice that Mistress Spring is coming. Who will go as the herald of sweet Mistress Spring?' asked Old Mother Nature.

"All the birds looked at one another and shivered, and then one by one they tried to slip out of sight. Now Mr. Bluebird had modestly waited for some of his big, strong neighbors to offer to take the message of gladness up into that frozen land, but when he saw them slip away one by one, his heart grew hot with shame for them, and he flew out before Old Mother Nature. 'I'll go,' said he, bobbing his head respectfully.

"Old Mother Nature just had to smile, because compared with some of his neighbors Mr. Bluebird was so very small. 'What can such a little fellow as you do?' she asked. 'You will freeze to death up there, for it is still very cold.'

"'If you please, I can at least try,' replied Mr. Bluebird modestly. 'If I find I can't go on, I can come back.'

"'And what reward do you expect?' asked Old Mother Nature.

"'The joy of spreading such good news as the coming of Mistress Spring will be all the reward I want,' replied Mr. Bluebird.

"This reply so pleased Old Mother Nature that she then and there made Mr. Bluebird the herald of Mistress Spring and started him on his long journey. It was a long journey and a hard journey, harder, very much harder for Mr. Bluebird than the same journey is for Winsome these days. You see, everything was new to him. And then it was so cold! He couldn't get used to the cold. It seemed sometimes as if he certainly would freeze to death. At these times, when he sat shivering and shaking, he would remember that sweet Mistress Spring was not very far behind and that he was her herald. This would give him courage, and he would bravely keep on. Whenever he stopped to rest, he would whistle the news that Mistress Spring was coming, and sometimes, just to keep up his own courage, he would whistle while he was flying, and he found it helped. To keep warm at night he crept into hollow trees, and it was thus he learned how snug and safe and comfortable such places were, and he made up his mind that in just such a place he would build his nest when the time came.

"As he passed on he left behind him great joy, and Mistress Spring found as she journeyed north that all in the forests and on the meadows were eagerly awaiting her, for they had heard the message of her coming; and she was glad and told Old Mother Nature how well her herald had done his work. When he had completed his errand, Mr. Bluebird built a home and was as modest and retiring as ever. He didn't seem to think that he had done anything out of the usual. He simply rejoiced in his heart that he had been able to do what Old Mother Nature had requested, and it never entered his head that he should have any other reward than the knowledge that he had done his best and that he had brought cheer and hope to many.

"When Jack Frost moved down from the far North in the fall, all the birds journeyed south again, and of course Mr. Bluebird went with them. The next season when it was time for Mistress Spring to start north, Old Mother Nature assembled all the birds, and this time, instead of asking who would carry the message, she called Mr. Bluebird out before them and asked if he were willing to be the herald once more. Mr. Bluebird said that he would be glad to be the herald if she wished it. Then Old Mother Nature told all the birds how brave Mr. Bluebird was and how faithful and true, and she made all the other birds feel ashamed, especially those bigger and stronger than Mr. Bluebird. Then she said: 'Winsome Bluebird, for that is to be your name from now on, I here and now appoint you the herald of Mistress Spring, and the honor shall descend to your children and your children's children forever and ever, and you shall be one of the most loved of all the birds. And because you are a herald, you shall have a bright coat, as all heralds should have; and because you are true and faithful, your coat shall be blue, as blue as the blue of the sky.'

"She reached out and touched Mr. Bluebird, and sure enough his sober gray coat turned the most wonderful blue. Then once more he started on his long journey and he whistled his message more joyously than before. And because his whistle brought joy and gladness, and because he was beautiful to see, it came about just as Old Mother Nature had said it would, that he was one of the most loved of all the birds, even as his great-great-ever-so-great-grandson is to-day."

Peter drew a long breath. "Thank you, Grandfather Frog," said he. "I have always loved Winsome Bluebird and now I shall love him more."

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THERE was one of Peter Rabbit's neighbors of whose presence he was always aware, and yet whom he almost never saw. No, it wasn't Miner the Mole, but it was one who lives in much the same way as Miner. When Peter would leave the dear Old Briar-patch he seldom went far without coming to a little pile of fresh earth. These little piles of earth had puzzled Peter a great deal for a long time. It sometimes seemed to Peter as if they appeared by magic. He would pass across a certain part of the Green Meadows, and there would be nothing but the green things growing there.

When he returned the same way, there would be one or two or maybe half a dozen piles of newly turned earth.

"Of course," said Peter the first time he noticed one of these little earth piles, "where there is a pile of earth like that, there must be a hole. Some one has been digging, and this is the dirt thrown out."

But when Peter looked for the hole he couldn't find one. There was no hole. It was very puzzling, but it was a fact. He kicked that pile of earth until he had scattered it far and wide, but there was no sign of a hole. Later he tried the same thing with other little piles of earth, but never once did he find a hole. It looked as if some one brought those little piles, dropped them on the Green Meadows, and then went away. Of course no one did anything of the kind, and Peter knew it. He spent a good deal of time wondering who could make them. Then one day, as he was hopping along across the Green Meadows, the ground right in front of him began to move. It so startled Peter that his first thought was to run. Then he decided that it would be foolish to run until there was something to run from. So he sat perfectly still and watched that spot where the ground was moving. Earth, loose earth, was pushed up from underneath, and even as Peter sat there staring, with eyes popping out of his head and mouth wide open in wonder, the pile grew and grew until it was as big as any of the piles about which he so often had wondered. Then suddenly a head was thrust out of the middle of it, a homely head. In an instant it vanished, and a second later the hole where it had been was filled. Peter could hear the stranger packing the earth in from underneath. When Peter had recovered his breath and looked, there was no sign of the hole. No one would ever have guessed that there had been one there.

That was Peter Rabbit's first meeting with Grubby Gopher. Since then he has seen Grubby several times, but Grubby is never what you would call neighborly, and Peter never has felt and never will feel really acquainted with him. But for one thing Peter would have thought Grubby Gopher the most uninteresting fellow he ever had met. The one thing was the discovery that Grubby has the biggest pockets in his cheeks that Peter has ever seen. And another thing about those pockets-they are on the outside of Grubby's cheeks instead of being inside, as is the case with Striped Chipmunk. "When Peter discovered this, he became curious at once. Of course. Who wouldn't be curious? Peter felt sure that there must be a story in connection with those pockets. He wondered what use Grubby Gopher had for pockets, anyway. He wondered why they were outside instead of inside his cheeks. He wondered a great many things, did Peter. And when he just couldn't stand it any longer for wondering, he began to ask questions.

"Why does Grubby Gopher have pockets in his cheeks?" he asked Jimmy Skunk.

"Because they are handier there than they would be anywhere else," replied Jimmy with a twinkle in his eyes. "Have you seen any fat beetles this morning, Peter?"

"No," returned Peter shortly. Then an idea came to him. "I tell you what, Jimmy," said he, speaking eagerly, "if you'll tell me about those queer pockets of Grubby's and how he came by them, I'll help you hunt for some beetles. Is it a bargain?"

Jimmy Skunk scratched his nose thoughtfully as if trying to decide which would have the better of the bargain. Then he grinned good-naturedly. You know, Jimmy really is one of the best-natured little people in the world. "All right," said he, "it's a bargain. You do your part and I'll do mine. Now where shall I begin?"

"Begin with the days when the world was young, of course," replied Peter. "All good stories seem to have had their beginnings then, so far as I can see. Of course Grubby got those pockets from his father, and his father got them from his father, and so on way back to the first Gopher. So begin right off with him."

"Just as you say," replied Jimmy. "Old Mr. Gopher, the first Gopher, who wasn't old then, was one of the little people whom Old Mother Nature turned loose in the Great World which was just in its beginning and told to make the best of life as they found it. No doubt they would need things which they hadn't got, but first they must find out what they really did need. Later, when she had more time, she would consider these needs, and if they were real needs, not just desires, she would see what could be done to supply them.

"So Mr. Gopher started out to make his way in the Great World, and it wasn't long before he discovered that everybody else was doing the same thing. It soon became clear to him that if everybody lived on the same kind of food, there wouldn't be enough to go around, and the biggest and strongest creatures would get all there was, leaving the smaller and weaker ones to starve. Not long after this he discovered certain of his big neighbors had begun to look at him in a way that made him most uncomfortable. In fact, they looked at him with such a hungry gleam in their eyes, and they licked their lips in such an unpleasant way whenever he met them, that little cold shivers ran all over him and he decided that the less he was seen the better his chances.

"One other thing Mr. Gopher discovered, and this was that each one seemed to have some special gift. One was a good climber, another a swift runner, a third a wonderful jumper, a fourth a great swimmer. Mr. Gopher could neither climb, nor run, nor jump, nor swim particularly well. What could he do? Somehow he had a feeling that Old Mother Nature had given him some special advantage. What could it be? He sat down and studied himself. Then he noticed for the first time that his hands were different from the hands of those about him. For his size they were very large and strong, and on the three middle fingers of each hand were long, stout claws. What could he do with these besides fight? Dig! That was it; he could dig. He tried it. Sure enough, he could dig at a surprising rate.

"Then came a new idea. He would dig himself a hole and live in it. That would keep him out of sight of his big neighbors with the hungry-looking eyes and the watery mouths. So he dug himself a hole, and then he discovered that in order to get food he must leave the hole, and so he was no better off than before. While he was studying over this, He started a little tunnel just for the fun of digging, for he liked to dig, did Mr. Gopher. Presently he came to a root in his path. He decided to cut it and get it out of his way. Now when he began to cut it he made another discovery, one that tickled him half to death. That root was good to eat! He ate all of it, and then he went on digging, hoping to find another. He did find another. Then Mr. Gopher made up his mind that in the future he would live underground and be safe. He would make himself a comfortable house, and then from that he would tunnel wherever he pleased for food.

"So Mr. Gopher made a comfortable house underground, and then he started digging for food. Every once in a while he would make an opening at the surface of the ground and push out the dirt he had dug in making his tunnel, filling up the opening as soon as he had pushed out all the dirt. In this way he kept his tunnels clear, so that he could run back and forth through them. So he lived very comfortably until one day he happened to overhear Mr. Squirrel talking about the coming of Jack Frost and telling how he wouldn't mind because he was laying up stores of food in a storehouse.

"'That's a good idea of Mr. Squirrel's,' thought Mr. Gopher, who was much troubled by what he had heard about the coming of Jack Frost. 'I believe I'll do the same thing.' But when he tried it, he found it slow, hard work. You see, he could carry so little at a time, and had to carry it so far, that it was very discouraging. He had forgotten all about Old Mother Nature until suddenly one day she appeared before him and smilingly asked what boon she could grant him. Almost without thinking he replied, 'Pockets! Big pockets in my cheeks!'

"Old Mother Nature looked surprised. 'Tell me all about it,' said she. 'Why do you want pockets, and what would you do with them if you had them?'

"So Mr. Gopher explained to Old Mother Nature how he had learned to live underground and how lately he had been trying to lay up a store of food but had found it slow work.

"Old Mother Nature was pleased to think that Mr. Gopher had made the most of his opportunities, but she didn't say so. 'I'll think it over,' said she and left him. But the very next time Mr. Gopher brushed a hand against one of his cheeks, he discovered a great pocket there. Hastily he felt of the other.

"There was another great pocket there! Then Mr. Gopher was perfectly happy. He felt that there wasn't a single thing in all the world that he could ask for to make him any happier. It is just the same way with Grubby to-day. He is perfectly happy working in the dark under the ground and very, very proud of the big pockets in his cheeks," concluded Jimmy Skunk.

"Thank you, Jimmy. Thank you ever so much. Now I'll help you find some fat beetles," cried Peter.

* * *

PETER RABBIT and Mrs. Grouse are very good friends. In fact they are the best of friends. For one thing they are very near neighbors. Once in a great while Mrs. Grouse comes to the dear Old Briar-patch and walks along Peter's private little paths. However, that isn't often. But up in the bramble tangle on the edge of the Green Forest they spend a great deal of time together. You see, they both fear the same enemies, and so they have a great deal to talk over, and each is always ready to help the other.

When winter comes Peter is sometimes rather lonely. You see, a lot of his feathered friends fly away to the warm, sunny Southland to spend the winter. Other friends, Johnny Chuck and Striped Chipmunk and Grandfather Frog for instance, retire and sleep all through the cold weather. Peter cannot understand what they do it for, but they do. So Peter has very few to gossip with after Jack Frost arrives. But he can always count on Mrs. Grouse. No matter how hard Jack Frost pinches, or how bitter the breath of rough Brother North Wind, somewhere in the Green Forest Mrs. Grouse is bravely doing her best to get enough to eat, and Peter knows that if he looks for her he will find her.

There was one thing about Mrs. Grouse that puzzled Peter for a long time, and this was the difference between the footprints she made in the soft damp earth after a rain in the summer and the prints she made in the snow. The first time he noticed those prints in the snow, he actually didn't know who had made them. You know how very, very curious Peter is. He followed those queer footprints, and when he found that they led right straight into the bramble tangle, he just didn't know what to think. He sat down on the edge of the bramble tangle and scratched his long right ear with his long left hind foot. When Peter does this it is a sign that he is very much puzzled about something.

"Good morning, Peter Rabbit. You seem to have something on your mind," said a voice from the middle of the bramble tangle.

Peter gave a little start of surprise. Then he hopped into the bramble tangle along one of the little paths he had cut there. "Good morning, Mrs. Grouse," he replied. "I have got something on my mind. I have been following some strange tracks, and I don't know what to make of them." He pointed at one of them as he spoke.

"Oh," replied Mrs. Grouse in a tone of great surprise. "I made those with my snowshoes. I supposed you knew."

"Snowshoes! What are snow-shoes?" asked Peter, looking more puzzled than ever.

Very proudly Mrs. Grouse held out one foot for Peter to look at. Instead of the slim smooth toes he often had admired Peter saw that the bottom of each was covered for its whole length with queer-looking, horny little points that prevented the foot from sinking way down in the snow as it would have done without them. This made it very easy for Mrs. Grouse to get about on the snow instead of having to wade through it.

"My!" exclaimed Peter. "How perfectly splendid! Where did you get them?"

"Oh," replied Mrs. Grouse with pride in her voice, "they have been in the family a great many years. They were given to my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather by Old Mother Nature."

"Tell me about it. Do please tell me about it," begged Peter, who had not had a story since Grandfather Frog went to sleep for the winter.

Mrs. Grouse fluffed out her feathers and settled herself comfortably. "There isn't much to tell," she began, "but all the same our family always has been rather proud of the way we came by our snowshoes. It all happened a great while ago."

"Way back in the time that Grandfather Frog tells about, when the world was young?" interrupted Peter.

Mrs. Grouse nodded and went on. "Great-grandfather Grouse lived very comfortably in those days, even when the hard times came and so many took to killing their neighbors because food was scarce. He always managed to get enough to eat because he didn't believe in being fussy. When he couldn't get what he wanted, he took what he could get and was thankful. When he couldn't find grasshoppers or crickets or bugs of any kind, or chestnuts or beechnuts or berries that he liked, he ate such berries as he could find, whether he liked them or not; and when he couldn't find berries or seeds, he ate the buds of trees. So one way or another he managed to pick up a living and to keep out of the way of his enemies, for he was just as smart as they were. You know, in those days there were no hunters with dreadful guns.

"So Grandfather Grouse managed to get along without really suffering until the coming of the first snow. That first snow was hard on everybody, but it was particularly hard on Grandfather Grouse. His slim toes cut right through. They wouldn't hold him up at all. Of course he spent as much time as possible up in the trees, but when he wanted to get low-hanging berries on the bushes, the kind that stay on all winter, you know, he just had to stand on the ground and reach up for them. Then, too, his feet were intended for walking and running rather than for perching in trees, and it made his toes ache dreadfully to have to cling to the branch of a tree too long. I know just how it felt because I have had to do it when Reddy Fox has been hunting for me.

"But Grandfather Grouse made the best of a bad matter and didn't say a word, not a word. He waded around in the snow as best he could, but it was dreadfully tiresome. He couldn't take more than a few steps without stopping to rest. And this wasn't all; the snow made his feet ache with the cold. He had to keep drawing first one foot and then the other up to warm them in his feathers.

"Now Grandfather Grouse had sharp eyes, and he knew how to use them. He had to, to keep out of danger. He watched the other little people, and he soon saw that those with big feet, feet that were big for the size of their bodies, didn't sink in like those with small, slim feet. For the first time in his life he began to wish that Old Mother Nature had made him different. He wished that he had broad feet. Yes, Sir, he wished just that. Then a thought popped into his head. Perhaps the snow wasn't going to last forever. Perhaps it would go away and never come again. Then he wouldn't want broad feet, but just the kind of feet he already had. He sighed. Then he tried to smile bravely.

"'I guess,' said he, talking out loud to himself, for he thought he was quite alone, 'I guess the thing to do is to stop worrying about the things I haven't got and make the most of the blessings I have got,' and he started to wade through the snow for some berries just ahead.

"Now Old Mother Nature happened to be passing, and she overheard Grandfather Grouse. 'I wish that every one felt as you do.' said she. 'It would make things a great deal easier for me. But what is it that you wish you had?'" Grandfather Grouse felt both pleased and a little ashamed-ashamed that he should even seem to be dissatisfied. At first he tried to pretend that everything really was all right, but after a little urging he told Old Mother Nature all about his troubles since the coming of the snow. She listened and looked thoughtful. Then she told Grandfather Grouse to be patient and perhaps things would not be so bad as they seemed. Somehow Grandfather Grouse felt better after that, and when he went to bed for the night in a big hemlock-tree he was almost cheerful.

"The next morning when he flew down to get his breakfast, he had the greatest surprise of his life. Instead of sinking way down into the snow, he sank hardly at all. He could get about with the greatest ease. He didn't know what to make of it until he happened to look down at his feet and then he saw-"

"That he had snowshoes!" interrupted Peter Rabbit, dancing about in great excitement.

"Just so," replied Mrs. Grouse. "He had snowshoes just like the ones I have now. When spring came, Old Mother Nature came around and took them away, because he no longer had need of them; but when the next winter came, she returned them to him. She called them the reward of patience. And ever since that long-ago day our family has had snowshoes in the winter. I really don't know how we would get along without them."

"I don't know how you would," replied Peter Rabbit. "Isn't it splendid how Old Mother Nature seems to know just what everybody needs?"

And with that Peter started for the dear Old Briar-patch to tell little Mrs. Peter all about the snowshoes of Mrs. Grouse.

* * *