Part 2

As if in response to his words, a nose appeared out of the water, and Billy the Mink swam ashore. Bumper eyed him suspiciously at first, and stood ready to run; but Billy spoke to relieve his mind.

“Don’t go, Bumper!” he called. “Wait a minute!”

Swimming quickly ashore, Billy climbed up on the embankment. “That was a narrow squeak for me,” he added, panting a little from his exertions. “If it hadn’t been for you, Sneaky would surely have had me. Why did you warn me after I’d treated you so?”

“Because,” stammered Bumper, “I didn’t want to see you killed, Billy, even if you had spattered me with mud. But how am I ever going to get clean again? This mud is all caked on me.”

“I’ll clean you, Bumper. It’s the least I can do to repay you. Now stand by the river while I splash water over you. That will soon wash the mud off.”

It was a strange sight, Billy the Mink cleaning Bumper the White Rabbit by the edge of the river, each laughing and enjoying the work as if it was a new game, and if any one had seen them it would have caused no end of surprise. They were now as close friends as before they were enemies.

And if Bumper gets clean in time, and Billy doesn’t spatter more mud on him, you will hear in the next story of how Bumper met Mr. Beaver.

STORY IV

MR. BEAVER HAS A SURPRISE

Mr. Beaver was the most exclusive animal of the North Woods. He not only lived apart from the other animals, but he constructed a house which no others could get into. Often it was merely an island in the middle of the stream, which he built up himself, and no animals except perhaps Billy the Mink or Browny the Muskrat could even reach.

But Billy and Browny had no desire to reach it or to investigate it. Mr. Beaver was as cross as he was fierce and dangerous. He had long teeth, which he kept as sharp as a razor by cutting down trees with them. Teeth that could cut down a big oak or chestnut were certainly to be feared.

Living alone had made Mr. Beaver a good deal of an old cross-patch. Most people who live that way generally do get cross and irritable in time. Sometimes if another animal ran across Mr. Beaver’s house-top he would jump out and make a great time about it.

Mr. Beaver had constructed a dam across a branch of the river so the water above it had backed up and formed a big pond. Thus he could have his own private fishing pond, for the fish upstream couldn’t go down any further, and once caught in the pond Mr. Beaver killed a few whenever he was hungry.

Naturally he was very careful about this dam, and didn’t want any one crossing it or interfering with it. If it was broken in one place the water would rush through it and let out many of his fish.

One day, after a long roundabout trip through the woods, Bumper was returning home when he reached the river. The bridge made of fallen trees that crossed to the other side was nearly a mile below him.

“Oh, dear,” he groaned, “I’m dead tired, and now I must walk a mile down the river to get home.”

He stood on the brink of the stream looking longingly at the other side. Then, glancing up, his eyes opened with surprise and pleasure. There was Mr. Beaver’s dam a few yards above him, stretching from bank to bank.

“I suppose Mr. Beaver will object,” he said to himself, “but if I walk very softly he won’t hear me. Certainly not if he’s asleep. Anyway, I’m going across that dam.”

You couldn’t blame him for wanting to save that long tramp down the river and back, and nobody but Mr. Beaver would have objected to his crossing the dam. Bumper hoped that by hopping along gently he wouldn’t attract Mr. Beaver’s attention. But it is very difficult to walk across the roof of a house and not attract the attention of those living in it.

No sooner had Bumper got fairly well on the top of the dam, than there was an angry growl inside. Then almost before he could think, up came Mr. Beaver, snorting and spouting water from his nose.

“What are you doing on my dam?” he demanded. “Don’t you know that nobody is allowed to cross it?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Beaver,” replied Bumper. “I’ve been a long distance today, and when I reached the river I felt too tired to go down by the bridge. I thought if I stepped very softly it wouldn’t disturb you.”

“Well, it did! Now go back and take the bridge, and don’t you ever dare cross this dam again.”

“But the bridge is a mile down stream,” replied Bumper, “and I’m half way across the dam. Surely you’ll let me go on now.”

“No, you can’t go another step.”

Mr. Beaver stood directly in his way so he could not cross without passing close to him. Mr. Beaver’s refusal angered Bumper for a moment, and instead of turning around to obey he decided he’d trick Mr. Beaver. He could easily leap over his head and run away from him.

“You’re not very friendly to make me do that,” Bumper replied, still watching for his chance.

“I don’t intend to be friendly,” was the prompt retort. “I only want to be let alone. Now go back!”

“Do you know, Mr. Beaver,” Bumper replied, “I could get by you very easily and cross the dam? I could jump over your head in one hop and almost reach the other shore. But I won’t do it! If you’re so mean as to send me back, I don’t want anything more to do with you. The sooner I get away the better I’ll like it. But some day, Mr. Beaver, your selfishness will bring you trouble. You will wish for a friend then, and none will come. No, not one!”

“You can’t frighten me!” exclaimed Mr. Beaver. “Nothing’s going to happen to me!”

But even as he said it he felt a little nervous. Bumper’s words had touched the quick. He wished now he hadn’t been so selfish, but he was too old and crusty to acknowledge it. So he stood on guard and watched the white rabbit hop back to the shore, and then he swung around to take a long dive into the water.

Perhaps Mr. Beaver had been on that log a hundred times, and nothing had ever happened; but one end had been balanced on another log for so long that it was rotted away. Suddenly it slipped down and carried Mr. Beaver with it, but not on top. He was wedged in between two logs so that he couldn’t move down or up. Squeeze his body as flat as he could there was no way out.

For a moment he struggled frantically, and then finding he could make no headway he became frightened. What if he were caught there and couldn’t escape! He would starve to death in a few days, and no one would know anything about it until too late.

What a horrible prospect! With a little squeal of fear at the thought of it, he looked up at the sky and across the pond he had made. There was no one to help him. Now he recalled Bumper’s words. When he needed a friend there would be none to come to help him. Oh, how much he would give for a friend just now!

He struggled and struggled, but the two logs were embedded in the mud so he couldn’t budge them. He was caught so he couldn’t get at them with his sharp teeth to gnaw his way out. He was certainly a prisoner for life.

Suddenly there was a tap, tap over his head, and he looked up to see the White Rabbit gazing down at him. “I heard you squeal, Mr. Beaver,” Bumper said, “and I thought something had happened to you. Oh, I see you’re caught between the two logs!”

“Yes, Bumper, and I can’t get out. I’m afraid I’ll starve here unless you can find Buster the Bear and get him to move the logs. And even then he may eat me up.”

“I can do better than that,” said Bumper. “If you keep still I can gnaw away enough from this log so you can squeeze your way out.”

“Oh, if you could, Bumper!” exclaimed Mr. Beaver.

There were tears in Mr. Beaver’s eyes, for he was terribly frightened, and when Bumper began gnawing at the log he watched him anxiously.

It was a long, hard job, but Bumper finally gnawed away enough of the wood for Mr. Beaver to get out. When he finally stood on the top of the log, he was so shaken by the experience that his teeth chattered.

“Bumper, you were right,” he said. “Everybody needs friends, and the time to make them is before you’re in danger. I won’t be so selfish again. Tell your people that they can cross my dam, and when they come ask them to speak a friendly word to me. I want to be their friend.”

All of which delighted Bumper, and when he finally left Mr. Beaver his heart was singing for gladness.

In the next story there will be an account of how the Birds brought terrible news to the rabbits.

STORY V

THE TERRIBLE NEWS THE BIRDS BROUGHT

After leaving Mr. Beaver, Bumper hurried home, and when he hopped into the burrow he was greeted by Fuzzy Wuzz who had been anxiously waiting for him. Bumper had been away from home so much lately that he was as glad to get back as Fuzzy Wuzz was to see him.

“We’ve all missed you so much,” she said tenderly. “Old Blind Rabbit’s been asking about you every hour of the day.”

“Well, I have good news to tell you,” was the reply. Then he related his experience with Mr. Beaver and with Billy the Mink, concluding with the remark: “They’re both our friends now. In time of need they’d stand by us and help us. That’s something worth bragging about.”

“Indeed, it is, Bumper,” replied Old Blind Rabbit. “It is better to make a dozen friends than one enemy.”

Bumper was very much pleased with his work, and highly gratified at Old Blind Rabbit’s commendation of it. Now that he had set forth to make friends of all the birds and animals of the woods who would listen to him, he felt that he must leave no stone unturned to accomplish his end.

So after resting a while in the burrow, he got up to go forth once more to see if further adventures that he could turn to good account awaited him. “It’s astonishing,” he remarked to Fuzzy Wuzz, “how much good you can do in the world if you’re on the lookout for it. I’m just learning to keep my eyes open.”

Fuzzy Wuzz nodded and smiled at him. They were standing at the entrance to the burrow when suddenly Hermit the Thrush, who had been singing a sweet melody in the bushes, stopped.

“Go, on, Hermit, and finish the song,” Bumper called. “I like to hear such a jolly, blithe fellow sing.”

But Hermit flitted his wings and cocked his head sideways. “For some reason I don’t feel like singing, Bumper,” he said. “I can’t explain it, but I’ve simply lost my voice.”

Bumper laughed good-naturedly. “That’s funny,” he replied. “A moment ago you were singing so sweetly that I could hardly think for listening to you.”

“Yes, I know, but I can’t any more. Do you ever have a feeling that something’s going to happen? You can’t tell just what it is or when it’s coming, but you know it’s in the air. Well, that’s the way I felt all of a sudden, and my voice left me.”

“You shouldn’t give away to such feelings, Hermit,” laughed Bumper. “You know there’s nothing in such--”

Before he could finish, Black Cap the Chickadee flitted down from a high branch, and exclaimed breathlessly: “What’s the matter! Something’s going to happen! I feel it!”

“Yes,” replied Hermit gravely, “I was just telling Bumper I felt it, but he laughed at me.”

“Well, now, if two of you have the same feeling,” added Bumper more gravely, “maybe there is something in the air that disturbs you. Perhaps we’re going to have a storm.”

“No, it isn’t a storm,” said Black Cap, shaking his head. “I know that feeling, and this is different.”

Once more there was a flutter of wings among the branches, and Yellow Breast the Chat dropped down to the side of Hermit and Black Cap.

“I’m all in a flutter,” he said. “I can’t make it out. Something’s wrong. I just know it. I feel it in my bones. I just had to come down here for company until the strange feeling goes away.”

“Well, now,” exclaimed Bumper, sitting back on his haunches, “this is getting interesting, and also quite serious. When all three of you have that strange feeling, I must confess there must be something in it. Now how do you feel, Yellow Breast? Can’t you describe the feeling?”

“Why, it’s nothing I can put in words,” the Chat answered hesitatingly. “It’s just a restless feeling that makes me nervous. I feel all the time as if there was danger brooding in the air.”

“Don’t you think it’s all your imagination?” asked Bumper. “I wouldn’t let it bother me any more.”

The fact was the three birds sitting on the limb were a little ashamed of their nameless fear, and Bumper’s remarks added to their confusion. Still they could not deny, it was quite a coincidence that all three should have experienced the same strange feeling.

Fuzzy Wuzz was more in sympathy with them than Bumper, for she sometimes had attacks of the nerves which made her afraid of everything, even of her own shadow.

“I think, Bumper,” she interrupted, “that there’s something in the air that upsets them. Don’t you smell something queer?”

For a moment Bumper sniffed the air, holding his nose far up and trying hard to distinguish any unusual odor or fragrance in it. “No, I can’t say that I do,” he replied slowly after a while. “Yes, maybe there is a little peculiar odor, but not enough to account for all this disturbance.”

From out of the leaves almost at their feet Mrs. Oven-Bird, who had been sitting on her nest, crept forth, and overhearing the remarks sniffed the air, and then exclaimed:

“I don’t like the looks of the sun. See how red it is. Now what does that mean?”

“The sun is always red, but sometimes more so than at others,” replied Bumper. “Yes, it is very red, but I’ve seen it that way at sunset.”

“But this isn’t sunset,” replied Yellow Breast the Chat a little impatiently. “It’s early in the morning.”

There was a startled whirring of wings in the bushes, and every one ducked his head ready for flight, fearing that it might be Dasher the Hawk or even Baldy the Eagle; but it was only Whip-Poor-Will the Night hawk. He was so unused to flying around in the day time that he was half blinded, and nearly collided with the Chat.

“Ah, me!” he cried. “What’s going to happen! I can’t set on my nest! Tell me the worst! I can’t see to fly around. The sun hurts my eyes. But I must know what it is. I know it’s something terrible!”

“We don’t know of anything, Whip-Poor-Will,” said Bumper. “We were just discussing it when you interrupted. The sun is very red, but not redder than I’ve seen it before, and Fuzzy Wuzz says she smells something unusual in the air; but beyond that we know no more than you do.”

“Then go and find out,” said Poor Will impatiently. “I can’t go back to my nest in peace until I know.”

“But who can tell us?”

“Listen!” exclaimed Chat suddenly. “What’s that noise?”

And from sheer nervousness Yellow Breast the Chat crouched lower on the branch and shivered.

“Why,” laughed Bumper, “that’s nothing but Rusty the Blackbird calling! He’s always noisy and chattering. Listen to him!”

But Rusty was much noisier than usual. He was so excited that his voice was raised to a high pitch. He was calling to the other birds and making a great commotion. When he finally dropped down in front of the burrow he was all out of breath. It took him some time to tell his tale.

“The woods are on fire,” he said, “and it’s coming this way. I was up on Bald Mountain when it broke out, and I flew as fast as I could to warn everybody.”

“Bald Mountain!” exclaimed Bumper. “Why, Rusty, that’s miles and miles away from here. That isn’t anything to get excited about. I’m surprised that you should get frightened.”

Now Rusty liked to carry important news, especially exciting news, and he had felt very big in being the first to tell of the fire; but Bumper’s words made him think that he had exaggerated it, and he felt quite crest-fallen. However, in the next story you will read of how the fire spread and raced down Bald Mountain.

STORY VI

THE FIRE IN THE WOODS

Bumper felt that he had performed a real act of kindness in quieting the fright of the birds, especially of Rusty the Blackbird, whose excitement was likely to stir up general fear throughout the woods. Of course, a fire in the woods would be a dreadful thing. They couldn’t think of anything worse. But it was unwise to give a false alarm and scare all the young ones.

At the same time Bumper felt a little uneasy. Bald Mountain was a long way off, but the wind was blowing straight from it, and he began to think that perhaps this accounted for the uneasiness of Hermit, Black Cap, Mrs. Oven-Bird and Whip-Poor-Will. Fuzzy Wuzz might have sniffed the odor of smoke on the air, and the frightened birds had sensed the danger in the same way. Also it would account for the blood-red sun.

But Bumper continued to make light of the danger, laughing good-naturedly, and saying that Rusty must have had his wings singed in flying so fast through the air. “I shouldn’t worry about it,” he said finally, as he hopped away. “Now go back to your nest Whip-Poor-Will, and you, too, Mrs. Oven-Bird. If anything happens we’ll give the alarm.”

The birds, now they knew what had caused their restlessness, and being assured by Bumper that timely warning would be given if the fire spread, breathed easier and soon forgot all about it. But not Bumper. He was anxious to find out for himself if the fire was coming toward them.

As soon as he could get away from Fuzzy Wuzz, he ran as fast as he could in the direction of Bald Mountain. It was a long run, but Bumper was feeling fine, and he covered the ground with great speed.

Half way there he stumbled upon Crawler the Tortoise, who was trudging along in the opposite direction. “Where to now, Crawler?” he hailed.

“For the river,” replied Crawler without stopping. “I smell smoke, and I’m going to get in the river mud before it’s too late.”

“The fire’s a long distance away, isn’t it?” replied Bumper.

“Yes, but it takes me a long time to crawl a short distance. So I’m going to start early.”

Bumper thought this was a good idea, and he made no attempt to detain Crawler. If he couldn’t travel any faster than the Tortoise, he would do the same--start early.

Half a mile further he found Hoppy the Toad burrowing into the ground. “What are you digging for, Hoppy?” he asked.

“For a safe place when the fire comes,” was the reply. “If I don’t burrow down a foot or more I’ll be roasted alive.”

“Do you think the fire’s coming this way?” asked Bumper more alarmed than ever.

“Of course it is! Ask Baldy the Eagle up there! He’s so excited he can’t do anything but circle around and utter loud cries. He can see what we can’t.”

Bumper looked up and saw Baldy the Eagle and his mate circling around in great spirals. They were so far from the earth that they looked like tiny specks, but after a while they swooped down and lighted on the decayed stump of a tree.

Ordinarily Bumper wouldn’t have dared to speak to Baldy, but fear now had made the Eagles tame and friendly. A fire in the woods changes friends and foes alike.

“O Baldy,” Bumper called, “I can’t see down here, but you can up there. Tell me if the fire is coming this way, and is there any danger?”

“Yes, Bumper,” replied Baldy, glancing down at the white rabbit. “It has swept clear across Bald Mountain, and is now racing down the slope on this side. Our new home is destroyed, and we’re fleeing for our lives. If you want to escape you should run for the river.”

“Is it as bad as all that!” exclaimed Bumper.

“Come up here and look for yourself!”

Bumper smiled at this remark, for he had no more chance of getting up there in the top of the tree than he had of swimming like Billy the Mink under water.

“You should warn all of your people to flee,” Baldy added. “And there’s no time to be lost.”

Baldy and his mate rose then and flew away, leaving the white rabbit alone. “It must be worse than I thought,” he said to himself. “Baldy doesn’t get frightened very easily. I must hurry back home.”

Just then a great commotion back of him made him turn. Out of a big hole in a tree came Great Horn the Owl.

“What is it!” he cried. Then seeing the white rabbit, he added: “Is it true, Bumper, the woods are on fire?”

“I’m afraid they are, Great Horn. Baldy the Eagle said the fire’s coming this way rapidly.”

“Then I must pack up and leave at once. But I’m so blind I can’t see which way to fly.”

“Follow the wind, Great Horn, and you won’t need your eyes. It’s blowing away from the fire.”

“That’s so. I’ll do it. Thank you for the kind advice, Bumper. Now I must hurry.”

“And I, too,” said Bumper.

But once more there was a crash, and through the bushes sprang White Tail the Deer. Bumper expected to see Sneaky the Wolf or Buster the Bear after him, but when neither appeared he hailed the deer.

“Is it the fire you’re running from, White Tail?” he called.

“Yes, all the woods will be burnt up. You’d better run for the river, Bumper. It’s your only chance.”

“I think I will.”

But he didn’t get far before a swarm of birds swept down upon him. There were Piney the Purple Finch, Towhee the Chewink, Mrs. Phoebe Bird, Shrike the Butcher Bird, Mr. Woodpecker, Mr. and Mrs. Pine Grosbeak, Mr. Crested Flycatcher, and all their families and friends. They came in dense clouds, shrieking, crying and making a great noise.

“Run! Run!” they cried as they flew over his head. “The fire will soon be here, Bumper! Run for your life!”

“I’m going to,” said Bumper.

But once more he was so startled by a sudden interruption that he couldn’t move. Out of the bushes appeared Mr. Fox, running as if his life depended upon it. Bumper crouched to hide, but Mr. Fox only gave him a side glance, and shouted:

“Run, Bumper! Run to the river! The fire’s coming!”

Bumper was so surprised that Mr. Fox should stop long enough to warn him that he simply stared and waited. Even his worst enemy wasn’t entirely bad, not if he would take the trouble to warn him when a great danger threatened every living thing in the woods.

“I’ll remember that, and not think so badly of Mr. Fox,” he said.

Then he thought of his own safety, and was ready once more to run home to warn his people of the danger; but out of the bushes at his feet came a pitiful wailing cry. Bumper stopped, and looked down. It was little Spotty the Chameleon, whose bright colors now were all dark and splotched.

“O Bumper,” he wailed, “I can’t get away from the fire. I hurt my leg, and can’t run at all. I’ll be roasted alive.”

Bumper was horrified, and stopped to console him, but the air was getting thick with smoke, and he knew that he would have to run if he expected to save his own life. But he couldn’t leave Spotty behind to be burnt up.

“Hop on my back, Spotty, and cling to it,” he said.

Spotty glad of the chance climbed up, and Bumper started on a mad race through the bushes. In the next story you will read of Bumper’s further adventures in the fire.

STORY VII

BUMPER’S MAD RACE WITH THE FIRE

With Spotty the Chameleon clinging to his back, Bumper hopped along as fast as he could to get away from the fire. He was very sure now that it was spreading throughout the woods, for the sun had almost disappeared from view, and the air was thick with choking smoke and fine cinders.

If he needed any further evidence, he had but to look around him and above. The woods were full of big and little animals rushing toward the river for safety, and the air overhead was clouded with flocks of birds winging their way swiftly in the same direction.

Cries of fear came from every side--calls and shouts and whistles. Pandemonium had broken loose. Every one was confused and frightened. All fears of their bitter enemies had been forgotten. Curly the Skunk was racing side by side with Sneaky the Wolf, and Washer the Raccoon with Buster the Bear. Even Loup the Lynx was so terrified that he forgot to snarl when Sleepy the Opossum bumped against him, and Killer the Snake wriggled past Hoppy the Toad who was still busily digging his hole to crawl in out of danger.