Part 9

He was talking with his visitor, Professor Screech Owl, who perched on the peak of the kitchen roof and was engaged with him in a pleasant exchange of views and ideas. The moon was clear and everything was very still. All the world seemed asleep but the owl and the dog, and they were talking of many matters. For Professor Screech Owl was a knowing bird and he had, moreover, the most learned relatives.

"Of course, you know more than I do," Collie Dog hastened to add.

Professor Screech Owl nodded.

"And you may have heard in your travels of something which credits the mice with being other than thieves and rogues. But for my part, I am skeptical of all the good I hear of them."

"There are mice, and there are mice," said the Professor. For this is one of the best ways to open a subject and draw a distinction. "I have rarely inquired into their morals, preferring to take them as I find them. In the matter of one's living one must not be too squeamish. Probably I have eaten moral mice and immoral mice, with indifference. But I have heard that the mice in Belgium are the gentlest and sweetest of creatures. Have you heard of the Belgium mice, Mr. Dog?"

This was the point to which Collie Dog had drawn his visitor with intent. For no matter what subject you brought up, if you passed it over to Professor Screech Owl and showed him the respect and patience which is due to scholarly persons, he would refresh your mind with wonderful facts and you would be vastly improved and informed when he finished. So Collie Dog admitted that he was no book dog, and knew precious little about anything. This was not so, for he knew a great deal about sheep, the pasturing of cows, and the time for getting the mail, and he knew that the buggy meant business, and the surrey meant church, and he knew where his mistress kept the chocolate creams. Also he knew why the cook left, but he never told. But he pretended that blankness of mind which is a humility pleasing to superior students.

Screech Owl stared at the moon as though to recall what he could from his vast store of learning.

"The dates have escaped me," he began, "but it is the nature of the event, not the time which is important.

"Once long ago, as I was told by the great Arctic Owl, who is a sort of cousin of mine, the mice in the city of Ghent entered into a sort of league with the storks. Ghent, as you know, is in Belgium."

This was news to Collie Dog, but he wagged his tail as if to approve. He was glad to know that Ghent was in Belgium, and he wished to seem pleased.

"Don't wag your tail!" Screech Owl spat out at him. "I'm telling you history; I'm not asking you to have a bone. That's no way to act when I'm lecturing!"

Poor Collie Dog wished to laugh, but he only sat still and looked humbly at the conceited little owl on the peak of the barn.

Professor Screech Owl suddenly grew quite himself again, apologized for his agitation, and resumed:

"The storks are a noble lot, and have been renowned in Egypt and on the Continent. They dwell on the chimney-pots, I'm told, or build on the edges of steeples and such. Very proud they are, and given to the practise of medicine. The cranes in the country make great pretense of being cousins of the stork. But we all know the difference,--we who have traveled. Ha! Ha!"

Screech Owl screamed a terrible laugh. Collie Dog, to be polite, joined in; but he stopped short when Screech Owl's feathers began to ruffle up.

"In Ghent, long ago," the Professor went on, "the mice that lived in the barn of the mayor's place were many. They overran it and lived under the very eaves as well as in the cellars. And those nearest the roof became great friends of the storks who dwelt on the gables and chimneys.

"Now, so the story runs, the mayor's barn caught fire. The good lady stork had but just left her nest. The storks, you know, go far out into the country to get their food. I think it very foolish of them to live in the cities. But Mrs. Stork took her chances, as all mothers do when they leave their young ones for any length of time.

"Dr. Stork, the father of this particular family, was away on medical matters, and so the baby was alone. You can imagine what Mrs. Stork felt when she came flying toward the city and saw smoke pouring from the roof of the mayor's barn."

Collie Dog scented the drift of the story, and grew suddenly impatient for the slow Professor to reach the point.

"And was the baby stork burned to death?" he interrupted.

Professor Screech Owl only looked down and cleared his throat.

"The mice," he said, "are credited with singular humanity. They scrambled all around and in and out of the nest, and at last they grabbed the baby stork and dragged him down to the edge of the roof."

"And then?" exclaimed Collie Dog, now really excited. "What then? Did he fall off and get killed after all?"

"The roofs of the houses in Ghent are not very high," came from Professor Screech Owl, in the deepest of tones, "but they are very steep. A plank was leaning against the wall and they slid him down on that, so that he reached the ground in safety.

"Since then the storks give all the feathers they can spare to the mice; and now these frisky creatures sleep on down. That is, the mice in Belgium do."

Professor Screech Owl came to a sudden stop and watched Collie Dog. Seeing his audience was profoundly impressed, he then went on:

"Those who were witnesses to this rescue say that Mrs. Stork's excitement was terrible. She went to Egypt for a year to recover her nerves--"

An unearthly screech pierced the night. The Professor and Collie Dog jumped in surprise. Old Tom Cat, who had listened to all this as he sat on the door-step in the dark, was trying to laugh. He was also making remarks about owls and mice in general. But just then the master of the house threw open the window and expressed _his_ views.

Collie Dog retired quickly to his kennel to think over this wonderful chapter of history; and wise Professor Screech Owl flew silently from the peak of the barn to his nest in the hickory woods.

XXIII

MRS. BOB-WHITE AND THE HUNTING DOG

At the very peep of day Collie Dog and Setter Pup started out on a hunting trip of their own. Collie Dog called the place "my farm" and he had told his friend of all the wonderful sights there were to be seen on the place by a dog who could travel alone and do as he wanted. It was his habit, he said, to be abroad very early; sometimes, indeed, he would run over the fields and along the shore, or back into the woodland, for miles and miles before breakfast.

"And what do you do that for?" Setter Pup asked. For this youngster was just from the city, and he was not used to these country ways. "We never get up until long after the man with the milk cans has gone by the door, and the postman has come and gone," he yawned. "That's the proper thing in town."

Collie Dog laughed in a courteous way.

"And we get up before the milk cans start for town," he said. "That is, some of us do. But they'll take you out early enough when the hunting begins. And you'll be pointing birds all day in the fields and the swamps."

Setter Pup waved his tail proudly, for he meant to be a great hunter. That was why they had him in the country now--to teach him all sorts of things about guns and what to do when he smelt a covey of birds.

But Collie Dog was no hunter, being more of a scholar and a poet. His master, at any rate, had read him a great deal of poetry. And much of the poetry had been of a nature to discourage hunting; which was just what the doggie's master liked to do. He was thoroughly in sympathy with his pet, who couldn't endure a gun, either the sight or the sound of it. But, much as the gentleman knew about the fields and the woods, he would have known more could he have understood what Collie Dog would have loved to tell him. For that gentle dog was on the best of terms with every living creature for miles around. His early morning expeditions were always but so many rounds of visits.

Consequently, the newcomer, this eager and noisy young setter, was to make many new acquaintances on this daybreak excursion with Collie Dog.

Down the lane from the barn to the pasture they romped, the dew drenching their flanks as they brushed the tall weeds and bushes. Setter Pup, with his ears flapping in excitement, was plunging heedlessly ahead when Collie Dog called him back.

"Go easy here! We are sure to hear something," Collie Dog whispered.

And suddenly, while they walked almost on tip-toe, there came from the very edge of the field, a clear, ringing call:

"_Bob! Bob! Bob!_"

"Why, who can be down here in the hayfield at this time of the morning?" Setter Pup asked in surprise.

"Just wait!" laughed Collie Dog, delighted.

"_Bob, Bob, Bob-White!_"

The voice was as clear as a boy's.

"That's my best friend out here," Collie Dog explained. "It's little Mr. Partridge."

Then very quickly the beautiful, trim little Mr. Partridge hopped clear of the tangled grass and stood gaily on the fence-rail. He was speckled and shapely and his eyes were full of wonderful humor. But he caught sight of the strange dog, and was gone in a second. Then, to Setter Pup's great astonishment, there were many little voices, and wild scuttlings in the very path ahead of him. And two beautiful partridges, their wings apparently broken, were hobbling along almost before his very nose. They were dying, as it seemed.

Setter Pup was all for seizing them. Two such crippled creatures were easy prey. But his instincts were, after all, of another sort; for, although he had never done it before, he stood stock still and pointed his nose straight at the birds, his tail stretched out like a long plume behind him.

Collie Dog shook with laughter.

"Well, that gun shooting master of yours would be proud of you if he could see you now," he said. "You're pointing straight as a weather vane. But we're not out hunting birds this morning. Come here, and I'll show you something."

Setter Pup dropped his tail and stepped back. Then Collie Dog came softly up to the little birds that were cowering in the path. They knew him well enough. Even if he was a dog, he was a friend; and if there is a creature who knows a friend and would be on terms of friendship with the whole world it is Mr. Bob-White.

They were even pleased to meet young Setter Pup, when they found out that he was staying at the farm. They could not believe that a personal friend of their wonderful Collie Dog could be ill-disposed to such as the partridge family.

And Mr. Bob-White talked about "our farm" exactly as though it were his own. He said that he and his family could surely keep down the potato bugs that year; and that if it could only be known what his intentions were in this matter of eating up the pests that canker and destroy, he was sure no one would want to kill him.

"You always say that, poor Mr. Bob-White, and how I pity you," the gentle Collie Dog replied. For he was as quick to weep as to laugh, being so refined a dog. "And it's a shame. My master reads to me all about you. And we get very indignant when we think of how you are the one thing that these farmers can depend upon to eat up more bugs than anybody else could ever devour. You're so much better than poison and all the rest of the truck they sprinkle around."

"Yes; the poison just washes off in the rain. My family, if only we could be let alone, would do it all. Didn't you tell me that my cousin down in Texas ate up all the boll weevils in a county full of cotton?"

"That's the truth," answered Collie Dog. "Master read it to me. But you're safe enough on this farm anyway. You know that. My friend Setter Pup is not going to hunt here at all."

"And I shall never hunt partridges--never!" declared Setter Pup, who was sadly distressed. "I wish I had never been born"--he was crying now--"if I have to hunt down such folks as Mr. Partridge." For poor Setter Pup had found that he possessed a heart; and that discovery is the most distressing one in the world.

"Oh, you'll get over that," Collie Dog comforted him. "You'll have to. Your master will attend to you. But I'm sorry for you. And just look at these baby partridges."

One by one, as Mrs. Partridge had clucked to them, in a little voice like the ticking of a tiny clock, they had crept up to her. Ten little chicks there were, of a light brown, and nothing but fluffy down and beady eyes. One of them hopped right out from in front of Setter Pup, where it had hidden under a leaf.

"Good gracious!" he exclaimed. "There was that chicken, and I never saw it at all!"

"No," Collie Dog replied; "you would never guess where they go to when their mother gives the alarm. And then she runs off and tempts you to kill her. She hobbles and cries and lies down to die right at your feet. My own mother, who was a Scottish noblewoman, being an Argyle, used to say that she never saw such a wonderfully devoted mother as Mrs. Bob-White."

With a gay farewell to Mr. Partridge, the sprightly dog was off. And Setter Pup went racing after him. For there was much to see, and the sun was already clear and golden. The grass shone in waves of green, and as the dew dried there came the loveliest odors of wild honeysuckle and clover. It was a time to be gay, and Collie Dog did not want to have his young friend depressed. There were some wonderful mud-holes to visit, where they could get just as cool and as dirty as they pleased.

"And when the mud dries off," Collie Dog explained, as they plunged through the bushes, "your coat will shine as though it had been brushed."

It was a wonderful romp that they had in the mud-hole, deep in the swampy meadow, under the blackberry vines. And when they came out, disgracefully dirty, to dry themselves under a China-berry tree, they were rolling over and over on the grass, when a funny little voice called out from the branches overhead:

"Hello, Mr. Dog!"

Setter Pup jumped to his feet; but Collie Dog only looked up into the tree.

"'Morning, friend 'Possum; and how's your family to-day?"

"Oh, they're doing fine. Twelve of them and all getting plump. We like your turnip patch very much."

Then he laughed; a squeaky little laugh it was; and Collie Dog seemed to enjoy the joke too, for he sat up with a smile.

"Come on down and let's see you die," he requested. "My friend has never seen a 'possum play dead."

"No, indeed, Mr. Collie. I don't know your friend--and I don't think I care to. He's a hunting dog. But I'll die right here on this branch, if that will amuse you."

So Mr. 'Possum threw himself into a wonderful attitude and looked as dead as dead could be. His head hung over the branch and his mouth lolled open, and his little paws were all curled up.

"How queer!" Setter Pup exclaimed. "I suppose he's satisfied that nobody but a buzzard would touch him now. What a dandy trick!"

"It fools 'em, all right," said Collie Dog, who always delighted in this performance.

Then Mr. 'Possum winked a sly wink and slid like a big rat along the branch to a hollow place in the tree.

"He's gone in. Probably his wife wanted him."

And then Collie Dog was off again, bounding and racing across the field, with Setter Pup keeping beside him.

Miles they went, through the country. Young Setter Pup saw more than he ever had guessed could be seen. There was Mr. Blacksnake, who raced like mad over the leaves, making an astonishing noise. He carried his head very high and went such a zigzag course that the dogs lost sight of him.

"He's an ugly fellow, too, but he can't hurt you. He makes a funny noise with his tail, rattling it on the leaves if you corner him. He wants you to think he's a rattlesnake. But it's only a clever trick," said Collie Dog. "Sometimes on that sandy piece of road we've just passed, we'll come across Mr. Hognose. He's a queer little snake. He can scare you terribly by puffing and blowing, so that you would think he was very dangerous. But he can't bite at all, nor hurt you as much as a cat. He plays off at being dead too, just like Mr. 'Possum. But he never crawls out till the sun is high. He likes the heat. I've met him a great many times, but always when it was hot."

By this time it was a glorious morning, and as the two dogs trotted down the wood road and along the river bank, the birds were calling from every side.

"I like to come this way," Collie Dog went on. "There's a redbird, a very aristocratic cardinal, who flies ahead of me every time. He's had a whole story written about himself. Master's read it aloud to me. Does your master read aloud to you?"

Setter Pup was somewhat embarrassed.

"We read about guns and cartridges and Canadian guides, and fishing tackle," he admitted.

"H'm!" mused his companion. "Destructive, of course. Right in your line. But not my style. We prefer the other kind, my master and I. But not everybody can be a poet, of course."

Just then the cardinal-bird darted out of the honeysuckle and flew ahead of them, and in an instant a brilliant bluebird followed him.

"They fly together just that way. Master says they must like each other's color. Aren't they beautiful?"

And then, before they knew it, the birds were gone; and Setter Pup was surprised to see that this river path had been the way home, for they were almost at the farm door.

"If I could only go hunting with you instead of with those guides and guns," Setter Pup began; for evidently there was something on his mind and he wanted to talk.

But Collie Dog just wagged his tail. He understood. There was nothing to be said, for a dog owes everything to his master, and there are many kinds of masters. Besides, the door was open and there were voices upstairs. Setter Pup's owner was calling across the hall to his host.

"He ought to make a fine pointer. His mother was a prize bird dog, you know."

Poor Setter Pup looked wistfully at Collie Dog as they flopped down on the floor.

And Collie was truly distressed. But, then, as he often asked himself:

"What could a poor dog do?"

XXIV

MRS. POLAR BEAR'S ADVENTURE

The long, dark winter was on the wane. Months of cold starlight and terrific winds, with numberless storms of heavy snow, had gone by. Little by little the streak of light on the horizon, the thin shadows which it cast over the snowfields, and the gentler quality of the air increased; so that every one who lived in this far Arctic region stirred in his winter sleep and there was preparation for a short and very busy summer.

Some of the animals had been abroad, indeed, throughout the whole dark night of the polar winter; such of them for instance as the lovely white fox and the great polar bear. For it was not their custom to crawl away, as many did, into the deep snow-banks, there to sleep it out; for they knew that even this season of blackness and appalling cold had plenty of food for them, and they were always insatiably hungry.

But Mr. Bear's wife was of a different turn of mind, and although she knew that her husband would not provide for her quite as she would like to be fed, she was willing to go deep into the snow and dig out for herself a warm bed away beneath the surface. There she had stayed, never so much as venturing to the opening after the real night had set in.

And there her cubs were born. Two of them there were. The good Mrs. Bear was so delighted with their beauty that she was impatient for the warm days to come when she could take them out and show them to her relatives and friends.

"Perhaps, too, their father will be back by the time summer comes," she thought.

And then she was suddenly glad that he was not around just now; for he was very quick-tempered, and if the babies annoyed him at all, he would be pretty sure to cuff them. And one blow of Mr. Bear's paw would finish the career of any baby bear in the world.

So the two little creatures, clad in the whitest of fur from head to foot, their claws as black as ebony, and their wide eyes as yellow as amber, lay snuggled against the great warm body of their mother for all the weeks of the departing winter.

Suddenly, as they rolled over and looked upward through the snow cavern, they saw for the first time what seemed to them a great big eye staring down at them.

"That's only the hole in the roof," Mrs. Bear explained. "And pretty soon you will see that it is all blue and beautiful above that window--and then we will go out and away."

What that meant they did not know; for life so far as they had known it consisted of meals and sleep and endless playtime on the icy floor of their cavern. But they were to know more about it very soon. A white wing flashed by one morning, and a land voice called down the depths of their cave.

It was Mr. Burgomaster, the good-natured gull. He had come purposely to call on Mrs. Bear, for he had two stirring pieces of information to give her.

He perched by the edge of her skylight, and wasted no words in relating the news.

"There's a whale being driven ashore; and the mists have hidden the birds."

He was gone before Mrs. Bear could so much as thank him for coming; and she was, indeed, deeply obliged. No one but good Mr. Burgomaster would ever have taken such pains.

What he said sounded strange enough, but it meant everything to Mrs. Bear. When a whale was disabled in the far depths of the sea, or had been caught in the currents and gales in such a way that he must surely drift to shore, he was as good as dead and devoured. For in shallow water he would be helpless and once his enormous bulk was stranded on the rocks or the jagged capes of ice he could only give himself up to his enemies.

Mrs. Bear, however, would have been very cautious about venturing to the scene of the banquet, if the great flocks of birds, which were sure to be on hand, were not hidden from view as they hovered above it. Clouds of excited gulls that came nearer and nearer to the shore were a signal of what was about to happen. And the bears, the foxes, and the wolves were not the only ones who knew it. Men, with their ferocious packs of dogs, their long lassos of walrus hide, and their terrible spears, knew well enough what the noisy birds were announcing.

But all would be well if the fogs hung low, and the gathering flocks of sea-birds were thereby hidden.

Mrs. Bear explained the situation to her cubs.

"Of course, your mother would not have built her nursery here," she ended, "if she thought those terrible creatures with the wolfish dogs and the ropes were within miles and miles of the spot. But you can never tell when they may turn up. They come with their dogs over endless tracks of snow and ice to find us, and they travel fast. You must lie as quietly as you can while I am gone. Amuse yourselves in only the quietest way. Don't call out at all; and go to sleep again, like good children."

With that Mrs. Bear rose to her hind feet and reached upward along the snow walls of her house. Then, balancing herself on a ridge of the ice which was for all the world like a side shelf, she made a ponderous leap through the opening into broad daylight. For at last it was the real day, and a glorious glimmer of sunlight behind the fogs showed that summer was coming.

It was good to breathe the free air, and Mrs. Bear shook herself violently to straighten out the creases of her heavy coat. She would have liked to roar, loud and long, but she was trained by experience never to speak in a fog.

"You can't tell who's hearing you," her own mother used to say.

So she only trundled her mighty bulk downward across the ice and snow, to its very edge, where it suddenly broke off and formed an embankment. Below this there was a narrow beach, or what appeared to be one--a strip of confused and tumbled blocks of ice and jagged rocks.