Part 2

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.

IV. WHEN OLD MR. PANTHER LOST HIS HONOR

|PETER RABBIT, always curious, had overheard his cousin, Jumper the Hare, tell Prickly Porky the Porcupine that it was lucky for him Puma the Panther was too much afraid of men to come down to the Green Forest to live, but kept to the Great Woods and the Big Mountains. At the very mention of Puma the thousand little spears of Prickly Porky had rattled together, and Peter had a queer feeling that this time, instead of being rattled purposely to make others afraid, they rattled because Prickly Porky himself shook with something very like fear. In fact, it seemed to Peter that Prickly Porky actually turned pale.

Now Peter knew nothing at all about Puma the Panther, and right away he was so full of questions that he could hardly wait to get Jumper alone so that he might satisfy his curiosity. The first chance he got he began to ask questions so fast that Jumper clapped his hands over both ears and threatened to run away.

“Who is Puma? Where does he live? Why is Prickly Porky afraid of him? What does he look like? Why--” It was then that Jumper clapped his hands over his ears. Peter grinned. “Please, Cousin Jumper, tell me about him,” he begged.

Jumper pretended to consider for a few minutes. Then, because like most people he likes to air his knowledge, and also because he is very fond of his cousin Peter, he told him what he knew about Puma the Panther.

“In the first place,” said he, “Puma is the biggest member of the Cat family living in the Great Woods.”

“Is he bigger than Tuffy the Lynx?” asked Peter eagerly.

Jumper nodded, and Peter's eyes opened very wide. “He looks very much like Black Pussy, Farmer Brown's cat, only he is yellowish-brown instead of black, and is ever and ever and ever so many times bigger,” continued Jumper. “He has a long tail, just like Black Pussy, and great claws which are terribly sharp. He is so soft-footed that he can steal through the woods without making a sound; he can climb trees like Happy Jack Squirrel, and he is so big and strong that every one but Buster Bear is afraid of him, even Prickly Porky, for he is so smart and cunning that he has found a way to make Prickly Porky's thousand little spears quite useless to protect him. But big and strong and smart as he is, he is a coward because he is a sneak, and all sneaks are cowards. Of course, you know that, Peter.”

Peter nodded. “Everybody knows that,” said he. “But if he is so big and strong and smart, why is he a sneak?”

“I guess it's in his blood, and he can't help himself,” replied Jumper. “I guess it is because way back in the beginning of things his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather lost his honor, and none of the family ever has got it back again.”

“How did old Mr. Panther lose his honor?” demanded Peter, fairly itching with curiosity and eagerness.

“Well,” replied Jumper, “all I know is what I've heard whispered about among the people of the Great Woods. It may be true and it may not be, but every one seems to believe it. As I said before, it happened way back in the beginning of things. Old King Bear ruled the Great Woods then, and there was peace between all the animals. Mr. Panther was sleek and handsome and graceful in all his movements. He knew it, too. He spent a great deal of time washing himself and smoothing his fur, just as Black Pussy does. He would stretch out in the sun for hours with his eyes closed until they were just slits. But all the time he saw all that was going on around him.

“He would watch old King Bear shuffling about in his clumsy fashion, and he would curl the end of his tail up and twitch it scornfully. Then he would look at his own trim form admiringly and think how much finer-looking a king he would make. The more he watched old King Bear, the more this feeling grew. He became envious and then jealous. But he took care never to let old King Bear know this. You see, there was one thing about King Bear which Mr. Panther did respect, and that was his strength. He had no desire to quarrel with King Bear. So whenever they met he was very polite and said flattering things to him. But behind his back Mr. Panther made fun of him, but did it in such an artful way that his neighbors merely thought that they themselves were making the discovery of how much handsomer Mr. Panther was than old King Bear.

“After a while came the hard time when food was scarce, and in order to keep from starving, the big and strong began to prey on their neighbors who were smaller or weaker or more helpless. But the law was made that none should kill more than was needed to fill an empty stomach for the time being. It was then that Mr. Panther thought of a plan for making old King Bear hated by all his subjects.

“'If they hate him, they will refuse to have him as king any longer, and I, being next in strength and far more kingly in appearance, will be made king in his place,' reasoned Mr. Panther, but he took care not to hint such a thing.

“Presently ugly stories began to float about. Some one was killing seemingly for the fun of killing. It was dreadful, but it was true. Almost every day some one was found killed but not eaten, and always there were footprints going to and away from the place, and they were the footprints of _old King Bear!_ So all the forest people began to hate King Bear and to mutter among themselves that they would have him for king no longer. Finally some of them went to Old Mother Nature and told her all about it; they asked that old King Bear be punished and that some one else be made king in his place. Old Mother Nature told them that she would think it over.

“Quite unknown to old King Bear, she followed him about and watched him as he shuffled about in his clumsy way. 'Hm-m, it ought not to be very hard to keep out of his way. Those who are caught must be very stupid if _he_ catches them,' thought she. Presently her sharp eyes caught a glimpse of a shadowy form sneaking along behind old King Bear. It was Mr. Panther, and he was stepping with the greatest care so as to leave no footprints. Old Mother Nature sat down and waited. She saw Mr. Panther bound away through the trees. By and by he came back, bringing the body of a Hare which he had killed. He laid it down where old King Bear had left a footprint in the soft earth and then, with his long tail twitching, he looked this way and that way to make sure that no one had seen him and then bounded away.

“The next day Old Mother Nature called all the people of the forest before her, and they all came, for none dared stay away. When they were all there, she had each in turn look her straight in the face while she asked if they had hunted fairly and honorably and only when they were hungry. Each in turn looked her straight in the face and said that he had until it came the turn of Mr. Panther. Mr. Panther's tail twitched nervously, and he looked everywhere but at Old Mother Nature as she put the question to him.

“'Look me straight in the face and tell me on your honor that you have hunted fairly,' commanded Old Mother Nature. Mr. Panther knew that all eyes were upon him, and he tried his best to look her in the face, but he couldn't do it. You see, he hadn't any honor. He had lost it, and without honor no one can look another straight in the face. Instead he turned and began to slink away, and all who saw him wondered how they ever could have thought him kingly-looking.

“Then Old Mother Nature told what she had seen the day before, and at once everybody understood who it was that had been doing the killing and trying to make it appear that it was old King Bear, and they all turned and shouted 'Coward! Sneak! Coward! Sneak!' until Mr. Panther fairly ran to get out of hearing. From that time on he lived by himself and would not look even timid Mr. Hare in the face. Instead of hunting openly and boldly like Mr. Wolf, he sneaked about in the forest and hunted by stealth, so that all the people of the forest looked on him with scorn, and though most of them feared him, they called him a coward and they nicknamed him 'Sneak-cat.'

“And to this day all Panthers have been the same, sneaking and cowardly in spite of their great size and strength, for it has been in their blood ever since the time when old Mr. Panther lost his honor,” ended Jumper.

Peter was silent for a minute. Then he said softly: “I'm little and timid, but I'd rather be that way than to be big like Puma but a coward and a sneak. I can look any one in the face.”

V. WHEN OLD MR. RAT BECAME AN OUTCAST

|Robber the brown rat is an outcast among the little people of the Green Meadows and the Green Forest. You know an outcast is one with whom no one else will have anything to do. No one speaks to Robber. Whoever meets him pretends not to even see him, unless it happens to be one of the Hawk family or one of the Owl family or Shadow the Weasel. If one of these sees him, it is well for Robber to find a safe hiding-place without any loss of time.

But the rest of the little meadow and forest people turn their backs on Robber and get out of his way, partly because many of them are afraid of him, and partly because they despise him and consider him quite beneath them. He hasn't a single friend among them, not even among his own relatives. The latter are ashamed of him. If they could help it, they wouldn't even admit that they are related to him. Just mention him to them, and right away they will begin to talk about something else. Wag the Wood Rat and Bounder the Kangeroo Rat are very different fellows and are well liked, but Robber the Brown Rat is hated. Yes, Sir, he is hated even by his own relatives, which, you will agree, is a dreadful state of affairs.

Peter Rabbit had heard of Robber but never had seen him until one moonlight night he happened to go up to Farmer Brown's barn just out of curiosity. He saw a hole under the barn and was trying to decide whether or not to go in and find out what was inside when who should come out but Robber himself. His coat was so rough and untidy, he was so dirty, he smelled so unclean, and he looked so savage that Peter at once decided that he wasn't interested in that barn and took himself off to the Green Forest, lip-perty-lipperty-lip, as fast as he could go. All the rest of the night he thought about Robber the Brown Rat, and the very next day he hurried over to the Smiling Pool to ask Grandfather Frog how it was that Robber had become such a disreputable fellow with not a single friend.

Grandfather Frog had had a good breakfast of foolish green flies and was feeling in the very best of humor.

“Chug-a-rum!” said he, “Robber the Brown Rat is an outcast because he is all bad. His father was all bad, and his father's father, and so on way back to the beginning of things when the world was young. There was no good in any of them, and there is no good in Robber. He is a disgrace to the whole race of meadow and forest people, and so he lives only where man lives, and I have heard that he is as much hated by man as by the rest of us.

“Way back when the world was young, his great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather, who was the first of his race, lived with the rest of the little people in the Green Forest, and Old Mother Nature gave him the same chance to make an honest living that she gave to the rest. For a while Mr. Rat was honest. He was honest just as long as it was easier to be honest than dishonest. But when the hard times came of which you know, and food became scarce, Mr. Rat was too lazy to even try to earn his own living. He discovered that it was easier to steal from his neighbors. He wasn't at all particular whom he stole from, but he took from big and little alike. He was so sly about it that for a long time no one found him out.

“By and by his neighbors began to wonder how it was that Mr. Rat always seemed fat and well fed and yet never was seen to work. But Mr. Rat was too crafty to be caught stealing. He said he didn't need much to live on, which was an untruth, for he was a very greedy fellow. Now laziness is a habit that grows. First Mr. Rat was too lazy to work for his living. Then, little by little, he grew too lazy to be crafty. He grew bolder and bolder in his stealing, until at last he just took what he pleased from those who were smaller than he. Being well fed, he was strong. All the little people of his own size and smaller feared him. The bigger people said it was no business of theirs, so long as he didn't steal from them. All the time he _was_ stealing from them, but hadn't been caught.

“Finally he grew too lazy to keep himself looking neat. His coat was always unbrushed and untidy-looking. He was always dirty. You see, it was too much work to even wash his face and hands. There was always food sticking to his whiskers. The little people kept away from him because they were afraid of him. The bigger people would have nothing to do with him because they were ashamed of him, ashamed to be seen in his company.

“So lazy Mr. Rat grew dirtier in his habits, bolder in his stealing, and impudent to everybody. He became quarrelsome. It was about this time that the bigger people found him out.

“Mr. Lynx had secured the first meal he had had in a week. Part of it he put away for the next day. Before going to bed he went to have a look at it. Some of it was gone.

“'That's queer,' muttered Mr. Lynx. 'I wonder who there is who dares to steal from me.'

“Mr. Lynx hid where he could watch what was left of that meal. By and by he grew sleepy. He was just dozing off when he heard a noise. There was Mr. Rat carrying off part of what was left of that meal. With a snarl of anger Mr. Lynx leaped out. But Mr. Rat was too quick for him. He slipped into a hole. Mr. Lynx grabbed at him and caught him by the tail. Mr. Rat pulled and Mr. Lynx pulled. But Mr. Rat's tail was slippery, and Mr. Lynx couldn't hold on. He did, however, pull all the hair from it.

“Of course, Mr. Lynx told what had happened, and after that Mr. Rat did not dare show himself at all when the bigger people were about. So he lived in holes and continued to steal. Finally old King Bear called a meeting, and it was decided to drive Mr. Rat out of the Green Forest and off the Green Meadows. Little Mr. Weasel said that he was not afraid of Mr. Rat, and he would go into all the holes and drive Mr. Rat out. So Mr. Weasel went into hole after hole until at last he found Mr. Rat. Mr. Rat tried to fight, but he found that little Mr. Weasel was so slim and could move so quickly that he couldn't get hold of him. So at last Mr. Rat was forced to run to save his life.

“The minute he appeared all the others, big and little, started for him. Mr. Rat gave one look, and then, with a squeal of fright, he ran with all his might, dodging into one hiding-place after another, only to be chased out of each. And so at last he turned away from the Green Forest and the Green Meadows and ran to the homes of men, where he hid in dark places and stole from men as he formerly had stolen from his neighbors of the Green Forest. And because men are wasteful and allow much food to spoil, Mr. Rat found plenty to fill his stomach, such as it was, but often it was such as no one else would have touched.

“Once or twice he tried to get back to the Green Forest, but as soon as he was discovered he was driven back, and at last he gave up trying. He grew more dirty than ever, and finding everybody, even man, against him, he became savage of temper, living wholly by stealing, evil to look at and evil to come near, for in the dirt of his coat be carried sickness from place to place. In no place in all the Great World could he find a welcome.

“His children followed in his footsteps, and his children's children. Old Mother Nature became so disgusted with them that she said that they should always remain outcasts until they should mend their ways. But this they never did, and so Robber the Brown Rat is an outcast to-day, looked down on and hated by every living thing. There is none to say a good word for him. And to this day the tails of Robber's family have been almost bare of hair as a reminder of how old Mr. Rat of long ago came to be driven out of the Green Forest. Now are you satisfied, Peter Rabbit?” concluded Grandfather Frog.

“Yes, indeed, and I thank you ever so much,” declared Peter. “Ugh! It must be dreadful to be despised and hated by all the Great World. I wouldn't be in Robber's place for anything.”

“Chug-a-rum! I should hope not!” said Grandfather Frog.

VI. WHEN MR. MOOSE LOST HIS HORNS

|PETER RABBIT had just seen Flathorns the Moose for the first time, and Peter was having hard work to believe that there wasn't something the matter with his eyes. Indeed they looked as if something was the matter with them, for they seemed about to pop right out of his head. If any one had _told_ Peter that any one as big as Flathorns lived in the Great Woods, he wouldn't have believed it, but now that he had _seen_ that it was so, he just had to believe. So Peter sat with his eyes popping out and his mouth gaping wide open in the most foolish way as he stared in the direction in which Flathorns had gone.

“Big, isn't he?”

Peter looked up to see Blacky the Crow in the top of a birch-tree just at one side, and Blacky, too, was looking after Flathorns. Then Blacky looked down at Peter and began to laugh. “Don't try to swallow him, Peter!” said he.

Peter closed his mouth with a snap.

“My, but he _is_ big!” he exclaimed. “I never felt so small in all my life as when I first caught sight of him. What queer horns he has! I suppose they are horns, for he carries them on his head just as Lightfoot the Deer does his. They are so big I should think they would make his head ache.”

“Perhaps they do, and that is why he drops them every spring and grows a new pair during the summer,” replied Blacky.

“Drops them! Drops those great horns and grows new ones in a single summer! Do you mean to tell me that hard things like those horns grow? And what do you mean by saying that he drops them every spring? Why, I saw him banging them against a tree just now, and I guess if they ever were coming off they would have come off then. You can't fool me with any such story as that, Blacky!”

“Have it your own way, Peter,” replied Blacky. “Some people never can believe a thing until they see it with their own eyes. All I've got to say is just keep an eye on Flathorns in the spring and then remember what I've told you.” Before Peter could reply Blacky had spread his wings, and with a harsh “Caw, caw, caw,” had flown away.

Of course, after that Peter was very very curious about Flathorns the