Part 5

“After that Mr. Hare tried that trick often, for he was smart, was Mr. Hare. When he suspected that he had been seen he ran, but when he felt sure that he hadn't been seen, he sat tight right where he happened to be. But when the first snow came, Mr. Hare found himself in a peck of trouble. He didn't dare sit still when an enemy was near, because his brown coat stood out so against the white snow, and when he ran it was an easy matter to keep him in sight. One day he was squatting under a snow-covered hemlock bough when he was startled by the howl of Mr. Wolf not far away. In his fright he jumped up, and the next thing he knew down came the snow from the bough all over him. Then, to his dismay, he saw Mr. Lynx not two jumps away. He sat still from force of habit. Mr. Lynx didn't see him; he went right past Presently Mr. Wolf came along, and he went right past.

“Mr. Hare was puzzled. Then he just happened to glance at his coat. He was white with snow from head to foot! Then he understood, and a great idea popped into his head. If only he could have a brown coat in summer and a white coat in winter, he felt sure that he could take care of himself. He thought about it a great deal. Finally he screwed up his courage and went to Old Mother Nature. He told her all about how he had learned to sit tight when he wasn't seen, but that it didn't always succeed when there was snow on the ground. Then he told her how Mr. Lynx and Mr. Wolf had run right past him the time he was covered with snow. Very timidly he asked Old Mother Nature if she thought it possible that he might have a white coat in winter. Old Mother Nature said that she would think about it. It was almost the end of winter then, and he heard nothing from Old Mother Nature. With the coming of summer he quite forgot his request. But Old Mother Nature didn't. She kept an eye on Mr. Hare and she saw how timid he was and how he was in constant danger from his hungry neighbors. With the beginning of the next winter, Mr. Hare discovered one day that his coat was turning white. He watched it day by day and saw it grow whiter and whiter until it was as white as the snow itself. Then he knew that Old Mother Nature had not forgotten his request and at once hastened to thank her. And from that day to this, the Hares have had brown coats in summer and white coats in winter,” concluded Grandfather Frog.

“Oh, thank you, Grandfather Frog,” cried Peter with a little sigh of contentment. “I--I wish I could catch a foolish green fly for you.”

“I'll take the will for the deed, Peter,” replied Grandfather Frog. And he suddenly snapped up a foolish green fly that flew too near.

XII. WHEN GREAT-GRANDFATHER SWIFT FIRST USED A CHIMNEY

|OF all his feathered friends and neighbors there was none whom Peter Rabbit enjoyed watching more than he did Sooty the Chimney Swift. There were two very good reasons why Peter enjoyed watching Sooty. In the first place Sooty always appeared to be having the very best of good times, and you know it is always a pleasure to watch any one having a good time. Ol' Mistah Buzzard, sailing and sailing high in the sky with only an occasional movement of his great wings, always seemed to be enjoying himself, and so did Skimmer the Swallow, skimming just above the tall grass of the Green Meadows or wheeling gracefully high in the air. But neither these two nor any other bird ever seemed to Peter to be getting so much real fun out of flying as Sooty the Swift. Just to hear him shout as he raced with swiftly beating wings and then glided in a short half circle was enough to make you want to fly yourself, thought Peter.

The second reason why Peter enjoyed watching Sooty was that he was very much a bird of mystery, in spite of the fact that Peter saw him every day through the long summer. You know, we all enjoy anything that is mysterious. To Peter there was no end of mystery about Sooty the Swift. He was not like other birds. In the first place he hardly looked like a bird at all. His tail was so short that it was hardly worth calling a tail. His neck was so short that his head seemed a part of his body. And then in all the time he had known him, Peter never had seen Sooty still for a single instant. Ol' Mistah Buzzard would come down from high up in the blue, blue sky and sit for hours on a dead tree in the Green Forest or walk about on the ground. Skimmer the Swallow would sit on the branch of a tree, or on the very top of Farmer Brown's barn, and twitter sociably. But Sooty the Swift was always in the air. At least, he always was whenever Peter saw him.

Sometimes Peter used to wonder if Sooty slept in the air as Ducks sleep on the water. Of course, he didn't really think that he did, but never seeing him anywhere but in the air, he was ready to believe almost anything. Then one evening just at dusk, Peter happened to be over in the Old Orchard close by Farmer Brown's house, and he saw something that puzzled him more than ever. He saw Sooty the Swift right above the chimney on Farmer Brown's house. It seemed to Peter as if something happened to Sooty. He beat his wings in a queer way, but instead of flying on, he dropped right straight down, down, down, and disappeared. He had fallen down that chimney! Peter waited a long time, but Sooty didn't appear again, and finally Peter went home with the feeling that he never again would see Sooty.

But he did see him again. He saw him the very next day, flying and shouting and seemingly having just as good a time as ever. It was then that Peter's curiosity would no longer be denied. He headed straight for the Smiling Pool to consult Grandfather Frog.

“He'll know all about Sooty if anybody does,” thought Peter and hurried as fast as he could, lipperty-lipperty-lip. Grandfather Frog was in his usual place on his big green lily-pad. One glance told Peter that Grandfather Frog was in the best of humor, so he wasted no time.

“Grandfather Frog,” cried Peter before he was fairly on the bank of the Smiling Pool, “I saw something queer last night, and you are the only one I know of who can tell me what it meant, because you are the only one I know who knows all about everything.”

Grandfather Frog smiled. It was a great, big, broad smile. It pleased him to have Peter say that he knew everything. “Chug-a-rum! Not everything, Peter! I don't know everything. Nobody does,” said he. “But if I happen to know what you want, to know, I'll be glad to tell you. Now what is it that is on your mind?”

Peter at once plunged into his story. He told Grandfather Frog how much he enjoyed watching Sooty fly and how little he knew about Sooty. He wound up by telling how he had seen Sooty fall down that chimney and how surprised he had been to see Sooty about the next day as well and happy as ever. He called Sooty a Swallow, for that is what Peter thought that Sooty was. He always had thought so.

When Peter had finished, Grandfather Frog chuckled. It was a long, deep chuckle that seemed to come clear from his toes. When he had enjoyed his chuckle to his heart's content, he looked up at Peter and blinked his great goggly eyes.

“What would you say, Peter, if I should tell you that Sooty isn't a member of the Swallow family at all?” he asked.

“I'd believe you,” replied Peter promptly, “but I never again would dare guess what family anybody belonged to from his looks.”

“Well, Sooty isn't a Swallow at all,” said Grandfather Frog slowly. “He is a Swift, which is another family altogether. Furthermore, he didn't fall down that chimney. No, Sir, he didn't fall down that chimney. He flew down, and he did it because he lives there. Now listen, and I'll tell you a story.” Peter needed no second invitation. A story from Grandfather Frog is always one of Peter's greatest treats, as you know.

“Chug-a-rum!” began Grandfather Frog, as he always does. “When Old Mother Nature first peopled the Great World, she made each bird a little different from every other bird, and each animal a little different from every other animal. Then she turned them loose to make their way the best they could, and let them alone to test them and see how each would make the best of his advantages. Mr. Swift, the great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of Sooty, felt at first as if Old Mother Nature had forgotten to give him any advantages at all. He was homely. There wasn't so much as a single bright feather in his whole coat. He had a tail which might as well have been no tail at all, so far as he could see. He had tiny feet on which he couldn't walk at all, and with which it was all he could do to hang on to a twig when he wanted to rest. But when it came to wings, he wasn't long in discovering that in these he was blessed beyond most of his neighbors. Those wings certainly were made for speed. They were long and narrow, and they drove him through the air faster than his neighbors with broader wings could fly and with a great deal less effort. He could fly all day without getting tired, and he never was so happy as when darting about high in the air.

“Of course, it didn't take him long to find out that he could catch all kinds of flying insects, and so he had no trouble in filling his stomach while flying, for his mouth was very wide. 'It must be,' thought he, 'that Old Mother Nature expects me to live in the air. I wish I could sleep while I am flying, but I can't. I never feel comfortable sitting on a twig.'

“One day he discovered that he could do something that no other bird could do. By using his wings in a certain way he could drop right straight down without really falling. He practised this a great deal just for fun. Then one day as he was flying over a rocky place, he saw right under him a great hole that went straight down into the ground. It interested him. He wondered what it was like inside. The more he wondered, the more he wanted to find out. So one day, after many trials, he dropped straight down into the hole by means of that new way of flying he had discovered.

“He didn't go very far down, because it was so dark in there, and he was beginning to get a wee bit frightened. On his way up he brushed against the side of the rocky wall and without knowing why, he put out both feet and clung to it, folding his wings for a minute's rest. Then he found that by pressing his funny little tail, which ended in sharp spines, against the wall, he rested more comfortably than ever he had before in all his short life. He could cling to a rough wall very much easier than he could sit on a perch. After that he spent his nights in that hole and was happy.

“A long time later he was far from home when night was coming on, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to get there before dark. Looking down as he flew, he saw the hollow trunk of a great tree which had been broken off by the wind. Why not sleep in that? He circled over it two or three times and then dropped straight down inside. He liked it. He liked it better than he did the hole in the rocks. After that he made his home in a hollow tree.

“In course of time old King Eagle led the birds to a new part of the Great World which Old Mother Nature had been preparing for them to spend the summer in. Mr. Swift went with the others. But when he got there, he could find no hole in the ground and no hollow tree. But he found something else. He found the queer homes of men and on top of each a straight, tall thing quite like a hollow tree, only all black inside and made of what seemed like stone. Having no other place to go, he tried one of them. The next day he searched for a hollow tree but could find none, and so returned to that chimney, for that is what it was. So it was every day. After a little he began to like the chimney. It was easy to get in and out of. No one ever bothered him there. It was easy to cling to the wall of it. At last he decided to build a nest there. And from that day to this, the Swifts have lived in the chimneys on the houses of men. When you thought you saw Sooty fall, he was simply going home to spend the night,” concluded Grandfather Frog.

“Thank you,” replied Peter with a long sigh. “It's a funny world, isn't it, Grandfather Frog? The idea of living in a chimney! The very idea!”

XIII. WHEN PETER RABBIT FIRST MET BLUFFER THE ADDER

|HOPPITY-SKIP down the Crooked Little Path, lipper-ty-lipperty-lip, went Peter Rabbit in his usual heedless, careless way. Peter never can seem to get it into his funny little head why he should be careful when there appears to be no particular reason for being careful. He is like a great many people--careful when he knows that there is danger near, but as heedless as you please when he thinks that all is safe. He has got to see or hear danger before he will believe that it is near. Like a lot of other folks he has yet to wake up to the fact that the only way to keep out of trouble is to be always prepared for trouble.

So Peter hopped and skipped down the Crooked Little Path, as he had a thousand times before, without a thought of danger. Nothing ever had happened to him on the Crooked Little Path, and so he thought nothing ever could. Suddenly as he rounded a little turn, there was a sound that made Peter stop so suddenly that he almost fell over backward--a sound that made every hair on his body stand on end and his eyes pop out with fright. It was a hiss, the loudest, most awful hiss he ever had heard. For just a second Peter was too frightened to move. There, coiled up right in the Crooked Little Path, was a member of the Snake family whom he never had seen before. And such a fierce, ugly-looking fellow as he was! No wonder Peter was frightened. This Snake had the flattest head Peter ever had seen. His body was rather short and thick, and his neck was flattened in a way that made it appear very large and gave to him a very ugly and dangerous look.

As soon as he could get his wits together, Peter turned and raced pell-mell up the Crooked Little Path as fast as his long legs would take him. Looking behind him he didn't see in front of him, and so he almost ran into Jimmy Skunk. In fact, he would have, if Jimmy hadn't cried:

“Hi, there! Why don't you look where you are going? What is the matter with you, anyway, Peter Rabbit?” Peter was so startled by Jimmy that he jumped to one side as if he suddenly had stepped on something hot. Then he saw who it was. “Oh, Jimmy,” he cried, “you mustn't go down the Crooked Little Path!”

“Why not?” demanded Jimmy Skunk, staring at Peter and noting how frightened Peter was.

“Because,” panted Peter, “right down there in the middle of it is one of Mr. Black Snake's cousins, and I know by his looks that he is one of the dangerous kind, like Buzztail the Rattler. Ugh! I nearly ran into him, and he hissed enough to make your hair rise. He's got a terrible temper. I wouldn't go near him again for the world. Where are you going, Jimmy?”

“Down the Crooked Little Path to have a look at this terrible fellow,” replied Jimmy over his shoulder. “Perhaps I can teach him some manners.”

“Oh, Jimmy, do be careful!” begged Peter. “He really is very terrible. I know his bite must be awful. I guess it is worse than that of Buzztail the Rattler. I wouldn't go if I were you.”

“I'm not such a fraidy as you, Peter,” replied Jimmy Skunk, and ambled on down the Crooked Little Path. Peter wasn't sure about it, but he thought he heard Jimmy chuckle. That settled matters for Peter. If Jimmy was laughing at him for warning him of danger, he could just go on and get a good fright. It would serve him right. Peter hesitated a minute, then at a safe distance he followed. He wanted to see Jimmy Skunk when he rounded that little turn in the Crooked Little Path and heard that terrible hiss.

Jimmy ambled along slowly, for you know he never hurries. Presently he disappeared around that little turn, and right away Peter heard that terrible hiss. He expected to see Jimmy come racing back, and he was all ready to make fun of him for pretending to be so brave. But Jimmy didn't come. Once more Peter beard that angry hiss and felt his hair rise on end. Then all was still.

Peter waited as long as he could stand it, and then his curiosity got the best of him. Slowly and carefully be tiptoed along until he could see around the turn in the Crooked Little Path. What he saw quite took his breath away. There sat Jimmy Skunk looking down at something stretched out at his feet. It was that dreadful Snake on his back, and he appeared to be quite dead. Jimmy reached out and poked him, but Mr. Snake didn't move. Jimmy poked him some more, and still he didn't move.

“Oh, Jimmy, however did you dare to try to kill him?” cried Peter.

Jimmy looked back at Peter and grinned. “Come on with me, and I will tell you a story,” said he.

Peter hesitated, but the thought of a story was too much for him, and he followed Jimmy down the Crooked Little Path, taking pains to go around the body of Mr. Snake and not very near it at that, although he knew it was silly and foolish to be afraid of one who was dead. Jimmy didn't go far. He sat down and waited for Peter to join him. From where they were they could see the body of Mr. Snake stretched out on its back in the Crooked Little Path. Somehow, now that he was dead, Mr. Snake didn't look so very fierce and terrible. In fact he didn't look nearly so big as he had when he was alive. Peter was thinking of this when his heart gave a funny little jump. He had turned his head for just a second and now, as he looked back at Mr. Snake, he felt that his eyes must be playing him tricks for Mr. Snake was on his _stomach_ instead of on his _back!_

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but Jimmy made a sign to keep still. So Peter kept still and with popping eyes watched Mr. Snake. Presently he saw Mr. Snake's head come up a little at a time and then move from side to side as if Mr. Snake were looking to see that the way was clear. Slowly Mr. Snake began to glide forward. Then, as if satisfied that no one was watching, he moved faster as if in a hurry to get away from there, and in a moment he disappeared.

Peter gulped two or three times as if trying to swallow the truth and then turned to stare at Jimmy Skunk. Jimmy laughed right out because Peter looked so funny.

“You--you didn't kill him, after all,” gasped Peter.

“No,” replied Jimmy, “I didn't even touch him until you saw me poke him when he lay there on his back.”

Peter looked quite as puzzled as he felt. “Was he just pretending to be dead the way Unc' Billy Possum does?” demanded Peter.

Jimmy nodded. “You've guessed it,” he replied.

“But why did he do it?” persisted Peter, such a puzzled look on his face that Jimmy just had to laugh again.

“Because he was afraid and tried to fool me into thinking him dead so that I would leave him alone,” replied Jimmy.

“Afraid! That fellow afraid!” exclaimed Peter in an unbelieving tone of voice. “Why, when I saw him first, he was the most savage, dangerous-looking fellow that ever I have met.”

Once more Jimmy laughed. “All in his looks, Peter,” said he. “Yes, Sir, all his fierceness is in his looks. Really he is one of the most harmless and gentle fellows in the world. He tried to scare me just as he frightened you, and when he found it wouldn't work, he tried the other plan--pretended that he was dead. No one but Old Mr. Toad has the least reason in the world to be afraid of him. All his fierceness is just pretending, and that is how he comes by his name, which is Bluffer the Puff-Adder. I'm surprised that you've never happened to meet him before. I believe some folks call him the Hog-nosed Snake. I always like to meet him just to see him try to scare me, and when he finds he can't, I do a little pretending myself and give him a little scare by pretending that I am going to fight him. Then he always rolls over on his back and pretends that he is dead. I suppose he is chuckling to himself now because he thinks that he fooled us. The next time you meet him just show him that you know he is perfectly harmless and see how quickly he'll stop pretending that he is so ugly and dangerous. He learned that trick of bluffing from his father, and his father learned it from his father, and so on way back to the days when the world was young. I would tell you the story now if I had time, but I haven't.”

“Then you'll have to do it some other time,” retorted Peter, “for I shall give you no peace until you do.”

XIV. WHEN MR. WOOD MOUSE LEARNED FROM THE BIRDS

|PETER RABBIT never will forget the first time that he saw Whitefoot the Wood Mouse pop out of a nest in a bush a few feet above his head. It wasn't so much the surprise of seeing Whitefoot as it was the discovery that that nest was White-foot's own. Peter, had seen that nest often. It was in a bush just a little above one of Peter's favorite paths on the edge of the Green Forest. Always he had supposed that it belonged to one of his feathered friends. He had seen many such nests. At least, he supposed he had. That was because he hadn't taken the trouble to look at this one particularly. He hadn't used his eyes. If he had, he might have seen that this, while very like other nests he had seen, was different. It was different in that it had a roof. Yes, Sir, this particular nest had a roof. And it had a doorway, a very small doorway, and this doorway was underneath, a very queer place for a bird to make a doorway had there been any bird of his acquaintance who would build a roof to a nest, anyway. All of which goes to show how easy it is to see things without really seeing them at all.

It was just at dusk that Peter happened along this particular little path and saw Whitefoot the Wood Mouse pop out of that nest.

“Hello!” exclaimed Peter. “What are you doing up there? What business have you in that nest? Have you been stealing eggs?”

“No, I haven't been stealing eggs,” retorted Whitefoot indignantly. “And if I haven't any business in this nest I should like to know who has. It's my nest! Who has a better right in it?”

“Your nest!” exclaimed Peter. “Why, I thought you lived in a hollow tree or a hollow log or a hole in the ground or some such place. How long is it since you learned to build a nest like a bird, and who taught you?”

Whitefoot knew by the tone of Peter's voice that Peter didn't believe a word of what he had been told. He looked very hard at Peter, and in his big, soft, black eyes was an indignant look which Peter couldn't help but see. “I don't care whether you believe it or not, this is my nest, and I built it,” said he indignantly. “At least I built it over,” he added, for Whitefoot is very truthful. “In the winter I do live in a hollow tree or a hollow log or a hole in the ground, whichever is most comfortable, but in the warm weather I have a summer home, and this is it. My family has known how to build such homes ever since the days of my great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather when the world was young. It was he who learned the secret, and it has been in our family ever since.”

Peter's long ears stood straight up with excited interest and curiosity. “Tell me about it!” he begged. “Tell me how your great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather learned how to build a nest like a bird. Please tell me, White-foot.”

Whitefoot sat up and daintily washed his pretty white hands. “I don't think I will,” he replied slowly. “You didn't believe me when I said that this nest is mine, and so I'm sure you won't believe the story of my great-grandfather. I don't like telling stories to people who don't believe.”

“But I will believe it!” cried Peter. “If you say it is true, I'll believe every word of it. Please tell me the story, Whitefoot. Oh, please do.” Peter was very much in earnest. “I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first when you said that this nest is yours. But I do now, Whitefoot. I do now. Please, please tell me the story.”