Part 7

“The King of the Clinkers waited until the line was formed, and then he sounded the little bell. The horse started off. The bell rang twice, and the horse went faster. Sparkle Spry, looking from the window, could see that he was going at a tremendous rate. The horse went close to the opposing army, and then turned and went down the line to the left. Turning, it came up the line, this time very close. Turning again, it came back, and the soldiers in the front line were compelled to scamper out of the way. While this was going on, the other army came up, but by the time it arrived on the battle-ground there was nothing to fight.

“The wooden horse had stampeded the enemy’s army, and the soldiers had all run away, leaving their arms, their tents, and their bread wagons to be captured.

“The commanding general of the victorious army thanked Sparkle Spry very heartily. ‘I’ll mention your name in my report to the king,’ he said. ‘But I hardly know what to say about the affair. You wouldn’t call this a battle, would you?’

“‘No,’ replied Sparkle Spry, ‘I saw no signs of a battle where I went along.’

“‘It is very curious,’ said the general. ‘I don’t know what we are coming to. A great victory, but nobody killed and no prisoners taken.’

“Then he went off to write his report, and some time afterward the king sent for Sparkle Spry, and gave him lands and houses and money, and made him change his every-day name for a high-sounding one. And the baker and his wife came to live near him, and the King of the Clinkers used to come at night with all his little men, and they had a very good time after all, in spite of the high-sounding name.”

With this, Tickle-My-Toes turned and ran away as hard as he could, whereupon Mr. Rabbit opened his eyes and asked in the most solemn way:—

“Is there a wooden horse after him? I wish you’d look.”

XIII.

HOW BROTHER LION LOST HIS WOOL.

Mr. Rabbit shaded his eyes with his hand, and pretended to believe that there might be a wooden horse trying to catch Tickle-My-Toes after all. But Mrs. Meadows said that there was no danger of anything like that. She explained that Tickle-My-Toes was running away because he didn’t want to hear what was said about his story.

“I think he’s right,” remarked Mr. Rabbit. “It was the queerest tale I ever heard in all my life. You might sit and listen to tales from now until—well—until the first Tuesday before the last Saturday in the year seven hundred thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven, and you’d never hear another tale like it.”

“I don’t see why,” suggested Mrs. Meadows.

“Well,” replied Mr. Rabbit, chewing his tobacco very slowly, “there are more reasons than I have hairs in my head, but I’ll only give you three. In the first place, this Sparkle Spry doesn’t marry the king’s daughter. In the second place, he doesn’t live happily forever after; and in the third place”—Mr. Rabbit paused and scratched his head—“I declare, I’ve forgotten the third reason.”

“If it’s no better than the other two, it doesn’t amount to much,” said Mrs. Meadows. “There’s no reason why he shouldn’t have married the king’s daughter, if the king had a daughter, and if he didn’t live happily it was his own fault. Stories are not expected to tell everything.”

“Now, I’m glad of that,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, “truly glad. I’ve had a story on my mind for many years, and I’ve kept it to myself because I had an idea that in telling a story you had to tell everything.”

“Well, you were very much mistaken,” said Mrs. Meadows with emphasis.

“So it seems—so it seems,” remarked Mr. Rabbit.

“What was the story?” asked Buster John.

“I called it a story,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “but that is too big a name for it. I reckon you have heard of the time when Brother Lion had hair all over him as long and as thick as the mane he now has?”

But the children shook their heads. They had never heard of that, and even Mrs. Meadows said it was news to her.

“Now, that is very queer,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, filling his pipe slowly and deliberately. “Very queer, indeed. Time and again I’ve had it on the tip of my tongue to mention this matter, but I always came to the conclusion that everybody knew all about it. Of course it doesn’t seem reasonable that Brother Lion went about covered from head to foot, and to the tip of his tail, with long, woolly hair; but, on the other hand, when he was first seen without his long, woolly hair, he was the laughing-stock of the whole district. I know mighty well he was the most miserable looking creature I ever saw.

“It was curious, too, how it happened,” Mr. Rabbit continued. “We were all living in a much colder climate than that in the country next door. Six months in the year there was ice in the river and snow on the ground, and them that didn’t lay up something to eat when the weather was open had a pretty tough time of it the rest of the year. Brother Lion’s long woolly hair belonged to the climate. But for that, he would have frozen to death, for he was a great hunter, and he had to be out in all sorts of weather.

“One season we had a tremendous spell of cold weather, the coldest I had ever felt. I happened to be out one day, browsing around, when I saw blue smoke rising a little distance off, so I says to myself, says I, I’ll go within smelling distance of the fire and thaw myself out. I went towards the smoke, and I soon saw that Mr. Man, who lived not far off, had been killing hogs.

“Now, the funny thing about that hog-killing business,” continued Mr. Rabbit, leaning back in his chair and smacking his lips together, as old people will do sometimes, “was that, after the hogs were killed, Mr. Man had to get their hair off. I don’t know how people do now, but that was what Mr. Man did then. He had to get the hair off—but how? Well, he piled up wood, and in between the logs he placed rocks and stones. Then he dug a hole in the ground and half buried a hogshead, the open end tilted up a little higher than the other end. This hogshead he filled with as much water as it would hold in that position. Then he set fire to the pile of wood. As it burned, of course the rocks would become heated. These Mr. Man would take in a shovel and throw in the hogshead of water. The hot rocks would heat the water, and in this way the hogs were scalded so the hair on their hides could be scraped off.

“Well, the day I’m telling you about, Mr. Man had been killing hogs and scalding the hair off. When I got there the pile of wood had burned away, and Mr. Man had just taken his hogs home in his wagon. The weather was very cold, and as I stood there warming myself I heard Brother Lion roaring a little way off. He had scented the fresh meat, and I knew he would head right for the place where the hogs had been killed.

“Now, Brother Lion had been worrying me a good deal. He had hired Brother Wolf to capture me, and Brother Wolf had failed. Then he hired Brother Bear, and Brother Bear got into deep trouble. Finally he hired Brother Fox, and I knew the day wasn’t far off when Mrs. Fox would have to hang crape on her door and go in mourning. All this had happened some time before, and I bore Brother Lion no good will.

“So, when I heard him in the woods singing out that he smelled fresh blood, I grabbed the shovel the man had left, and threw a dozen or so hot rocks in the hogshead, and then threw some fresh dirt on the fire. Presently Brother Lion came trotting up, sniffing the air, purring like a spinning wheel a-running, and dribbling at the mouth.

“I passed the time of day with him as he came up, but kept further away from him than he could jump. He seemed very much surprised to see me, and said it was pretty bad weather for such little chaps to be out; but I told him I had on pretty thick underwear, and besides that I had just taken a hot bath in the hogshead.

“‘I’m both cold and dirty,’ says he, smelling around the hogshead, ‘and I need a bath. I’ve been asleep in the woods yonder, and I’m right stiff with cold. But that water is bubbling around in there mightily.’

“‘I’ve just flung some rocks in,’ says I.

“‘How do you get in?’ says he.

“‘Back in,’ says I.

“Brother Lion walked around the hogshead once or twice, as if to satisfy himself that there was no trap, and then he squatted and began to crawl into the hogshead backwards. By the time his hind leg touched the water, he pulled it out with a howl, and tried to jump away, but, somehow, his foot slipped off the rim of the hogshead, and he soused into the water—kerchug!—up to his shoulders.”

Mr. Rabbit paused, shut his eyes, and chuckled to himself.

“Well, you never heard such howling since you were born. Brother Lion scrambled out quicker than a cat can wink her left eye, and rolled on the ground, and scratched around, and tore up the earth considerably. I thought at first he was putting on and pretending; but the water must have been mighty hot, for while Brother Lion was scuffling around, all the wool on his body came off up to his shoulders, and if you were to see him to-day you’d find him just that way.

“And more than that—before he soused himself in that hogshead of hot water, Brother Lion used to strut around considerably. Being the king of all the animals, he felt very proud, and he used to go with his tail curled over his back. But since that time, he sneaks around as if he was afraid somebody would see him.

“There’s another thing. His hide hurt him so bad for a week that every time a fly lit on him he’d wiggle his tail. Some of the other animals, seeing him do this, thought it was a new fashion, and so they began to wiggle their tails. Watch your old house cat when you go home, and you will see her wiggle her tail forty times a day without any reason or provocation. Why? Simply because the other animals, when they saw Brother Lion wiggling his tail, thought it was the fashion; and so they all began it, and now it has become a habit with the most of them. It is curious how such things go.

“But the queerest thing of all,” continued Mr. Rabbit, leaning back in his chair, and looking at Mrs. Meadows and the children through half-closed eyes, “was this—that the only wool left on Brother Lion’s body, with the exception of his mane, was a little tuft right on the end of his tail.”

“How was that?” inquired Mrs. Meadows.

Mr. Rabbit laughed heartily, but made no reply.

“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” said Mrs. Meadows with some emphasis. “A civil question deserves a civil answer, I’ve always heard.”

“Well, you know what you said a while ago,” remarked Mr. Rabbit.

“I don’t know as I remember,” replied Mrs. Meadows.

“Why, you said pointedly that it was not necessary to tell everything in a story.” Mr. Rabbit made this remark with great dignity. “And I judged by the way you said it that it was bad taste to tell everything.”

“Oh, I remember now,” said Mrs. Meadows, laughing. “It was only one of my jokes.”

“But this is no joke,” protested Mr. Rabbit, winking at the children, but keeping the serious side of his face toward Mrs. Meadows. “I took you at your solemn word. Now there is a tuft of wool on Brother Lion’s tail, and you ask me how it happened to be there. I answer you as you answered me—’You don’t have to tell everything in a story.’ Am I right, or am I wrong?”

“I’ll not dispute with you,” remarked Mrs. Meadows, taking up her knitting.

“I don’t mind telling you,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, turning to the children with a confidential air. “It was as simple as falling off a log. When Brother Lion fell into the hogshead of hot water, the end of his tail slipped through the bunghole.”

This explanation was such an unexpected one that the children laughed, and so did Mrs. Meadows. But Mr. Thimblefinger, who had put in an appearance, shook his head and remarked that he was afraid that Mr. Rabbit got worse as he grew older, instead of better.

XIV.

BROTHER LION HAS A SPELL OF SICKNESS.

“The fact is,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “I was just telling the story—if you can call it a story—to please company. If you think the end of Brother Lion’s tale is the end of the story, well and good; but it didn’t stop there when I told it in my young days. And it didn’t stop there when it happened. But maybe I’ve talked too long and said too much. You know how we gabble when we get old.”

“I like to hear you talk,” said Sweetest Susan, edging a little closer to Mr. Rabbit and smiling cutely.

Mr. Rabbit took off his glasses and wiped them on his big red handkerchief.

“There’s some comfort in that,” he declared. “If you really like to hear me talk, I’ll go right ahead and tell the rest of the story. It’s a little rough in spots, but you’ll know how to make allowances for that. The creatures had claws and tushes, and where these grow thick and long, there’s bound to be more or less scratching and biting.

“Of course, when Brother Lion had the wool scalded off his hide, he was in a pretty bad condition. He managed to get home, but it was a long time before he could come out and go roaming around the country. As he was the king of the animals, of course all the rest of the creatures called on him to see how he was getting on. I didn’t go myself, because I didn’t know how he felt towards me. I was afraid he had heard me laugh when he backed into the hogshead of hot water, though I made believe I was sneezing. Consequently, I didn’t go and ask him how he was getting on.

“But I went close enough to know that Brother Fox had told Brother Lion a great rigamarole about me. That was Brother Fox’s way. In front of your face, he was sweeter than sauce and softer than pudding, but behind your back—well, he didn’t have any claws, but what tushes he had he showed them.

“I never did hear what Brother Fox said about me in any one place and at any one time, but I heard a little here and a little there, and when it was all patched up and put together it made a great mess. I had done this, and I had done that; I had laughed at Brother Lion behind his back, and I had snickered at him before his face; I had talked about him and made fun of him; and, besides all that, I had never had the politeness to call on him.

“All the other animals found Brother Lion so willing to listen that they learned Brother Fox’s lies by heart, and went and recited them here and there about the country; and in that way I got hold of the worst of them. The trouble with Brother Fox was that he had an old grudge against me. He had been trying to outdo me for many a long year, but somehow or other he always got caught in his own trap. He had a willing mind and a thick head, and when these get together there’s always trouble. The willing mind pushes and the thick head goes with its eyes shut.

“In old times, people used to say that Brother Fox was cunning, but I believe they’ve quit that since the facts have come to light. My experience with him is that he is blessed with about as much sense as a half-grown guinea pig. He’s a pretty swift runner, but he doesn’t even know when the time comes to run.

“Of course, when Brother Fox found out that for some reason or other I wasn’t visiting Brother Lion, he seized the chance to talk about me, and it wasn’t such a great while before he managed to make Brother Lion believe that I was the worst enemy he had and the cause of all his trouble.

“I knew pretty well that something of the sort was going on, for every time I’d meet any of the other animals, they’d ask me why I didn’t call and see Brother Lion. Brother Fox, especially, was anxious to know why I hadn’t gone to ask after Brother Lion’s health.

“I put them all off for some time, until finally one day I heard that Brother Lion had given Brother Fox orders to catch me and bring me before him. This didn’t worry me at all, because I knew that Brother Fox was just as able to catch me as I was to catch a wild duck in the middle of a mill-pond. But I concluded I’d go and see Brother Lion and find out all about his health.

“So I went, taking good care to go galloping by Brother Fox’s house. He was sitting on his front porch, and I could see he was astonished, but I neither said howdy nor turned my head. I knew he would follow along after.

“When I got to Brother Lion’s house everything was very quiet, but I knew Brother Lion was awake, for I heard him groan every time he tried to turn over. So I rapped at the door and then walked in. Brother Lion watched me from under his tousled mane for some time before he said anything. Then he says, says he:—

“‘What’s this I hear?’

“Says I, ‘Not having your ears, I can’t say.’

“‘My ears are as good as anybody’s ears,’ says he.

“‘But I can’t hear through them,’ says I.

“He grunted and grumbled a little over this, because he didn’t know what reply to make.

“‘You haven’t been to see me until now,’ says he.

“‘No,’ says I; ‘I knew you were pretty bad off, and so I had no need to come and ask you how you were. I knew I was partly to blame in the matter, and so I went off to see if I couldn’t find a cure for you.’

“Says he, ‘Don’t talk about cures. Everybody that has come to see me has a cure. I’ve tried ’em all, and now I’m worse off than I was at first.’

“Says I, ‘I could have come as often as Brother Fox did, and my coming would have done you just as much good.’

“‘I don’t know about that,’ says he. ‘Brother Fox has been mighty neighborly. He has lost sleep on my account, and he has told me a great many things that I didn’t know before.’

“‘Likely enough,’ says I. ‘I’ve known him to tell people a great many things that he didn’t know himself. But Brother Fox,’ says I, ‘was the least of all things in my mind when I found out that you had been scalded by water that was not more than milk-warm. I didn’t need to be told that when milk-warm water scalds the hair off of anybody, something else is the matter beside the scalding.’

“At this Brother Lion seemed to quiet down a little. He didn’t talk so loud, and he began to show the whites of his eyes.

“‘Yes,’ says I, ‘Brother Fox is famous for talking behind the door, but I’ve noticed that he never says anything nice about anybody. You know what he’s said about me, but do you know what he’s said about you? Of course you don’t, and I’m not going to tell you, because I don’t want you to be worried.’

“‘But I’d like to know,’ says Brother Lion, says he.

“‘It wouldn’t do you any good,’ says I. ‘I could have come here and jowered and made a good deal of trouble, but instead of that I knew of an old friend of mine who knows how to cure hot burns and cold burns, and so I’ve been off on a long trip to see the witch doctor, old Mammy-Bammy Big Money.’

“‘And did you see her?’ says Brother Lion, says he.

“‘I most certainly did,’ says I, ‘and furthermore I laid the whole case before her. I had to travel far and wide to find her, but when I did find her I asked her to tell me what was good for a person who had been scalded by milk-warm water. She asked me three times the name of the person, and three times I told her. Then she lit a pine splinter, blew it out, and watched the smoke scatter. There was something wrong, for she shook her head three times.’

“‘What did Mammy-Bammy Big Money say?’ says Brother Lion, says he. His voice sounded very weak.

“‘She said nothing,’ says I. ‘She watched the smoke scatter, and then she put her hands before her face and rocked from side to side. After that she walked back and forth, and when she sat down again she took off her left slipper, shook out the gravel, and counted it as it fell. Once more she asked me the name of the person who had been scalded in milk-warm water, and once more I told her.’

“‘Wait!’ says Brother Lion, says he. ‘Do you mean to tell me the water I fell in was only milk-warm?’

“Says I, ‘It seemed so to me. I had just washed my face and hands in it.’

“‘Well, well, well!’ says Brother Lion. ‘What else did she say?’ says he.

“‘I don’t like to tell you,’ says I; and just about that time Brother Fox walked in.

“‘But you must tell me,’ says Brother Lion, says he.

“‘Well,’ says I, ‘if I must I will, but I don’t like to. When Mammy-Bammy Big Money had counted the white pebbles that fell from her slipper, and asked me the name of the person who was scalded in milk-warm water, she told me that he could be cured by poulticing the burns with the fresh hide of his best friend. I asked her the name of this friend, but she shook her head and said she would call no names. Then she said that your best friend had short ears, a sharp nose, keen eyes, slim legs, and a bushy tail.’

“Brother Lion shut his eyes and pretended to be thinking. I looked at Brother Fox as solemnly as I knew how, and shook my head slowly. Brother Fox got mighty restless. He got up and walked around.

“‘Well, well, well!’ says Brother Lion, says he. ‘That might mean Brother Wolf, or it might mean Brother Fox.’

“‘I expect it means Brother Wolf,’ says Brother Fox.

“‘Why, you don’t mean to stand up here and say right before Brother Lion’s face and eyes that Brother Wolf is a better friend to him than you are!’ says I.

“Brother Fox’s mouth fell open and his tongue hung out, and just about that time I made my best bow, and put out for home.”

“But did Brother Lion try the remedy?” Buster John inquired, as Mr. Rabbit paused and began to light his pipe.

“I think Brother Lion caught him and skinned him. It’s a great pity if he didn’t. But I’ll not be certain. So many things have happened since then that I disremember about the hide business. But you may be sure Brother Lion was very superstitious. My best opinion is that he tried the cure.”

XV.

A MOUNTAIN OF GOLD.

“That is a funny name for a witch,” said Buster John, as Rabbit paused and began to nod.

“Which name was that?” inquired Mr. Thimblefinger.

“Why, Mammy-Bammy Big Money,” replied Buster John, elevating his voice a little.

“Well, it’s very simple,” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger. “‘Mammy-Bammy’ was to catch the ear of the animals, and ‘Big Money’ was to attract the attention of the people.”

“Dat’s so,” said Drusilla. “Kaze time you say ‘money’ folks’ll stop der work an’ lissen at you; an’ ef you say ‘Big Money’ dey’ll ax you ter say it agin’.”

“It’s very curious about money,” continued Mr. Thimblefinger. “I don’t know whether you ever thought about it much—and I hope you haven’t—but it has pestered me a good deal, this thing you call money.”

“It’s mighty bothersome,” assented Mrs. Meadows, “when you are where people use it, and when you have none except what you can beg or borrow. Thank goodness! I’m free from all bother now.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “I don’t see that people have much the advantage of the animals when it comes to using money. I’ve seen grown people work night and day for a few pieces of metal.”

“Why, of course!” cried Buster John. “They can take the pieces of metal and buy bread and meat to eat and clothes to wear.”

“So much the more wonderful!” remarked Mr. Thimblefinger. “What do the people who have more bread and meat and clothes than they can use want with the pieces of metal?”

“So they may buy something else that they haven’t got,” said Buster John.

But Mr. Thimblefinger shook his head. He was not satisfied.

“It puts me in mind of a tale I heard once about a poor man who was the richest person in the world.”

“But that couldn’t be, you know,” protested Buster John.