Chapter 1

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THE TALE OF TIMOTHY TURTLE

_SLEEPY-TIME TALES_ (Trademark Registered)

BY ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY

AUTHOR OF _TUCK-ME-IN TALES_ (Trademark Registered)

THE TALE OF CUFFY BEAR THE TALE OF FRISKY SQUIRREL THE TALE OF TOMMY FOX THE TALE OF FATTY COON THE TALE OF BILLY WOODCHUCK THE TALE OF JIMMY RABBIT THE TALE OF PETER MINK THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK THE TALE OF BROWNIE BEAVER THE TALE OF PADDY MUSKRAT THE TALE OF FERDINAND FROG THE TALE OF DICKIE DEER MOUSE THE TALE OF TIMOTHY TURTLE THE TALE OF MAJOR MONKEY THE TALE OF BENNY BADGER

_SLEEPY-TIME TALES_ (Trademark Registered)

THE TALE OF TIMOTHY TURTLE

BY ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY Author of "_TUCK-ME-IN TALES_" (Trademark Registered)

ILLUSTRATED BY HARRY L. SMITH

NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS

Made in the United States of America

COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY GROSSET & DUNLAP

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I A FAMOUS BITER II AN OLD-TIMER III TIMOTHY'S GRUDGE IV A TIGHT SQUEEZE V MR. TURTLE'S MISTAKE VI MR. CROW'S KIND OFFER VII LEARNING TO FLY VIII TURNING TURTLE IX A PLEASURE TRIP X A WARNING XI ON THE BEAVER DAM XII KIND TIMOTHY TURTLE XIII THE PLOT XIV CAUGHT! XV THE REDSKINS' WAY XVI JOHNNIE GREEN'S INITIALS XVII TIMOTHY NEEDS HELP XVIII PETER MINK'S PLAN XIX CAREFUL MR. FROG XX THE ALMANAC XXI A QUEER WISH XXII THE UNWELCOME GUEST XXIII A MERRY SONG

Illustrations

Timothy was going through the queerest motions. Frontispiece

"Let Me In!" said Timothy to Mr. Frog.

Timothy began to climb the steep bluff.

"Let me go!" Fatty Coon shrieked.

THE TALE OF TIMOTHY TURTLE

I

A FAMOUS BITER

That black rascal, Mr. Crow, was not the oldest dweller in Pleasant Valley. There was another elderly gentleman who had spent more summers--and a great many more winters--under the shadow of Blue Mountain than he.

All the wild folk knew this person by the name of Timothy Turtle. And if they didn't see him so often as Mr. Crow it was because he spent much of his time on the muddy bottom of Black Creek. Besides, he never flapped his way through the air to Farmer Green's cornfield, in plain sight of everyone who happened to look up at the sky.

On the contrary, Mr. Timothy Turtle seldom wandered far from the banks of the creek--for the best of reasons. He was anything but a fast walker. In fact, one might say that he waddled, or even crawled, rather than walked. But in the water he was quite a different creature. By means of his webbed feet he could swim as easily as Mr. Crow could fly. And he could stay at the bottom of Black Creek a surprisingly long time before he came up for a breath of air. Indeed, Mr. Crow sometimes remarked that _he_ would be just as well pleased if Timothy Turtle buried himself in the mud beneath the water _and never_ came up again!

Such a speech was enough to show that Mr. Crow was not fond of Timothy Turtle. Perhaps Mr. Crow disliked to have a neighbor who was older than he. But Mr. Crow himself always laughed at such a suggestion.

"The trouble is----" he would say--"the trouble is, Timothy Turtle is _too grumpy_. Now, _I'm_ old. But I claim that that's no reason why I shouldn't be pleasant." And then he would laugh--somewhat harshly--just to show that he knew how.

There was a good deal of truth in what Mr. Crow said. Timothy Turtle was grumpy. But it was not old age that made him so. He had been like that all his life. There never was a time when he Wasn't snappish, when he wouldn't rather bite a body than not.

And that was the reason why he had not more friends. To be sure, many people knew him. But usually they took good care not to get too near him.

For Timothy Turtle had a most unpleasant way of shooting out his long neck from under his shell and seizing a person in his powerful jaws. In spite of his great age he was quick as a flash. And one had to step lively to escape him.

If Timothy had bitten you just for an instant, and then stopped, this trick of his wouldn't have been so disagreeable. But he was not content with a mere nip. When he had hold of you he never wanted to let you go. And it was no joke getting away, once you found yourself caught by him.

As for Timothy Turtle, he never could understand why his neighbors objected to this little trick of his. He always said that it was more fun than almost anything else he could think of. And it is true that he never seemed so happy as he did when he had caught some careless person and was biting him without mercy.

"Anybody that wants to may bite _me,"_ Timothy used to declare. But perhaps he never stopped to think that one might almost as well bite a rock as his hard shell. And anybody might better chew a piece of leather than try to take a mouthful out of his legs, or his neck, or his head.

So no one paid any heed to Timothy Turtle's kind offer. Even Peter Mink, who was himself overfond of biting people, wisely let Mr. Turtle alone.

There is no doubt that it was the safer way.

II

AN OLD-TIMER

It was pleasant for Timothy Turtle that he lived in Black Creek, for he was very fond of fishing. If he had happened to make his home among the rocks on the top of Blue Mountain he would have had to travel a long way to find even a trout stream. But in Black Creek there were fish right in his dooryard, one may say.

It was lucky for him, too, that he liked fish to eat. And whenever he wanted a change of food the creek was a good place in which to find a frog, or perhaps a foolish duckling who had not learned to be careful.

It was no wonder that all the mother birds in the neighborhood used to warn their children to beware of Timothy Turtle. Did not Long Bill Wren, who lived among the reeds on the bank of Black Creek, have a narrow escape when he was only a few weeks old?

He had just learned to fly. And although his mother had told him not to leave the bank, he disobeyed her. When she was not watching him he sailed over the water for the first time in his life and alighted on a flat object on top of a rock.

Bill supposed it was a stone that he was sitting on. And he felt so proud of what he had done that he cried, "Look! Oh, look!"

His poor mother was dreadfully frightened when she saw him.

"Come back!" she shrieked. "You're in great danger!"

So Bill flew back to the bank as fast as he could go.

"What have I told you about Timothy Turtle?" his mother asked him sharply.

"You've said to keep away from him, or he might eat me," young Bill faltered.

"Exactly!" his mother cried. "And the moment I glance away, here you go and sit right on his back! It's a wonder you're alive."

Her son hung his head. And never again did he pick out a perch until he was sure it wasn't old Mr. Turtle.

When he was older, and had children of his own, Long Bill often remarked that it was too bad Mr. Turtle didn't live in some other place. "He makes my wife so nervous!" he used to exclaim. "With a new brood of at least a half-dozen youngsters to take care of every summer one has to watch sharp for Mr. Turtle whenever the children play near the water." And Long Bill always took pains to tell his children of his own adventure with Timothy Turtle and warn them not to make such a mistake.

"Luckily I sat exactly in the center of Mr. Turtle's shell, so he couldn't reach me," Long Bill was explaining to his family one day. "But if I had happened to perch on his head I certainly wouldn't be here now."

"Oh, Mr. Turtle is too slow to catch me," one of the youngsters boasted. "I saw him on the bank to-day; and he only _crawled_."

"Ah! You don't know him," Long Bill Wren replied. "When he wants to, he can stand up on his hind legs as quick as a wink. And he can dart his head out just like a snake."

"Ugh!" Long Bill's small son shivered as he spoke. "I wish Mr. Turtle would go away from our creek."

"_He_ thinks it's _his_ creek," Long Bill Wren observed. "He has lived in it years and years and years. We'll have to get on with him as best we can, for there's no doubt that Timothy Turtle is here to stay."

III

TIMOTHY'S GRUDGE

Sometimes Fatty Coon liked a taste of fresh fish, just by way of a change from Farmer Green's corn, and blackberries, wild grapes, bugs--and all the other dainties on which he dined.

So it happened that one day he visited Black Creek, where he crouched near the water with the hope that some silly fish would swim within reach of his sharp claws.

For a long time he waited patiently. And at last, to his great joy, a young pickerel nosed his way through the shallow water in front of him.

The newcomer was hunting flies. And he did not notice the eager fisherman.

Fatty Coon waited until just the right moment. And then one of his paws darted suddenly into the water.

But instead of Fatty Coon catching the pickerel, someone else caught Fatty Coon.

His captor was no less a person than Timothy Turtle himself, who had been buried all this time in the mud almost under Fatty Coon's nose. That is, his body was buried. His head and neck he had left free, so that he might strike at a fish when one came his way. But he had seen something else that took his fancy. When Fatty's paw scooped into the water Timothy Turtle just _had_ to grab it.

"Let me go!" Fatty Coon shrieked, for Mr. Turtle's cruel jaws hurt him terribly.

"Why, this is fun!" Timothy Turtle muttered thickly, as he took a firmer hold on Fatty's paw. "Besides, I've been wanting to talk with you for a long time."

"Then you'd better let me go," Fatty groaned, "because you can't talk well with your mouth full."

"I can say all I need to," Timothy Turtle grunted. "And I know that if I dropped your paw you'd run off."

"Hurry, then!" Fatty Coon begged him piteously. "Hurry and tell me what you have to say. And please talk fast!"

Timothy Turtle almost smiled.

"Am I hurting you?" he inquired.

"Yes, you are!" cried Fatty Coon.

"Good!" Mr. Turtle snorted. "I meant to, because I've a grudge against you."

Fatty Coon couldn't think what he meant.

"I've never done a thing to you," he declared.

"Perhaps not!" Timothy Turtle admitted.

"But you stole Mrs. Turtle's eggs--twenty-seven of them--and you can't deny it."

Now, it was true--what Timothy Turtle said. Hidden among the reeds one day, Fatty Coon had watched Mrs. Turtle bury her eggs in the sand, to hatch. And when she had gone he had crept out from his hiding-place, dug up her precious, round, white treasures, and eaten them, every one.

Well, Fatty Coon dropped his head in front of Mr. Turtle. He was somewhat ashamed, and frightened, too. And he did not like to look into Timothy Turtle's blinking eyes. "How did you know?" he asked Mr. Turtle.

"Mrs. Turtle told me," said Timothy, shifting his hold slightly, for a better one.

"How did the old lady know who took her eggs?" Fatty persisted.

"Mr. Crow saw everything that happened--and don't you call my wife an old lady!" Timothy Turtle spluttered.

"Very well! She's a _young_ one, of course," Fatty said hastily. "But I don't know how I've harmed you."

"You don't, eh?" Timothy Turtle snarled. "Then I'll explain. I meant to have those eggs myself, young man!"

IV

A TIGHT SQUEEZE

Timothy Turtle's remark was most surprising. It almost took Fatty Coon's breath away. And for a moment or two he even forgot the pain in his paw.

"Do you mean to say," he asked, "that you like turtles' eggs!"

"Do I?" said Timothy. "There's no better treat, in my opinion, than a tender young egg, especially if it's well mixed with sand. And, of course, twenty-seven of them are twenty-seven times as good."

"I'm sorry----" Fatty told him--"I'm sorry that I ever touched the old--I mean the _young_--lady's eggs. And now that you've almost bitten my paw in two, please--good Mr. Turtle--let me go!"

But good Mr. Turtle had no notion of freeing his prisoner.

"Not yet!" he snapped. "I'm going to bite you twenty-seven times as long, and twenty-seven times as hard--if I can."

"But it was only a mistake!" Fatty Coon moaned. "I never knew you wanted those eggs yourself."

"Take care----" said Timothy Turtle sternly--"take care that you never make such a mistake again."

"Don't do that!" Fatty Coon suddenly cried.

"Don't do _what_?" was Mr. Turtle's testy reply.

"Don't pull on my leg!" Fatty Coon pleaded. "You'll have me in the water in another moment, and I'll get wet, and my mother won't like it a bit."

But Timothy Turtle paid no heed to Fatty Coon's objections.

"Certainly I'll pull you into the creek," he declared. "I'm going to take you out where the water's deep, and drag you down, down, down to the very bottom. We'll have lots of fun burying ourselves in the mud. And I venture to say that you'll like it so well down there that you'll never want to come up again."

If Fatty Coon was frightened before, now he was terrified almost out of his wits. And he began to claw frantically at Timothy Turtle's head.

Luckily he had three free paws. And of these he made good use. In the shallows near the bank he struggled with all his might and main. And soon the water was churned into a muddy pool.

Fatty never knew exactly how he succeeded in breaking loose from Mr. Turtle. Anyhow, he found himself free at last; and he lost no time in scrambling up the bank to safety.

Afterward Timothy Turtle always complained that Fatty Coon didn't "fight fair."

"He gouges," Timothy would explain. "He'd just as soon stick one of his claws into your eye as not. And I claim that's something no real gentleman will do."

Now, Fatty did not leave Black Creek at once, after his adventure with Timothy Turtle. He paused for a time, to squat on the bank and nurse his injured paw.

While he lingered there he happened to glance up. And whom should he see, sitting motionless in a tree near-by, but that old rascal, Mr. Crow!

"Oh! Naughty, naughty!" Mr. Crow cawed in a mocking voice. "You've been fighting."

"It's all your fault," Fatty growled. "If you'd minded your own affairs Timothy Turtle would never have known anything about those eggs."

"Bless your heart!" old Mr. Crow cried. "Timothy Turtle would have seized you just the same, if you'd never touched his wife's eggs. You don't know him as well as I do."

"Perhaps not!" Fatty Coon replied. "And what's more, I don't want to. I never want to see Timothy Turtle again."

Old Mr. Crow laughed merrily at that speech. But Fatty Coon only turned his back on him.

_He_ was in no mood for laughter.

V

MR. TURTLE'S MISTAKE

Mr. Crow was in no hurry to leave Black Creek. And after Fatty Coon had limped away the old gentleman still sat in the tree which hung over the water. He hoped that Timothy Turtle would crawl out upon the bank and growl about Fatty.

The old black rascal was not disappointed. Fatty Coon had not been gone long when Timothy Turtle dragged himself out of the creek and stretched himself upon the sand in the warm sunshine.

"How's your eye?" Mr. Crow asked him hoarsely.

"It's feeling better; but it's a wonder that I can see with it at all," Timothy Turtle grumbled. "If I ever get hold of that fat young fellow again I'll pull him under the water before he knows what's happened to him. He doesn't fight _fair_."

Old Mr. Crow chuckled.

"You'll never have another chance to show him the right way," he remarked. "He won't come near this creek, or my name's not--ahem--Mr. Crow."

"What's your first name?" Timothy Turtle inquired, as he stared unpleasantly at the speaker.

"Never mind!" said the other. "Mr. Crow will do, if you want to attract my attention."

Timothy Turtle frowned.

"I don't want to," he retorted. "The fact is, I'd rather be alone. I don't care to have strangers peeping down at me when I'm enjoying a sun-bath."

"But I like to look at you," old Mr. Crow assured him solemnly. "You make me think of somebody I've known for a good many years."

"Ah! An old friend!" Timothy exclaimed.

"Well--not a _friend_, exactly," Mr. Crow explained. "He lives in the South, where I spend the winters. You look like him, in many ways."

"And his name?" Timothy Turtle said.

"Mr. Alligator!"

Timothy Turtle grunted.

"Humph!" he said. "I've never heard of him."

"That's not strange," old Mr. Crow told him. "He stays all the time in the South and you stay all the time in the North. You couldn't very well meet, you see."

"Your tail is a good deal like his," Mr. Crow continued. "And when you walk you have a trick of raising yourself sometimes on your hind legs, with your head and tail stretched out--a trick that reminds me of him."

For once Timothy seemed pleased.

"Anything else?" he demanded, with something that was almost like a smile. Unfortunately, he had passed so many years with a constant frown on his face that smiling actually hurt him.

"Why, yes! There is something else," old Mr. Crow went on. "You and he have the same way of _snapping_ at things."

There was no doubt, now, that Timothy Turtle was gratified.

"He must be a fine bird--this Mr. Alligator!" he exclaimed.

Old Mr. Crow spluttered. And he had to hang on tight to save himself from tumbling off his perch.

A bird! Timothy Turtle thought that Mr. Alligator was a bird!

The mistake was so amusing that Mr. Crow wanted to laugh. But he knew that would never do--if he wanted any more fun with Timothy Turtle.

So he pretended to cough. And he wrapped his muffler more snugly about his neck, remarking that there was a cold wind that day, even though the sun _was_ warm.

VI

MR. CROW'S KIND OFFER

"I suppose----" Timothy Turtle said to his young friend, old Mr. Crow--"I suppose Mr. Alligator is a fine flier."

"He's a very powerful fellow," old Mr. Crow replied with a sly smile.

"Did you ever try to follow him?" Timothy wanted to know.

Mr. Crow shook his head.

"No!" he answered. "I shouldn't want to do that, because one never could tell when he might take a notion to jump into the water."

"Oh! Then he can swim, can he?"

"Certainly!" Mr. Crow assured him.

"Then that's another way in which he's like me!" Timothy Turtle cried. "And if I could only fly, I'd be still more like him."

"Why don't you learn?" Mr. Crow suggested wickedly.

"I'm too old," Timothy sighed.

"Not at all!" Mr. Crow hastened to assure him. "One can never be too old to _try_ a thing."

But Timothy Turtle replied that even if he was young enough to attempt such a feat as flying, he hadn't the least idea of the way to go about it.

Old Mr. Crow was most helpful.

"I'll tell you what you ought to do," he advised. "You swim down the creek as far as the big bluff. And it will be a simple matter for you to climb up to the top of the bluff and jump off the rock that hangs high up over the water."

Timothy Turtle looked far from happy at that suggestion.

"I shouldn't care to do that," he said.

"Why not?" Mr. Crow asked him. "You know there's only one way of flying, and that's through the air."

"I might fall," Timothy objected.

"What if you did?" said Mr. Crow glibly. "You'd only fall into the water. And everybody agrees that you're a fine swimmer.... You aren't afraid of getting your feet wet, are you?" And he laughed loudly at his own joke.

For some reason Timothy lost his temper. Perhaps he thought Mr. Crow was disrespectful to his elders.

"Look here, young man!" he snapped, glaring angrily at old Mr. Crow. "If you're laughing at me, I'll invite you to drop down here and stand on the end of my nose."

Old Mr. Crow grew sober at once. The mere thought of perching himself in so dangerous a place was enough to put a quick end to his noisy _haw-haws_.

"My dear sir!" he cried. "I wouldn't _dream_ of standing on the nose of a fine old gentleman like you. No indeedy! My manners are too good for that."

Timothy Turtle said bluntly that he had always been told that Mr. Crow was the rudest person in all Pleasant Valley--unless it was Mr. Crow's boisterous cousin, Jasper Jay.

When he heard that, Mr. Crow pretended to wipe a tear away from each of his eyes.

"I've always been misunderstood," he declared mournfully. "I'm really a kind-hearted soul. And just to prove to you that I want to be helpful, I'll meet you at the bluff any time you say, and tell you exactly what to do if you want to learn to fly."

Timothy Turtle seemed to think that the chance was too good a one to lose.

"I accept your offer," he shouted. "And I'll start downstream this very moment."

VII

LEARNING TO FLY

Timothy Turtle reached the overhanging bluff in a surprisingly short time. But it must be remembered that he did not walk there on land, but swam down Black Creek with the current. When he crawled out upon the bank he was glad to see that old Mr. Crow was waiting for him, on a pine stump that stood near the water.

He failed utterly to notice that Mr. Crow was not alone. Hidden in all sorts of places were as many as a dozen of Mr. Crow's friends. For the old gentleman had invited his cousin, Jasper Jay, to come to the bluff "to enjoy the fun," as he expressed it.

"But don't let Timothy Turtle see you!" Mr. Crow had warned Jasper. "At least, don't let him know you're there until after he has jumped off the big rock."

Jasper Jay had given his solemn promise.

"And don't let him hear you, either," Mr. Crow had said. And Jasper had agreed to that, too, although he said that it might be a hard thing to do.

Well, Timothy Turtle crawled out upon the bank and took a long look at the high bluff above him, from which the great rock hung over the water of the creek.

"I believe----" he said to old Mr. Crow--"I believe I'd better wait till to-morrow before I try to fly. I've just had a long swim, you know. And I want to feel fresh when I take my first lesson."

"Nonsense!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "Everything's all ready. You're not too tired, are you, to climb to the top of the bluff?"

"No," Timothy Turtle admitted.

"Then you've no reason for waiting," Mr. Crow assured him. "Coming down will be much easier than going up."

"I dare say that's true," Timothy remarked. "But I don't quite like to think about this business of flying."

"Then you certainly ought not to wait any longer," Mr. Crow urged him. "For the longer you wait the more time you'll have to think."

That appeared to Timothy Turtle to be a good bit of advice. And yet he still seemed uneasy.

"There's just one thing that troubles me," he confessed. "After I've jumped from the rock I might find that I couldn't fly. And I'd get a bad fall."

"But you'd land in the water," Mr. Crow reminded him. "And that would be much better than falling on the land.... I don't need to tell you," he added, "that water is soft. And you're a fine swimmer."

So Timothy Turtle yielded. And thereupon he began to drag himself up the steep bluff.

It seemed to Mr. Crow that he had never known anybody to walk so slowly. But then, of course, he was in a hurry to see the fun. And it couldn't really begin until Mr. Turtle should reach the big rock and take the leap that Mr. Crow had suggested to him.

Jasper Jay and the rowdies he had brought with him stirred impatiently. And Jasper said aloud to one of them:

"What an old slow-poke he is!"

"What's that!" Timothy Turtle inquired, as he stopped and looked around at Mr. Crow.

"I didn't speak," Mr. Crow told him.