CHAPTER XI. A FELLOW WITH A THOUSAND SPEARS. MORE ABOUT THE PORKYPINE. There, said Old Mother Nature, pointing to prickly-porkey the porcupine, is next to the largest member of your order, which is... Order of rodents, piped up Striped Chipmunk. He is not only next to the largest, but is the stupidest, continued Old Mother Nature.  Anyway, he manages to keep well-fed and escape his enemies, which is more than can be said for some others who are supposed to have quick wits. Escaping his enemies is no credit to him. They are only too glad to keep out of his way. He doesn't have to fear anybody, said Chatterer the Squirrel to his cousin, Happy Jack. His remark didn't escape the keen ears of Old Mother Nature. Are you sure about that? She demanded. Now there is Pican the Fisher. She was interrupted by a great rattling on the old stump. Everybody turned to look. There was Prickley Porkey backing down as fast as he could, which wasn't fast at all, and rattling his thousand little spears as he did so. It was really very funny. Everybody had to laugh even Old Mother Nature. You see, it was plain that he was in a great hurry, yet every movement was slow and clumsy. Well, Prickley Porkey, what does this mean? Where are you going? demanded Old Mother Nature. Prickley Porkey turned his dull-looking eyes toward her, and in them was a troubled, worried look. Where is Pican the Fisher? He said, and his voice shook a little with something very much like fear. Old Mother Nature understood instantly. When she had said, Now there is Pican the Fisher, Prickley Porkey had waited to hear no more. He had instantly thought that she meant that Pican was right there somewhere. It's all right, Prickley Porkey, said she. Pican isn't anywhere around here, so climb back up on that stump and don't worry. Had you waited for me to finish, you would have saved yourself a fright. Chatterer had just said that you didn't have to fear anybody, and I was starting to explain that he was wrong, that despite your thousand little spears you have reason to fear, Pican the Fisher. Prickley Porkey shivered, and this made the thousand little spears in his coat rattle. It was such a surprising thing to see Prickley Porkey actually afraid that the other little folks almost doubted their own eyes. Are you quite sure that Pican isn't anywhere around? Asked Prickley Porkey, and his voice still shook. Quite sure, replied Old Mother Nature, if he were I wouldn't allow him to hurt you. You ought to know that. Now sit up so that everyone can get a good look at you. Prickley Porkey sat up, and the others gathered around the foot of the stump to look at him. He certainly is no beauty, murmured Happy Jack the Squirrel. Happy Jack was quite right. He was anything but handsome. The truth is he was the humblest, clumsiest looking fellow in all the green forest. He was a little bigger than Bobby Coon, and his body was thick and heavy looking. His back humped up like an arch. His head was rather small for the size of his body, short and rather round. His neck was even shorter. His eyes were small and very dull. It was plain that he couldn't see far or clearly unless what he was looking at was close at hand. His ears were small and nearly hidden in hair. His front teeth, the gnawing teeth which showed him to be erodent, were very large and bright orange. His legs were short and stout. He had four toes on each front foot, and five on each hind foot, and these were armed with quite long, stout claws. But the queerest thing and the most interesting thing about Prickly Porky was his coat. Not one among the other little people of the green forest has a coat anything like his. Most of them have a short, soft underfur protected and more or less hidden by longer coarse hair. Prickly Porky had the long coarse hair, and on his back it was very long in coarse, brownish black in color up to the tips which were white. Under this long hair was some soft woolly fur, but what that long hair hid chiefly was an array of wicked looking little spears called quills. They were white to the tips, which were very dark and very, very sharply pointed. All down the sides were little barbs, so small as hardly to be seen, but there just the same. On his head the quills were about an inch long, but on his back they were four inches long, becoming shorter towards the tail. The latter was rather short, stout, and covered with short quills. As he sat there on that old stump some of Prickly Porky's little spears could be seen peeping out from the long hair on his back, but they didn't look particularly dangerous. Peter Rabbit suddenly made a discovery. Why? He exclaimed, he hasn't any little spears on the underside of him. I wondered who would be the first to notice that, said old mother nature. No, Prickly Porky hasn't any little spears underneath, and Pican the Fisher has found that out. He knows that if he can turn Prickly Porky on his back, he can kill him without much danger from those little spears. And he has learned how to do that very thing. That is why Prickly Porky is afraid of him. Now, Prickly Porky, climb down off that stump and show these little folks what you do when an enemy comes near. Grumbling and growling, Prickly Porky climbed down to the ground.  Then he began to thrash his tail from side to side. What's he doing that for? asked Johnny Chuck, looking rather puzzled.  That is his one weapon. Whoever is hit by that tail will find himself full of those little spears, and will take care never to go near Prickly Porky again. Once those little spears have entered the skin, they keep working in deeper and deeper, and more than one of his enemies has been killed by them.  Just try one and see. But no one was anxious to try, so old mother nature paused only a moment. You will notice that he moves that tail quickly, she continued. It is the only thing about him which is quick. When he has a chance, in time of danger, he likes to get his head under a log or rock instead of putting it between his paws as he is doing now. Then he plants his feet firmly and waits for a chance to use that tail. Is it true that he can throw those little spears at folks? asked Peter. Old Mother Nature shook her head. There isn't a word of truth in it, she declared. That story probably was started by someone who was hit by his tail, and it was done so quickly that the victim didn't see the tail move, and so thought the little spears were thrown at him. How does he make all those little spears stand up that way? asked Jumper the hair. He has a special set of muscles for just that purpose, explained Old Mother Nature. When those quills stick into someone, they must pull out of prickly porky's own skin. I should think that would hurt him, spoke up Striped Chipmunk. Not at all, replied Old Mother Nature. They are very loosely fastened in his skin and come out at the least little pull. New ones grow to take the place of those he loses. Notice that he puts his whole foot flat on the ground just as Buster Bear and Bobby Coon do, and just as those two-legged creatures called men do. Very few animals do this, and those that do are said to be plant-a-grade.   I like hemlock best of all, but also eat poplar, pine, and other trees for a change. Sometimes I stay in a tree for days until I have stripped it of all its bark and leaves. I don't see any sense in moving about any more than it's necessary.  Well, what of it? demanded prickly porky crossly. There are plenty of trees. In summer I like lily-pads and always get them when I can. Can you swim? asked Peter eagerly. Of course, grunted prickly porky. I never see you out on the green meadows, said Peter. And you never will, retorted prickly porky. The green forest for me every time, summer or winter, I'm at home there. Don't you sleep through the cold weather the way Buster Bear and I do? asked Johnny Chuck. What should I sleep for? grumbled prickly porky. Cold weather doesn't bother me. I like it. I have the green forest pretty much to myself, then. I like to be alone. And as long as there are trees, there is plenty to eat. I sleep a great deal in the daytime, because I like night best. What about your home? asked Happy Jack. Home is wherever I happen to be, most of the time. But Mrs. Porky has a home in a hollow log or a cave or under the roots of a tree where the babies are born. I guess that's all I have to tell you. You might add that those babies are big for the size of their mother and have a full supply of quills when they are born, said old mother Nature. And you forgot to say how fond of salt you are, and how often this fondness gets you into trouble around the camps of men. Your fear of pecan the fisher we all saw. I might add that Puma the Panther is to be feared at times, and when he is very hungry Buster Bear will take a chance on turning you on your back. By the way, don't any of you call prickly Porky a hedgehog? He isn't any thing of the kind. He is sometimes called a quill-pig, but his real name, Porcupine, is best. He has no near relatives. Tomorrow morning, instead of meeting here, we'll hold school on the shore of the pond Patty the Beaver has made. School is dismissed. CHAPTER XII. A LUMBERMAN AND ENGINEER. THE BEAVER AND HIS WORKS Johnny, Chuck, and Striped Chipmunk were the only ones who were not on hand at the pond of Patty the Beaver deep in the green forest at sun-up the next morning. Johnny and Striped Chipmunk were afraid to go so far from home. To the surprise of everybody, prickly Porky was there. He must have travelled all night to get here. He is such a slow poke, said Peter Rabbit to his cousin, Jumper the Hare. Peter wasn't far from the truth. But however he got there, there he was, reaching for lily-pads from an old log which lay half in the water, and appearing very well satisfied with life.  Old Mother Nature seated herself on one end of Patty's dam, and called the school to order. Just as she did so, a brown head popped out of the water close by, and a pair of anxious eyes looked up at Old Mother Nature. It is quite all right, Patty, she said softly. These little folks are trying to gain a little knowledge of themselves and other folks, and we are going to have this morning's lesson right here, because it is to be about you. Patty the Beaver no longer looked anxious. There was a sparkle in his eyes. May I stay? he asked eagerly. If there is a chance to learn anything, I don't want to miss it. Before Old Mother Nature could reply, Peter Rabbit spoke up. But the lesson is to be about you and your family. Do you expect to learn anything about yourself, he demanded, and chuckled as if he thought that was a great joke. It seems to me that someone named Peter learned a great deal about his own family when he first came to school to me, said Old Mother Nature. Peter had grace enough to hang his head and look ashamed. Of course you may say, Patty. In fact, I want you to. There are some things I shall want you to explain. That is why we are holding school over here this morning. Just come up here on your dam where we can all get a good look at you. Patty the Beaver climbed out on his dam. It was the first time Happy Jack Squirrel ever had seen him out of the water, and Happy Jack gave a little gasp of surprise. I had no idea he is so big, he exclaimed. He is the biggest of all the rodents in this country, and one of the biggest in all the great world. Also, he is the smartest member of the whole order, said Old Mother Nature.  Which means, I suppose, that you wouldn't have the least doubt that you are quite as smart as he, said Old Mother Nature quietly, and Chatterer looked both guilty and a little bit ashamed. I'll admit that you are smart, Chatterer, but often it is in a wrong way. Patty is smart in the very best way. He is a lumberman, builder and engineer. A lot of my little people are workers, but they are destructive workers. The busier they are, the more they destroy. Patty the Beaver is a constructive worker. That means he is a builder instead of a destroyer. How about all those trees he cuts down? If that isn't destroying, I don't know what is, said Chatterer, and with each word jerked his tail as if somehow his tongue and tail were connected. So it is, replied Old Mother Nature, good-naturedly. But just think of the number of trees you destroy. I never have destroyed a tree in my life, declared Chatterer indignantly.  I never have, contradicted Chatterer, quite forgetting to whom he was speaking. But Old Mother Nature overlooked this.   I've eaten ever and ever and ever so many of them. What of it? In the heart of each one was a little tree, explained Old Mother Nature. But for you, very many of those little trees would have sprung up and some day would have been made big trees. So you see, for every tree Patty has destroyed, you probably have destroyed a hundred. You eat the nuts that you may live. Patty cuts down the trees that he may live. For the bark of those trees is his food. Like Prickly Porky, he lives cheaply on bark. But unlike Prickly Porky, he doesn't destroy a tree for the bark alone. He wastes nothing. He makes use of every bit of that tree. He does something for the green forest in return for the trees he takes. Chatterer looked at Happy Jack and Blinked in a puzzled way. Happy Jack looked at Peter Rabbit and Blinked. Peter looked at Jumper the Hare and Blinked. Jumper looked at Prickly Porky and Blinked. Then all looked at Patty the Beaver and finally at Old Mother Nature and all blinked. Old Mother Nature chuckled. Don't you think the green forest is more beautiful because of this little pond? She asked. Everybody nodded. Of course, she continued. But there wouldn't be any little pond here were it not for Patty and the trees he has cut. He destroyed the trees in order to make the pond. That is what I meant when I called him a constructive worker. Now I want you all to take a good look at Patty. Then he will show us just how as a lumberman he cuts trees, as a builder he constructs houses and dams, and as an engineer he digs canals. As Patty sat there on his dam, he looked rather like a giant member of the rat family, though his head was more like that of a squirrel than a rat. His body was very thick and heavy, and in color he was dark brown, lighter underneath than above. Squatting there on the dam his back was rounded. Altogether he was a very clumsy looking fellow. Peter Rabbit appeared to be interested in just one thing—Patty's tail. He couldn't keep his eyes off it. Old Mother Nature noticed this. Well, Peter, said she, what have you on your mind now? That tail, replied Peter, that's the queerest tail I've ever seen. I should think it would be very heavy and dreadfully in the way. Old Mother Nature laughed. If you ask him, Patty will tell you that that tail is the handiest tail in the green forest, said she. There isn't another like it in all the great world, and if you'll be patient you will see just how handy it is. It was a queer-looking tail. It was broad and thick and flat, oval in shape, and covered with scales instead of hair. Just then Jumper the Hare made a discovery. Why, he exclaimed, Patty has feet like honker the goose. Only my hind feet, said Patty. They have webs between the toes just as honkers have. That is for swimming. But there are no webs between my fingers. He held up a hand for all to see. Sure enough the fingers were free. Now that everybody has had a good look at you, Patty, said Old Mother Nature, suppose you swim over to where you have been cutting trees. We will join you there, and then you can show us just how you work. Patty slipped into the water, where for a second or two he floated with just his head above the surface. Then he quickly raised his broad, heavy tail, and brought it down on the water with a slap that sounded like the crack of a terrible gun. It was so loud and unexpected that everyone, save Old Mother Nature and Prickly Porky, jumped with fright. Peter Rabbit happened to be right on the edge of the dam, and because he jumped before he had time to think, he jumped right into the water with a splash. Now Peter doesn't like the water, as you know, and he scrambled out just as fast as ever he could. How the others did laugh at him. What did he do that for, demanded Peter indignantly. To show you, one use he has for that handy tail, replied Old Mother Nature. That is the way he gives warning to his friends whenever he discovers danger. Did you notice how he used his tail to aid him in swimming? He turns it almost on edge and uses it as a rudder. Those big webbed hind feet are the paddles which drive him through the water. He can stay underwater a long time, as much as five minutes. See, he's just come up now. Sure enough, Patty's head had just appeared clear across the pond, almost to the opposite shore, and he was now swimming on the surface. Old Mother Nature at once led the way around the pond to a small grove of poplar trees, which stood a little way back from the water. Patty was already there. Now, said Old Mother Nature, show us what kind of lumberman you are. Patty picked out a small tree, sat up much as happy Jack Squirrel does, but with his big, flat tail on the ground to brace him, seized the trunk of the tree in both hands, and went to work with his great orange-colored cutting-teeth. He bit out a big chip, then another, and another. Gradually he worked around the tree. After a while the tree began to sway and crack. Patty bit out two or three more chips, then suddenly slapped the ground with his tail as a warning and scampered back to a safe distance. He was taking no chances of being caught under that falling tree. The tree fell, and at once Patty returned to work. The smaller branches he cut off with a single bite at the base of each. The larger ones required a number of bites. Then he set to work to cut the trunk up in short logs. At this point Old Mother Nature interrupted. Now show us, said she, what you do with the logs. Patty at once got behind a log, and by pushing rolled it ahead of him until at last it fell with a splash in the water of a ditch or canal which led from near that grove of trees to the pond. Patty followed into the water and began to push it ahead of him towards the pond. That'll do, spoke up Old Mother Nature, come out and show us how you take the branches. Obediently Patty climbed out and returned to the fallen tree. There he picked up one of the long branches in his mouth, grasping it near the butt, twisted it over his shoulder, and started to drag it to the canal. When he reached the latter he entered the water and began swimming, still dragging the branch in the same way. Once more Old Mother Nature stopped him. You've shown us how you cut trees and moved them, so now I want you to answer a few questions, said she. Patty climbed out and squatted on the bank. How did this canal happen to be here handy? asked Old Mother Nature. Why I dug it, of course, replied Patty, looking surprised. You see, I'm rather slow and clumsy on land, and don't like to be far from water. Those trees are pretty well back from the pond, so I dug this canal which brings the water almost to them. It makes it safer for me in case Old Man Coyote, or Buster Bear, or Yowler the Bobcat, happens to be looking for a beaver dinner. Also it makes it very much easier to get my logs and branches to the pond. Old Mother Nature nodded. Just so, said she. I want the rest of you to notice how well this canal has been dug. At the other end it is carried along the bottom of the pond where the water is shallow, so as to give greater depth. Now you will understand why I called Patty an engineer. What do you do with your logs and branches, Patty? Put them in my food-pile, out there where the water is deep near my house, replied Patty promptly. The bark I eat, and the bare sticks I use to keep my house and dam in repair. In the late fall I cut enough trees to keep me in food all winter. When my pond is covered with ice I have nothing to worry about. My food supply is below the ice. When I am hungry I swim out under the ice, get a stick, take it back into my house, and eat the bark. Then I take the bare stick outside to use when needed on my dam or house. How did you come to make this fine pond? asked Old Mother Nature. Oh, I just happened to come exploring up the Laffing Brook and found there was plenty of food here and a good place for a pond, replied Patty. I thought I would like to live here. Down where my dam is, the Laffing Brook was shallow, just the place for a dam. Tell us why you wanted a pond and how you built that dam, commanded Old Mother Nature. Why, I had to have a pond. If I was to stay here, replied Patty, as if everyone must understand that. The Laffing Brook wasn't deep or big enough for me to live here safely. If it had been, I would have made my home in the bank and not bothered with the house or dam. But it wasn't, so I had to make a pond. It required a lot of hard work, but it is worth all it cost. First I cut a lot of brush and young trees and placed them in the Laffing Brook in that shallow place with the butts pointing upstream. I kept them in place by piling mud and stones on them. Then I kept piling on more sticks and brush and mud. The water brought down leaves and floating stuff, and this caught in the dam and helped fill it in. I dug a lot of mud in front of it and used this to fill in the spaces between the sticks. This made the water deeper in front of the dam and at the same time kept it from getting through. As the water backed up, of course it made a pond. I kept making my dam longer and higher, and the longer and higher it became, the bigger the pond grew. When it was big enough and deep enough to suit me, I stopped work on the dam and built my house out there. Everybody turned to look at Patty's house, the roof of which stood high out of water a little way from the dam. Tell us how you built that, said Old Mother Nature quietly. Oh, I just made a big platform of sticks and mud out there, where it was deep enough for me to be sure that the water could not freeze clear to the bottom, even in the coldest weather, replied Patty, in a matter of fact tone. I built it up until it was above water. Then I built the walls and roof of sticks and mud, just as you see them there. Inside I have a fine big room, with a comfortable bed of shredded wood. I have two openings in the floor, with a long passage leading from each down through the foundations and opening up the bottom of the pond. Of course, these are filled with water. Some houses have only one passage, but I like two. These are the only entrances to my house. Every fall I repair my walls and roof, adding sticks and mud and turf, so that now they are very thick. Late in the fall I sometimes plaster the outside with mud. This freezes hard, and no enemy who may reach my house on the ice can tear it open. I guess that's all. Peter Rabbit drew a long breath. What dreadful lot of work, said he. Do you work all the time? Patty chuckled. No, Peter, said he. And Old Mother Nature nodded in approval. Quite right, said she, quite right. Are there any more questions?  It was happy Jack Squirrel who spoke. Oh, no, replied Patty. In summer I eat berries, mushrooms, grass, and the leaves and stems of a number of plants. In winter I vary my fare with lily-roots and the roots of alder and willow. But bark is my principal food. Old Mother Nature waited a few minutes, but as there were no more questions, she added a few words. Now I hope you understand why I am so proud of Patty the beaver, and why I told you that he is a lumberman, builder, and engineer, said she. For the next lesson we will take up the rat family. Recorded by Laurie Ann Walden. Now we come to the largest family of the rodent order, the rat family, which of course includes the mice, said Old Mother Nature, after calling school to order at the old meeting place. And the largest member of the family reminds me very much of the one we learned about yesterday. I know, cried Peter Rabbit. You mean Jerry Muskrat. Go to the head of the class, Peter, said Old Mother Nature, smiling. Jerry is the very one, the largest member of the rat family. Sometimes he is spoken of as a little cousin of Patty the beaver. Probably this is because he looks something like a small beaver, builds a house in the water, as Patty does, and lives in very much the same way. The truth is he is no more closely related to Patty than he is to the rest of you. He is a true rat. He is called Muskrat because he carries with him a scent called musk. It is not an unpleasant scent like that of Jimmy Skunk, and isn't used for the same purpose. Jerry uses his to tell his friends where he has been. He leaves a little of it at the places he visits. Some folks call him muskwash, but Muskrat is better. Jerry is seldom found far from the water, and then only when he is seeking a new home. He is rather slow and awkward on land, but in the water he is quite at home, as all of you know who have visited the smiling pool. He can dive and swim underwater a long distance, though not as far as Patty the beaver. Has he webbed hind feet like Patty? Piped up jumper the hare. Yes and no, replied Old Mother Nature. They are not fully webbed as Patty's are, but there is a little webbing between some of the toes, enough to be of great help in swimming. His tail is of greater use in swimming than is Patty's. It is bare and scaly, but instead of being flat top and bottom it is flattened on the sides, and he uses it as a propeller, moving it rapidly from side to side. Like Patty he has a dark brown outer coat, lighter underneath than on his back and sides, and like Patty he has a very warm soft undercoat, through which the water cannot get and which keeps him comfortable no matter how cold the water is. You have all seen his house in the smiling pool. He builds it in much the same way that Patty builds his, but instead of sticks he cuts and uses rushes. Of course it is not nearly as large as Patty's house, because Jerry is himself so much smaller. It is arranged much the same, with a comfortable bedroom and one or more passages down to deep water. In winter Jerry spends much of his time in this house, going out only for food. Then he lives chiefly on lily roots and roots of other water plants, digging them up and taking them back to his house to eat. When the ice is clear you can sometimes see him swimming below. I know, spoke up Peter Rabbit. Once I was crossing the smiling pool on the ice and saw him right under me. Jerry doesn't build dams, but he sometimes digs little canals along the bottom where the water isn't deep enough to suit him, continued old mother nature. Sometimes in the winter Jerry and Mrs. Jerry share their home with two or three friends. If there is a good bank Jerry usually has another home in that. He makes the entrance underwater and then tunnels back and up for some distance where he builds a snug little bedroom just below the surface of the ground where it is dry. Usually he has more than one tunnel leading to this and sometimes an opening from above. This is covered with sticks and grass to hide it and provides an entrance for fresh air. Jerry lives mostly on roots and plants, but is fond of mussels or fresh water clams, fish, some insects and, I am sorry to say, young birds when he can catch them. Jerry could explain where some of the babies of Mr. and Mrs. Quack the ducks have disappeared to. Patty the beaver doesn't eat flesh at all. Jerry and Mrs. Jerry have several families in a year and Jerry is a very good father doing his share and caring for the babies. He and Mrs. Jerry are rather social and enjoy visiting neighbors of their own kind. Their voices are a sort of squeak and you can often hear them talking among the rushes in the early evening. That is the hour they like best, though they are abroad during the day when undisturbed. Man is their greatest enemy. He hunts and traps them for their warm coats. But they have to watch out for hootie the owl at night and for ready fox and old man coyote whenever they are on land. Billy Meink also is an enemy at times, perhaps the most to be dreaded because he can follow Jerry anywhere. Jerry makes little landings of mud and rushes along the edge of the shore.  He likes apples and vegetables and sometimes will travel quite a distance to get them. Late in the summer he begins to prepare for winter by starting work on his house if he is to have a new one. He is a good worker. There isn't a lazy bone in him. All things considered, Jerry is a credit to his family. But if Jerry is a credit to his family, there is one of its members who is not, and that is, who knows? Robber, the brown rat, replied Happy Jack Squirrel promptly. I have often seen him around Farmer Brown's barn.   There isn't a good thing I can say for him, not one. He doesn't belong in this country at all. He was brought here by man, and now he is found everywhere. He is sometimes called the Norway rat, and sometimes the Whorf rat and House rat. He is hated by all animals and by man. He is big, being next in size to Jerry muskrat, savage in temper, the most destructive of any animal I know, and dirty in his habits. He is an outcast, but he doesn't seem to care. He lives chiefly around the homes of men, and all his food is stolen. That is why he is named Robber. He eats anything he can find, and isn't the least bit particular what it is, or whether it be clean or unclean. He gnaws into grain bends and steals the grain. He gets into hen houses and sucks the eggs and kills young chickens. He would like nothing better than to find a nest of your babies, Peter Rabbit. Peter shivered. I'm glad he sticks to the homes of men, said he.  Often in summer he moves out into the fields, digging burrows there, and doing great damage to crops, and also killing and eating any of the furred and feathered folk he can catch. But he is not fond of the light of day. His deeds are deeds of darkness, and he prefers dark places. He has very large families, sometimes ten or more babies at a time, and several families in a year. That is why his tribe has managed to overrun the great world and why they cause such great damage. Worse than the harm they do with their teeth is the terrible harm they do to man by carrying dreadful diseases and spreading them, diseases which cause people to die in great numbers. Isn't Robber afraid of anyone? asked Peter. He certainly is, replied old mother nature. He is in deadly fear of one whom every one of you fears, Shadow the Weasel. One good thing I can say for Shadow is that he never misses a chance to kill a rat. Wherever a rat can go he can go, and once he finds a colony he hunts them until he has killed all or driven them away. When food becomes scarce, Robber and his family move on to where it is more plentiful. Often they make long journeys, a great number of them together, and do not hesitate to swim a stream that may be in their path. I've never seen Robber, said Peter. What kind of a tale does he have? I might have known you would ask that, laughed old mother nature. It is long and slim and has no hair on it. His fur is very coarse and harsh and is brown and gray. He has a close relative called the Black Rat, but the latter is smaller and has been largely driven out of the country by his bigger cousin. Now I guess this is enough about Robber. He is bad, all bad, and hasn't a single friend in all the great world. What a dreadful thing not to have a single friend, said Happy Jack. It is dreadful, very dreadful, replied old mother nature. But it is wholly his own fault. It shows what happens when one becomes dishonest and bad at heart. The worst of it is Robber doesn't care. Tomorrow I'll tell you about some of his cousins who are not bad. End of Chapter 13 by Thornton W. Burgess Chapter 14 A Trader and a Handsome Fellow The Cotton Rat, Wood or Pack Rat, and the Kangaroo Rat Way down in the sunny south, began old mother nature, lives a member of the rat family who, though not nearly so bad as Robber, is none too good, and so isn't thought well of at all. He is Little Robber, the Cotton Rat, and though small for a rat, being only a trifle larger than striped chipmunk, looks the little savage that he is. He has short legs and is rather thick-bodied, and appears much like an overgrown meadow-mouse with a long tail. The latter is not bare like robbers, but the hair on it is very short and thin. In colour he is yellowish-brown and whitish underneath. His fur is longer and coarser than that of other native rats. He lives in old fields, along ditches and hedges, and in similar places where there is plenty of cover in which he can hide from his enemies. He burrows in the ground and usually has his nest of dry grass there, though often in summer it is the surface of the ground. He does not live in and around the homes of men, like the brown rat, but he causes a great deal of damage by stealing grain in the shock. He eats all kinds of grain, many seeds, and meat when he can get it. He is very destructive to eggs and young of ground nesting birds. He has a bad temper and will fight savagely. Mr. and Mrs. Cotton Rat raised several large families in a year. Foxes, owls, and hawks are their chief enemies. But there are other members of the rat family far more interesting and quite worth knowing. One of these is Trader, the Wood Rat, in some parts of the far west called the Pack Rat. Among the mountains he is called the Mountain Rat. Wherever found his habits are much the same and make him one of the most interesting of all the little people who wear fur. Next to Jerry Muskrat he is the largest native rat, that is, of the rats which belong in this country. He is about two-thirds as big as robber, the brown rat, but though he is of the same general shape, so that you would know at once that he is related to robber, he is in all other ways wholly unlike that outcast. His fur is thick and soft, almost as soft as that of a squirrel. His fairly long tail is covered with hair. Indeed some members of his branch of the family have tails almost as bushy as a squirrel's. His coat is soft gray and a yellowish brown above and underneath pure white or light buff. His feet are white.  And he has long whiskers and plenty of them. But why is he called Trader, asked Rabbit a bit impatiently.  He is Trader because his greatest delight is in trading. He is a borne Trader if ever there was one. He doesn't steal as other members of his family, but trades. He puts something back in place of whatever he takes. It may be little sticks or chips or pebbles or anything else that is handy, but it is something to replace what he has taken. You see, he is very honest. If Trader finds something belonging to someone else that he wants, he takes it, but he tries to pay for it. Next to trading, he delights in collecting. His home is a regular museum. He delights in anything bright and shiny. When he can get into the camps of men, he will take anything he can move. But being honest, he tries to leave something in return. All sorts of queer things are found in his home. Buckles cut from saddles, spoons, knives, forks, even money he has taken from the pockets of sleeping campers. Whenever any small object is missed from a camp, the first place visited in search of it is the home of Trader. In the mountains he sometimes makes piles of little pebbles just for the fun of collecting them. He is found all over the west, from the mountains to the deserts, in thick forests and on sandy wastes. He is also found in parts of the east and in the sunny south. He is a great climber, and is perfectly at home in trees or among rocks. He eats seeds, grain, many kinds of nuts, leaves, and other parts of plants. In the colder sections, he lays up stores for winter. What kind of home does he have? asked Happy Jack. His home usually is a very remarkable affair, replied Old Mother Nature. It depends largely on where he is. When he is living in rocky country, he makes it amongst the rocks. In some places he burrows in the ground. But more often it is on the surface of the ground, a huge pile of sticks and thorns in the very middle of which is his snug, soft nest. The sticks and thorns are to protect it from enemies. When he lives down where cactus grow, those queer plants with long sharp spines, he uses these, and there are few enemies who will try to pull one of these houses apart to get at him. When he is alarmed or disturbed, he has a funny habit of drumming on the ground with his hind feet, in much the same way that Peter Rabbit and Jumper the Hare thump. Only he does it rapidly. Sometimes he builds his house in a tree. When he finds a cabin in the woods, he at once takes possession, carrying in a great mass of sticks and trash. He is chiefly active at night, and a very busy fellow he is, trading and collecting. He is none of the mean disposition of robber the brown rat. Mrs. Trader has two to five babies at a time, and raises several families in a year. As I said before, Trader is one of the most interesting little people I know of, and he does very, very funny things. Now we come to the handsomest member of the family, Longfoot, the kangaroo rat, so-called because of his long hind legs and tail, and the way in which he sits up and jumps. Really, he is not a member of the rat branch of the family, but closely related to the pocket mice. You see, he has pockets in his cheeks. Like mine, asked Stripe Chipmunk quickly. No, they are on the outside instead of the inside of his cheeks. Yours are inside. I think mine must be a lot handier, asserted Stripe Chipmunk, nodding his head in a very decided way.  He really is handsome, but he isn't a bit vain and is very gentle. He never tries to bite when caught and taken in a man's hand. But you haven't told us how big he is or what he looks like, protested in patient Peter. When he sits up or jumps, he looks like a tiny kangaroo.  In the first place, he is about the size of Stripe Chipmunk. That is, his body is about the size of Stripe Chipmunks, but his tail is longer than his head and body together. My, it must be some tail, exclaimed Peter Rabbit admiringly. Old mother nature smiled. It is, she said. You would like that tail, Peter. His front legs are short and the feet small, but his hind legs are long and the feet big. Of course you have seen nimble heels the jumping most, Peter. Peter nodded. Of course, he replied. My, how that fellow can jump. While Longfoot is built in the same plan as Nimble Heels, and for the same purpose continued old mother nature, he is a jumper. Then I know what that long tail is for, cried Peter. It is to keep him balanced when he is in the air, so that he can jump straight. Right again, Peter, laughed old mother nature. That is just what it is for. Without it, he never would know where he was going to land when he jumped.  His fur is very soft and silky. Above it is a pretty yellowish-brown, but underneath it is pure white.  The upper and under parts of his tail are almost or quite black, and the tail ends in a tuft of long hair which is pure white. His feet are also white. His head is rather large for his size, and long. He has a long nose. Longfoot has a number of cousins, some of them much smaller than he, but they all look very much alike. Where do they live? asked Johnny Chuck, for Johnny had been unable to stay away from school another day. In the dry, sandy parts of the south-west, place is so dry that it seldom rains, and water is to be found only long distances apart, replied old mother nature. Then how does longfoot get water to drink? demanded chatterer the red squirrel. He gets along without drinking, replied old mother nature. Such moisture as he needs he gets from his food.  He burrows in the ground and throws up large mounds of earth. These have several entrances. One of these is the main entrance, and during the day this is often kept closed with earth. Under the mound he has little tunnels in all directions, a snug little bedroom and storerooms for food. He is very industrious and dearly loves to dig. Longfoot likes to visit his relatives sometimes, and where there are several families living near together, little paths lead from mound to mound. He comes out mostly at night, probably because he feels it to be safer then. Then, too, in that hot country it is cooler at night. The dusk of early evening is his favorite playtime. If longfoot has a quarrel with one of his relatives, they fight, hopping about each other, watching for a chance to leap and kick with those long, strong hind feet. Longfoot sometimes drums with his hind feet after the manner of trader the wood rat. Now I think this will do for the morning. If any of you should meet Whitefoot the Woodmose, tell him to come to school tomorrow morning, and you might tell Danny Meadow, if you little folks want school to continue. We do! cried Peter Rabbit, and Jumper the Hare, and Happy Jack Squirrel, and Chatter of the Red Squirrel, and Striped Chipmunk and Johnny Chuck as one. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess Chapter 15 Two Unlike Little Cousins Whitefoot the Wood, or Dear Mouse, and Danny Meadow Mouse, also called Field Mouse. Whitefoot the Wood Mouse is one of the smallest of the little people who live in the green forest. Being so small, he is one of the most timid. You see, by day and by night, sharp eyes are watching for Whitefoot, and he knows it. Never one single instant, while he is outside, where sharp eyes of hungry enemies may see him, does he forget that they are watching for him. To forget, even for one little minute, might mean, well, it might mean the end of Little Whitefoot, but a dinner for someone with a liking for tender mouse. So Whitefoot the Wood Mouse rarely ventures more than a few feet from a hiding-place and safety. At the tiniest sound he starts nervously, and often darts back into hiding, without waiting to find out if there really is any danger. If he waited to make sure, he might wait too long, and it is better to be safe than sorry. If you and I had as many real frights in a year, not to mention false frights as Whitefoot has in a day, we would, I suspect, lose our minds. Certainly we would be the most unhappy people in all the great world. But Whitefoot isn't unhappy, not a bit of it. He is a very happy little fellow. There is a great deal of wisdom in that pretty little head of his. There is more real sense in it than in some very big heads. When some of his neighbours make fun of him for being so very, very timid, he doesn't try to pretend that he isn't afraid. He doesn't get angry. He simply says, Of course I'm timid, very timid indeed. I'm afraid of almost everything. I would be foolish, not to be. It is because I am afraid that I am alive and happy right now. I hope I shall never be less timid than I am now. For it would mean that sooner or later I would fail to run in time, and would be gobbled up. It isn't cowardly to be timid when there is danger all around, nor is it bravery to take a foolish and needless risk, so I seldom go far from home. It isn't safe for me, and I know it. This being the way Whitefoot looked at matters, you can guess how he felt when Chatterer the Red Squirrel caught sight of him and gave him Old Mother Nature's message. Hi there, Mr. Frady, shouted Chatterer, as he caught sight of Whitefoot darting under a log. Hi there, I've got a message for you. Slowly, cautiously, Whitefoot poked his head out from beneath the old log, and looked up at Chatterer. What kind of message, he demanded suspiciously. A message you'll do well to heed, it is from Old Mother Nature, replied Chatterer. A message from Old Mother Nature, cried Whitefoot, and came out a bit more from beneath the old log. That's what I said—a message from Old Mother Nature, and if you will take my advice you will heed it, reported Chatterer. She says you are to come to school with the rest of us at sun-up to more morning. Then Chatterer explained about the school, and where it was held each morning, and what a lot he and his friends had already learned there. Whitefoot listened with something very like dismay in his heart. That place where the school was held was a long way off. That is, it was a long way for him, though to Peter Rabbit or jump with the hair, it wouldn't have seemed long at all. It meant that he'd have to leave all his hiding-places, and the thought made him shiver. But Old Mother Nature had sent for him, and not once did he even think of disobeying. Did you say that school begins at sun-up? he asked, and when Chatterer nodded, Whitefoot sighed. It was a sigh of relief. I am glad of that, said he. I can travel in the night, which will be much safer. I'll be there. That is, I will if I'm not caught on the way. Meanwhile, over on the green meadows Peter Rabbit was looking for Danny Meadowmouse. Danny's home was not far from the dear old Briar Patch, and he and Peter were, and still are, very good friends. So Peter knew just about where to look for Danny, and it didn't take him long to find him. Hello, Peter. You look as if you have something very important on your mind, was the greeting of Danny Meadowmouse, as Peter came hurrying up. I have, said Peter. It is a message for you, Old Mother Nature says for you to be on hand at sun-up tomorrow, when school opens over in the green forest. Of course you will be there. Of course, replied Danny, in the most matter-of-fact tone. Of course, if Old Mother Nature really sent me that message. She really did interrupted Peter. There isn't anything for me to do but obey, finished Danny. Then his face became very sober. That is a long way for me to go, Peter, said he. I wouldn't take such a long journey for anything, or for anybody else. Old Mother Nature knows, and if she sent for me, she must be sure I can make the trip safely. What time did you say I must be there?  Danny shook his head. Then he began to laugh. What are you laughing at? demanded Peter. At the very idea of me with my short legs trying to keep up with you, replied Danny, I wish you would sit up and take a good look all around to make sure that old man Coyote and Reddy Fox and Redtail the Hawk and Black Pussy, that pesky cat from Farmer Browns, are nowhere about. Peter obligingly sat up, and looked this way, and looked that way, and looked the other way. No one of whom he or Danny Meadowmost need be afraid of was to be seen. He said as much, then asked, Why did you want to know Danny? Because I'm going to start off at once, replied Danny. Start for where? asked Peter, looking much puzzled. Start for school, of course, replied Danny, rather shortly. But school doesn't begin until sun-up tomorrow, protested Peter. Which is just the reason I am going to start now, retorted Danny. If I should put off starting, until the last minute, I might not get there at all. I would have to hurry, and it is difficult to hurry and watch for danger at the same time. I've noticed that people who put things off to the last minute, and then have to hurry, are quite apt to rush headlong into trouble. The way is clear now, so I am going to start. I can take my time and keep a proper watch for danger. I'll see you over there, in the morning, Peter. Danny turned, and disappeared in one of his private little paths, through the tall grass. Peter noticed that he was headed towards the green forest. When Peter and the others arrived for school the next morning, they found Whitefoot, the wood-mouse, and Danny, Meadow-mouse, waiting with Old Mother Nature. Safe in her presence, they seemed to have lost much of their usual timidity. Whitefoot was sitting on the end of a log, and Danny was on the ground, just beneath him. I want all the rest of you to look well at these two little cousins, and notice how unlike two cousins can be, said Old Mother Nature, Whitefoot, who is quite as often called Dear-mouse as Wood-mouse, is one of the prettiest of the entire mouse family. I suspect he is called Dear-mouse because the upper part of his coat is such a beautiful fawn-color. Notice that the upper side of his long, slim tail is of the same color, while the underside is white, as is the whole under-part of Whitefoot. Also, those dainty feet are white, hence his name. See what big, soft black eyes he has, and notice that those delicate ears are of good size. His tail is covered with short fine hairs, instead of being naked, as is the tail of Nibbler, the house-mouse, of whom I will tell you later. Whitefoot loves the green forest, but out in parts of the far west, where there is no green forest, he lives on the brushy plains. He is a good climber, and quite at home in the trees. There he seems almost like a tiny squirrel. Tell us, Whitefoot, where you make your home and what you eat. My home just now, replied Whitefoot, is in a certain hollow, in a certain dead limb of a certain tree. I suspect that a member of the Woodpecker family made that hole. But no one was living there when I found it. Mrs. Whitefoot and I have made a soft, warm nest there, and wouldn't trade homes with any one. We have had our home in a hollow log on the ground, in an old stump, in a hole we dug in the ground under a rock, and in an old nest of some bird. That was in a tall bush. We roof that nest over, and make a little round doorway on the underside. Once we raised a family in a box, in a dark corner of Farmer Brown's sugar-camp. I eat all sorts of things—seeds, nuts, insects, and meat—when I can get it. I store up food for the winter, as all wise and thrifty people do. I suppose that means that you do not sleep as Johnny Chuck does in the winter. Remarked Peter Rabbit. I should say not, exclaimed Whitefoot. I like winter. It is fun to run about on the snow. Haven't you ever seen my tracks, Peter? I have—lots of times—spoke up jump of the hair. Also, I've seen you skipping about after dark. I guess you don't care much for sunlight. I don't, replied Whitefoot. I sleep most of the time, during the day, and work and play at night. I feel safer then. But on dull days I often come out. It is the bright sunlight I don't like. That is one reason I stick to the green forest. I don't see how cousin Danny stands it out there on the green meadows. Now I guess it is his turn. Everyone looked at Danny Meadowmoose. In appearance he was as unlike Whitefoot as it was possible to be, and still be a mouse. There was nothing pretty or graceful about Danny. He wasn't dainty at all. His body was rather stout, looking stouter than it really was because his fur was quite long. His head was blunt, and he seemed to have no neck at all, though of course he did have one.  His ears were almost hidden in his hair. His legs were short, and his tail was quite short, as if it had been cut off when half grown. No, those two cousins didn't look a bit alike. Danny felt most uncomfortable, as the others compared him with pretty Whitefoot. He knew he was homely, but never before had he felt it quite so keenly. Old Mother Nature saw and understood. It isn't how we look, but what we are and what we do, and how we fit into our particular places in life that count, said she.  Danny is a lover of the fields and meadows, where there is just little else but grass in which to hide. Everything about him is just suited for living there. Isn't that so, Danny? Yes, I guess so, replied Danny. Sometimes my tail does seem dreadfully short to look well. Everybody laughed, even Danny himself. Then he remembered how once Reddy Fox had so nearly caught him, that one of Reddy's black paws had touched the tip of his tail. Had that tail been any longer, Reddy would have caught him by it. Danny's face cleared, and he hastened to declare. After all, my tail suits me just as it is. Wisely spoken, Danny, said Old Mother Nature, now it is your turn to tell how you live and what you eat, and anything else of interest about yourself. I guess there is much interesting about me, began Danny, modestly. I am just one of those plain, common little folks. I guess everybody knows me so well, there is nothing for me to tell. Some of them may know all about you, but I don't, declared, jump with a hair. I never go out on the green meadows where you live. How do you get about in all that tall grass? Oh, that's easy enough, replied Danny. I cut little paths in all directions. Just the way I do in the dear old briar patch interrupted Peter Rabbit. I keep those little paths clear and clean so that there never is anything in my way to trip me up when I have to run for safety, continued Danny. When the grass gets tall, those little paths are almost like little tunnels. The time I dread most is when Farmer Brown cuts the grass for hay. I not only have to watch out for that dreadful mowing machine, but when the hay has been taken away the grass is so short that it is hard work for me to keep out of sight. I sometimes dig a short burrow, and at the end of it make a nice nest of dry grass. Sometimes in summer Mrs. Danny and I make our nests on the surface of the ground in a hollow, or in a clump of tall grass, especially if the ground is low and wet. We have several good-sized families in a year. All meadow mice believe in large families, and that is probably why there are more meadow mice than any other mice in the country. I forgot to say that I am also called Field Mouse, and it is because there are so many of your family, and they require so much to eat, that you do a great deal of damage to grass and other crops, spoke up old Mother Nature. You see, she explained to the others, Danny eats grass, clover, bulbs, roots, seeds, and garden vegetables. He also eats some insects. He sometimes puts away a few seeds for the winter, but depends chiefly on finding enough to eat, for he is active all winter. He tunnels the boat under the snow in search of food. When other food is hard to find, he eats bark, and then he sometimes does great damage in young orchards. He gnaws the bark from young fruit trees all the way around as high as he can reach, and of course this kills the trees. He is worse than Peter Rabbit. Danny didn't mention that he is a good swimmer, and not at all afraid of the water. No one has more enemies than he, and the fact that he is alive and here at school this morning is due to his everlasting watchfulness. This will do for today. Tomorrow we will take up others of the most family. End of Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Of the Burgess Animal Book for Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Lieder The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess, Chapter 16 Danny's Northern Cousins and Nimble Heels The Bandit Brown Lemmings and the Jumping Mouse Whitefoot the Wood Mouse and Danny Meadow Mouse had become so interested that they decided they couldn't afford to miss the next lesson. Neither did either of them feel like making the long journey to his home and back again, so Whitefoot found a hole in a stump nearby and decided to camp out there for a few days. Danny decided to do the same thing in a comfortable place under a pile of brush not far away, so the next morning both were on hand when school opened. I told you yesterday that I would tell you about some of Danny's cousins. Began old Mother Nature, just as Chatterer the Red Squirrel, who was late, came hurrying up quite out of breath. Way up in the far north are two of Danny's cousins more closely related to him than to any other members of the Mouse Family. Yet, strange to say, they are not called mice at all, but lemmings. However, they belong to the Mouse Family. Bandy the Bandit Lemming is the most interesting, because he is the one member of the entire family who changes the color of his coat. In summer he wears beautiful shades of reddish brown and gray, but in winter his coat is wholly white. He is also called the Hudson Bay Lemming. Danny Meadow Mouse thinks his tail is short, but he wouldn't if he should see Bandy's tail. That is so short it hardly shows beyond his long fur. He is about Danny's size, but a little stouter and stockier, and his long fur makes him appear even thicker-bodied than he really is. He has very short legs, and his ears are so small that they are quite hidden in the fur around them, so that he appears to have no ears at all. In that same far northern country is a close relative called the Brown Lemming. He is very much like Bandy, save that he is all brown and does not change his coat in winter. Both have the same general habits, and these are much like the habits of Danny Meadow Mouse. They make short burrows in the ground, leading to snug, warm nests of grass and moss. In winter they make little tunnels in every direction under the snow, with now and then an opening to the surface. There are many more brown lemmings than banded lemmings, and their little paths run everywhere through the grass and moss. In that country there is a great deal of moss. It covers the ground just as grass does here, but the most interesting thing about these lemmings is the way they migrate. To migrate is to move from one part of the country to another. You know most of the birds migrate to the sunny south every autumn and back every spring. Once in a while it happens that food becomes very scarce where the lemmings are, then very many of them get together just as migrating birds form great flocks and start on a long journey in search of a place where there is plenty of food. They form a great army and push ahead regardless of everything. They swim wide rivers and even lakes which may lie in their way. Of course they eat everything eatable in their path. My, exclaimed Danny Meadow Mouse, I'm glad I don't live in a country where I might have to make such long journeys. I don't envy those cousins up there in the far north a bit. I'm perfectly satisfied to live right on the green meadows. Which shows your good common sense, said Old Mother Nature. By the way, Danny, I suppose you are acquainted with Nimble Heels, the jumping mouse, who also is rather fond of the green meadows. I ought to have sent word to him to be here this morning. Hardly were the words out of Old Mother Nature's mouth when something landed in the leaves almost at her feet and right in the middle of school.  Whitefoot, the wood mouse, darted into a knot hole in the log on which he had been sitting. Jumper the hare dodged behind a little hemlock tree. Peter Rabbit bolted for a hollow log. Striped chipmunk vanished in a hole under an old stump. Johnny Chuck backed up against the trunk of a tree and made ready to fight. Only Happy Jack the Gray Squirrel and Chatterer the Red Squirrel and Prickly Porky the Porcupine who were sitting in trees kept their places. You see, they felt quite safe. As soon as all those who had run had reached places of safety, they peeped out to see what had frightened them so. Just imagine how very, very foolish they felt when they saw Old Mother Nature smiling down at a little fellow just about the size of little Whitefoot, but with a much longer tail. It was Nimble Heels, the jumping mouse. Well, well, well, exclaimed Old Mother Nature, I was just speaking of you and wishing I had you here. How did you happen to come? And what did you mean by scaring my pupils half out of their wits? Her eyes twinkled. Nimble Heels saw this and knew that she was only pretending to be severe. Before he could reply, Johnny Chuck began to chuckle. The chuckle became a laugh and presently Johnny was laughing so hard he had to hold his sides. Now, as you know, laughter is catching. In a minute or so, everybody was laughing and no one but Johnny Chuck knew what the joke was. At last Peter Rabbit stopped laughing long enough to ask Johnny what he was laughing at. It's the idea of that little pinch of nothing giving us all such a fright, replied Johnny Chuck. Then all laughed some more. When they were through laughing, Nimble Heels answered Old Mother Nature's questions. He explained that he had heard about that school, as by this time almost everyone in the green forest and on the green meadows had. By chance he learned that Danny Meadowmouse was attending. He thought that if it was a good thing for Danny, it would be a good thing for him, so he had come. Just as I was almost here, I heard a twig snap behind me, or thought I did, and I jumped so as to get here and be safe. I didn't suppose anyone would be frightened by little me, he explained. It was some jump, exclaimed Jumper the Hare admiringly. He went right over my head, and I was sitting up at that. It isn't much of a jump to go over your head, replied Nimble Heels. You ought to see me when I really try to jump. I wasn't half trying when I landed here. I'm sorry I frightened all of you so. It gives me a queer feeling just to think that I should be able to frighten anybody. If you please, Mother Nature, am I in time for today's lesson? Not for all of it, but you are just in time for the part I wanted you here for, replied Old Mother Nature, hop up on that log, sited your cousin Whitefoot, where all can see you. Nimble Heels hopped up beside Whitefoot the Woodmouse, and as the two little cousins sat side by side they were not unlike in general appearance, though of the two Whitefoot was the prettier. The coat of Nimble Heels was a dull yellowish darker on the back than on the sides. Like Whitefoot he was white underneath. His ears were much smaller than those of Whitefoot, but the greatest differences between the two were in their hind legs and tails. The hind legs and feet of Nimble Heels were long, on the same plan as those of the Peter Rabbit, but just to glance at them anyone would know that he was a born jumper and a good one. Whitefoot possessed a long tail, but the tail of Nimble Heels was much longer, slim, and tapering. There, said Old Mother Nature, is the greatest jumper for his size among all the animals in this great country. When I say this, I mean the greatest ground jumper. Timmy the Flying Squirrel jumps farther, but Timmy has to climb to a high place and then coasts down on the air. I told you what wonderful jumps Jack Rabbit can make, but if he could jump as high and far for his size as Nimble Heels can jump for his size, the longest jump Jack has ever made would seem nothing more than a hop. By the way, both Nimble Heels and Whitefoot have small pockets in their cheeks. Tell us where you live, Nimble Heels. I live among the weeds along the edge of the green meadows, replied Nimble Heels, though sometimes I go way out on the green meadows, but I like best to be among the weeds, because they are tall and keep me well hidden, and also because they furnish me plenty to eat. You see, I live largely on seeds, though I am also fond of berries and small nuts, especially beech nuts. Some of my family prefer the green forest, especially if there is laughing brook or pond in it. Personally, I prefer, as I said before, the edge of the green meadows. Do you make your home under the ground? asked Striped Chipmunk. For winter, yes, replied Nimble Heels.  In the fall I dig a deep burrow, deep enough to be beyond the reach of Jack Frost, and in a nice little bedroom down there I sleep the winter away. I have little storerooms down there, too, in which I put seeds, berries, and nuts. Then when I do wake up, I have plenty to eat. I might add, said Old Mother Nature, that when he goes to sleep for the winter he curls up in a little ball with his long tail wrapped around him, and in his bed of soft grass he sleeps very sound indeed. Like Johnny Chuck he gets very fat before going to sleep. Now, Nimble Heels, show us how you can jump. Nimble Heels hopped down from the log on which he had been sitting, and at once shot into the air in such a high, long, beautiful jump that everybody exclaimed. This way and that way he went in great leaps. It was truly wonderful. That long tail is what balances him, explained Old Mother Nature. If he should lose it he would simply turn over and over and never know where or how he was going to land. His jumping is done only in times of danger. When he is not alarmed he runs about on the ground like the rest of the mouse family. This is all for today. Tomorrow I will tell you still more about the mouse family. Chapter 17 of the Burgess Animal Book for Children. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Leader and Dorothy Leader. The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess. Chapter 17. Three Little Red Coats and Some Others. The Pine Mouse, Red-backed Mouse, Rufus Tree Mouse, Rock Mouse, and Beach Mouse. With Whitefoot the Wood Mouse, Danny Meadow Mouse, and Nimble Heels the Jumping Mouse attending school, the mouse family was well represented. But when school opened the morning after Nimble Heels had made his sudden and startling appearance there was still another present. It was Piney the Pine Mouse. Whitefoot, who knew him, had huddled him up and brought him along. I thought you wouldn't mind if Piney came, explained Whitefoot. I'm glad he has come, replied Old Mother Nature. It is much better to see a thing than merely to be told about it. And now you have a chance to see for yourself the difference between two cousins, very closely related. Danny Meadow Mouse and Piney the Pine Mouse. What difference do you see, Happy Jack Squirrel? Piney's a little smaller than Danny, though he has much the same shape with the Pomp reply. Two, replied Old Mother Nature. Now, Strat Chipmunks, what difference do you see? The fur of Piney's coat is shorter, finer, and has more of a shine. Then two, there was more of a reddish brown than Danny's, replied Strat Chipmunks. And what do you say, Peter Rabbit? Asked Old Mother Nature. Piney has a shorter tail. Declared Peter and everybody laughed. Trust you to look at his tail first, said Old Mother Nature. These are the chief differences as far as looks are concerned. They're habit stiffer and about the same degree. As you all know, Danny cuts little paths through the grass. Piney doesn't do this, but makes little tunnels that just under the surface of the ground, very much as minor the mold does. He isn't fond of the open green meadows or of damp places that Danny is, but likes best the edge of the green forest and brushing places. He is very much at home in the poorly kept orchard where the weeds are allowed to grow, and in young orchards he does a great deal of damage by cutting off the roots of the young trees and stripping off the bark as high as he can reach. Tell us, Piney, how and where you make your home? Piney hesitated a little for he was bashful. I make my home underground. He ventured finally. I dig a nice little bedroom with several entrances from my tunnels, and in it I make a fine nest of soft grass. Close by I dig one or more rooms in which to store my food, and these usually are bigger than my bedroom. When I get one filled with food, I close it up by filling the entrance with earth. What do you put in your storerooms? asked Peter Rabbit. Short pieces of grass and pieces of roots of different kinds, replied Piney. I am very fond of tender roots and the bark of trees and bushes. And he dearly loves to get in the garden where he can tunnel along a row of potatoes or other root crops added old mother nature. Because of these habits, he does a great deal of damage, and is much disliked by man. Tribe Chipmunk mentioned his reddish brown coat. There is another cousin with a coat of red that he is called the Redback Mouth. He is about the size of Danny Meadow Mouth, but has larger ears and a longer tail. This little fellow is a lover of the green forest, and he is quite as active by day as by night. He is pretty, especially when he sits up to eat, holding his food in his paws as there's happy jack squirrel. He makes his home in a burrow, the entrance to which is under an old stump, a rock or the root of a tree. His nest is out of soft grass or moss. Sometimes he makes it in a hollow log or stump instead of digging a bedroom underground. He is thrifty and lays up a supply of food in underground rooms, hollow logs, and similar places. He eats seeds, small fruits, roots, and various plants. Because of his preference for the green forest and the fact that he lives as a rural far from homes of men, he does little real damage. There is still another little red coat in the family, and he is especially interesting, because while he is related to Danny Meadow Mouth, he is almost fully intrigued. He is called the Rufus Tree Mouth. Rufus means reddish brown, and he gets that name because of the color of his coat. He lives in the great forests of the far west, where the trees are so big and tall that the biggest tree you have ever seen would look like small besides them. And it is in those great trees that the Rufus Tree Mouth lives. Just while he took to living in trees, no one knows, for he belongs to that branch of the family known as ground mice. But live in them he does, and he is quite as much at home in them as any squirrel. Chatterer the red squirrel was interested right away. Does he build a nest in the tree like a squirrel?  In some sections, he places it only in big trees, sometimes a hundred feet from the ground. In other sections, it is placed in small trees, and only a few feet above the ground. The high nests often are old, deserted nest of squirrels and large and build over. Some of them are very large indeed and have been used year after year, each year they have been added to. One of these big nests will have several bedrooms and little passages running all through it. It appears that Mrs. Rufus usually has one of these big nests to herself. Rufus having a small nest of his own out on one of the branches. The big nest is close up against the trunk of the tree where several branches meet. Does Rufus travel from one tree to another, or does he live in just one tree as happy jack squirrel? Wherever branches of one tree touch those of another, and you know in a thick forest, this is frequently the case, he travels about freely if he wants to. But those trees are so big that I suspect he spent most of his time in the one which his home is, replied Old Mother Nature. However, if an enemy appears in his home tree, he makes his escape by jumping from one tree to another just as you would do. What I want to know is where he gets his food if he spends all his time in from the trees, spoke up standing middlemost. Old Mother Nature replied, well should he get it, but up where he lives, yes. Rufus never has to worry about food. It is all around him. You see, so far as known, he lives wholly on the thick parts of the needles, which you know are the leaves of the fur and fruits tree, and on the bark of tender twigs. So, you see, he is more of a tree dweller than any other squirrel family. While Rufus has the general shape of Danny and his relatives, he has quite a long tail. And I guess that's due for the nearest relatives of Danny Middle Mouse. He certainly has a lot of them, remarked Whitefoot the Wood Mouse, then he added a little wistfully. Of course, in a way, they are all cousins of mine, but I wish I had some a little more closely related. You have, replied Old Mother Nature, and Whitefoot picked up his figures. One of them big here the Rock Mouse, who is out in the mountains in the far west. He is as fond of the rocks as Rufus is of the trees. Sometimes he lives in brush sheep and in brush country, but he prefers rocks, and that is why he is known as the Rock Mouse.  He has just such a long tail covered with hair, it's whole length, but you should see his ears. He has the largest ears of any member of the whole family. That is why he is called Big Ear. He likes best to be out at night, but often comes out on dull days. He's seeds and small nuts, and is especially fond of juniper seeds. He always lays up a supply of food for winter. Often, he has found very high up on the mountains. Another of your cousins, Whitefoot, lives along the sea shore of the east down in the sunny south. He is called the Beach Mouse.  When he lives back from the shore in fields where the soil is dark, his upper coat is dark grayish brown, but when he lives on the white sands of the sea shore, it is very light. His home is in short burrows in the ground.  You haven't told us about Nibbler the Mouse yet, and you said you would, protested Peter Rabbit, and when we were learning about Longfoot, the kangaroo rat, you said he was most closely related to the pocket mice. What about them? said Johnny Chuck. Oh, Mother Nature, laugh, I see, said she, that you want to know all there is to know beyond hand tomorrow morning. I guess we can finish up with the Mouse family, and with them the order of rodents to which all of you belong. End of Chapter 17, Recording by John Leader of Bloomington, Illinois, and Dorothy Leader of Lufon Retirement Home of Southern Minnesota. Chapter 18 of the Burgess Animal Book for Children. This is a LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Janet Friday. The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess. Chapter 18. Mice with Pockets and Others. The Silky and Spiny Pocket Mice. Grasshopper Mouse. Harvest Mouse. And House Mouse. Pockets are very handy things for little people who are thrifty and who live largely on small seeds. Without pockets in which to carry the seeds, I am afraid some of them would never be able to store up enough food for winter, began Old Mother Nature, as soon as everybody was on hand the next morning. I wouldn't be without my pockets for anything, spoke up striped chipmunk. Old Mother Nature smiled. You certainly do make good use of yours, said she, but there are others who have even greater need of pockets, and among them are the pocket mice. Of course, it is because of their pockets that they are called pocket mice. But there are others who have even greater need of pockets, and among them are the pocket mice. Of course, it is because of their pockets that they are called pocket mice. All of these pretty little fellows live in the dry parts of the Far West and Southwest, in the same region where Longfoot the kangaroo rat lives. They are close neighbors and relatives of his. Midget, the silky pocket mouse, is one of the smallest animals in all the great world. So small that Whitefoot, the wood mouse, is a giant compared with him.  His back and sides are yellow, and beneath he is White. He has quite long hind legs and a long tail, and these show at once that he is a jumper. In each cheek is a pocket opening from the outside, and these pockets are lined with hair. He is called silky pocket mouse because of the fineness and softness of his coat.  Neighbors and close relatives are the spiny pocket mice. Do they have spines like prickly porky? demanded Peter Rabbit. Old Mother Nature laughed. I don't wonder you ask, said she. I think it is a foolish name myself, for they haven't any spines at all. Their fur isn't as fine as that of Midget, and it has all through it long coarse hairs, almost like bristles, and from these they got their name. The smallest of the spiny pocket mice is about the size of nibbler the house mouse, and the largest is twice as big. They are more slender than their silky cousins, and their tails are longer in proportion to their size, and have little tufts of hair at the ends. Of course they have pockets in their cheeks. In habits all the pocket mice are much alike. They make burrows in the ground, often throwing up a little mound with several entrances which lead to a central passageway connecting with the bedroom and storerooms. By day the entrances are closed with earth from inside, for the mice are active only at night. Sometimes the burrows are hidden under bushes, and sometimes they are right out in the open. Living as they do in a hot, dry country, the pocket mice have learned to get along without drinking water. Their food consists mainly of a variety of small seeds. Another mouse of the west looks almost enough, like Whitefoot, to be a member of his branch of the family. He has a beautiful yellowish brown coat and white waistcoat, and his feet are white. But his tail is short in comparison with Whitefoot's, and instead of being slim is quite thick. His fur is like velvet. He is called the grasshopper mouse. Is that because he eats grasshoppers? asked Peter Rabbit at once. You've guessed it, laughed old mother nature. He is very, very fond of grasshoppers and crickets. He eats many kinds of insects, moths, flies, cutworms, beetles, lizards, frogs, and scorpions. Because of his fondness for the latter, he is called the scorpion mouse in some sections. He is fond of meat when he can get it. He also eats seeds of many kinds. He is found all over the west, from well up in the north to the hot, dry regions of the southwest. When he cannot find a convenient, deserted burrow of some other animal, he digs a home for himself, and there raises several families each year. In the early evening he often utters a fine, shrill, whistling call note. Another little member of the mouse family found clear across the country is the harvest mouse. He is never bigger than nibbler the house mouse, and often is much smaller. In fact, he is one of the smallest of the entire family. In appearance he is much like nibbler, but his coat is browner, and there are fine hairs on his tail. He loves grassy, weedy, or brushy places. As a rule he does little harm to man, for his food is chiefly seeds of weeds, small wild fruits, and parts of wild plants of no value to man. Once in a while his family becomes so large that they do some damage in grain fields, but this does not happen often. The most interesting thing about this little mouse is the way he builds his home. Sometimes he uses a hole in a tree or post, and sometimes a deserted bird's nest, but more frequently he builds a nest for himself, a little round ball of grass, and other vegetable matter. This is placed in thick grass or weeds close to the ground, or in bushes or low trees several feet from the ground. They are well built little houses and have one or more little doorways on the underside when they are in bushes or trees. Inside is a warm, soft bed made of milkweed or cattail down, the very nicest kind of a bed for the babies. No one has a neater home than the Harvest Mouse. He is quite as much at home in bushes and low trees, as Happy Jack Squirrel is in bigger trees. His long tail comes in very handy then, for he often wraps it around a twig to make his footing more secure. Now, this is all about the native mice and—oh, what is it, Peter? You've forgotten Nibbler the House Mouse, replied Peter. How impatient some little folks are, and how fearful that their curiosity will not be satisfied, remarked Old Mother Nature, as I was saying. This is all about our native mice, that is, the mice who belong to this country, and now we come to Nibbler the House Mouse, who, like Robert the Brown Rat, has no business here at all, but who has followed man all over the world, and like Robert has become a pest to man. Peter Rabbit looked rather sheepish when he discovered that Old Mother Nature hadn't forgotten, and resolved that in the future he would hold his tongue. Have any of you seen Nibbler, asked Old Mother Nature? I have, replied Danny Meadow Mouse. Once I was carried to Farmer Brown's barn in a shock of corn, and I found Nibbler living in the barn. It is a wonder he wasn't living in Farmer Brown's house, said Old Mother Nature, probably other members of his family were. He is perfectly at home in any building put up by man, just as is Robert the Rat. Because of his small size, he can go where Robert cannot. He delights to scamper about between the walls. Being a true rodent, he is forever gnawing holes in the corners of rooms, and opening on to pantry shelves so that he may steal food. He eats all sorts of food, but spoils more for man, by running about over it than he eats. In barns and henhouses he gets into the grain bins and steals a great deal of grain. It is largely because of Robert the Rat and Nibbler that men keep the cats you all hate so. A cat is Nibbler's worst enemy. Nibbler is slender and graceful, with a long, hairless tail and ears of good size. He is very timid, ready to dart into his hole at the least sound. He raises from four to nine babies at a time, and several sets of them in a year. If Mr. and Mrs. Nibbler are living in a house, their nest is made of scraps of paper, cloth, wool, and other soft things stolen from the people who live in the house. In getting this material, they often do great damage. If they are living in a barn, they make their nest of hay and any soft material they can find. While Nibbler prefers to live in or close to the homes of men, he sometimes is driven out and then takes to the fields, especially in summer. There he lives in all sorts of hiding places, and isn't at all particular what the place is, if it promises safety and food can be obtained close by. I'm sorry Nibbler ever came to this country. Man brought him here, and now he is here to stay, and quite as much at home as if he belonged here the way the rest of you do. This finishes the lessons on the order of rodents, the animals related by reason of having teeth for the purpose of gnawing. I suspect these are the only ones in whom you take any interest, and so you will not care to come to school any more. Am I right? No marm! answered Happy Jack the Grey Squirrel, who you remember had laughed at Peter Rabbit for wanting to go to school. No marm! there are ever so many other people of the green forest and the green meadows that we want to know more about than we now know. Isn't that so? Happy Jack turned to the others, and everyone nodded, even prickly porky. There is one little fellow living right near here, who looks to me as if he must be a member of the mouse family. But he isn't like any of the mice you have told us about, continued Happy Jack. He is so small he can hide under a leaf. I'm sure he must be a mouse. You mean teeny weeny the shrew? replied Old Mother Nature, smiling at Happy Jack. He isn't a mouse. He isn't even a rodent. I'll try to have him here tomorrow morning, and we will see what we can find out about him and his relatives. Chapter 19 The Burgess Animal Book for Children This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. The Burgess Animal Book for Children by Thornton W. Burgess. Chapter 19 Toony Weeny and His Cousin The Common or Long-tailed Shrew or Shrew Mouse Short-tailed Shrew or Mole Shrew and Marsh or Water Shrew Of course Old Mother Nature knows, but just the same it is hard for me not to believe that Toony Weeny is a member of the mouse family, said Happy Jack Squirrel to Peter Rabbit, as they scampered along to school. I never have had a real good look at him, but I've had glimpses of him lots of times and always supposed him a little mouse with a short tail. It is hard to believe that he isn't. I hope Old Mother Nature will put him where we can get a good look at him, replied Peter. Perhaps when you really see him he won't look so much like a mouse. When all had arrived Old Mother Nature began the morning lesson at once. You have learned about all the families in the order of rodents, said she. So now we will take up another and much smaller order called Insectivora. I wonder if any of you can guess what that means. It sounds, said Peter Rabbit, as if it must have something to do with insects. That is a very good guess, Peter, replied Old Mother Nature, smiling at him. It does have to do with insects. The members of this order lives very largely on insects and worms, and the name Insectivora means insect eating. There are two families in this order, the Shrew family and the Mole family. Then Teenie Weenie and Minor the Mole must be related, spoke Peter quickly. Right again Peter was the prompt reply. The Shrews and the Moles are related in the same way that you and Happy Jack Squirrel are related. And isn't Teenie Weenie the Shrew related to the mice at all? asked Happy Jack. Not at all, said Old Mother Nature. Many people think he is and often he is called Shrew Mouse. But this is a great mistake. It is the result of ignorance. It seems strange to me that people so often know so little about their new neighbours. She looked at Happy Jack Squirrel, as she said this. And Happy Jack looked sheepish. He felt just as he looked. All this time the eyes of everyone had been searching this way. That way, every way, for Teenie Weenie. For Old Mother Nature had promised to try to have him there that morning. But Teenie Weenie was not to be seen. Now and then a leaf on the ground close by Old Mother Nature's feet moved. But the merry little breezes were always staring up fallen leaves. And no one paid any attention to these. Old Mother Nature understood the disappointment in the faces before her and her eyes began to twinkle. Yesterday I told you that I would try to have Teenie Weenie here, said she. A leaf moved.  And here he is. She finished.  So tiny that the leaf had covered him completely. And it wasn't a very big leaf. It was Teenie Weenie the Shrew. Also called the common shrew. The long-tailed shrew and the shrew-mouse, one of the smallest animals in all the great world. He started to dart under another leaf. But Old Mother Nature stopped him. Sit still. She commanded sharply. You have nothing to fear. I want everybody to have a good look at you. For it is high time these neighbours of yours should know you. I know just how nervous and uncomfortable you are. And I'll keep you only a few minutes. Now everybody take a good look at Teenie Weenie. This command was quite needless. They all were staring with all their might. What they saw was a might of a fellow less than four inches long from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail. And of his total length the tail was almost half. He was slender, had short legs, and mouse-like feet. His coat was brownish above and grayish beneath. And the fur was very fine and soft. But the oddest thing about Teenie Weenie was his long pointed head ending in a long nose. No mouse has a head like it. The edges of the ears could be seen above the fur. But the eyes were so tiny that Peter Rabbit thought he hadn't any and said so. Old Mother Nature laughed. Yes, he has eyes, Peter said she. Look closely and you will see them. But they don't amount to much. Little more than to tell daylight from darkness. Teenie Weenie depends on his nose cheaply. He has a very wonderful little nose. Flexible and very sensitive. Of course, with such poor eyes he prefers the dark when there are fewer enemies abroad. All this time Teenie Weenie had been growing more and more uneasy. Old Mother Nature saw and understood. Now she told him that he might go. Hardly were the words out of her mouth when he vanished, darting under some dead leaves. Hidden by them he made his way to an old log and was seen no more. Doesn't he eat anything but insects and worms, a striped chipmunk? Yes, replied Old Mother Nature. He is very fond of flesh and if he finds the body of a bird or animal that has been killed he will tear it to pieces. He is very hot tempered as are all his family and will not hesitate to attack a mouse much bigger than himself. He is so little and so active that he has to have a great deal of food and probably eats his own weight in food every day. Of course that means he must do a great deal of hunting and he does. He makes tiny little paths under the fallen leaves and in swampy places little tunnels through the moss. He is especially fond of old rotted stumps and logs and brush piles for in such places he can find grubs and insects. At the same time he is well hidden. He is active by day and night but in the daytime takes pains to keep out of the light. He prefers damp to dry places. In winter he tunnels about under the snow. In summer he uses the tunnels and runways of meadow mice and others when he can. He eats seeds and other vegetable food when he cannot find insects or flesh. How about his enemies? Ask Chattera the red squirrel. He has plenty replied Old Mother Nature but is not so much hunted as the members of the mouse family. This is because he has a strong unpleasant scent which makes him a poor meal for those at all particular about their food. Some of the hawks and owls appear not to mind this and these are his worst enemies. Has he any near relatives? Ask Jumper the hare. Several was the prompt response. Blarina the short tailed shrew also called Mole Shrew is the best known. He is found everywhere in forests old pastures and along grassy banks but seldom far from water. He prefers moist ground. He is much larger and thicker than teeny whenny and has a shorter tail. People often mistake him for minor the Mole because of the thick fine fur which is much like Miners and his habit of tunneling about just beneath the surface but if they would look at his forefeet they would never make that mistake. They are small and like the feet of the mouse family not at all like Miners big shovels. Moreover he is smaller than Miner and his tunnels are seldom in the earth but just under the leaves and grass. His food is much the same as that of teeny whenny worms insects flesh when he can get it and seeds. He is fond of beech nuts. He is quite equal to killing a mouse of his own size or bigger and does not hesitate to do so when he gets the chance. He makes a soft comfortable nest under a log or in a stump or in the ground and has from four to six babies at a time. Teeny whenny sometimes has as many as 10. The senses of smell and hearing are very keen and make up for the lack of sight. His eyes like those of other shrews are probably abused only in distinguishing light from darkness. His coat is dark brownish gray. Another of the shrew family is the marsh shrew also called water shrew and black and white shrew. He is longer than either of the others and as you have guessed is a lover of water. He is a good swimmer and gets much of his food in the water water beetles and grubs and perhaps tadpoles and minnows. Now who among you knows minor the mole? I do that is I have seen him replied Peter Rabbit. Very well Peter tomorrow morning we will see how much you know about minor replied old mother nature. End of chapter 9