Wood Magic: A Fable
reputation, and were the first of all the people in the wood, then we
had messengers enough, and they flew to do our bidding. But now, they
turn aside. This is very bitter. When I get home, I must curl round and
think about it; I cannot endure this state of things. How dreadful it
is to be poor! I wish we had not dissipated our wealth so freely.
However, there is a little left still in a secret corner. As I said, I
must see about it. Here is a gnat. Gnat, will you carry a message for
me?"
"Well, I don't know," said the gnat; "I must think about it. Will
to-morrow do?"
"No," said the fox quickly, before the gnat flew off. "Go for me to
Kapchack, and say there has been a secret----"
"A secret?" said the gnat; "that's another matter." And he went down
closer to the fox.
"Yes," said the fox, "you fly as fast as you can, and whisper to
Kapchack--you have free admittance, I know, to the palace--that there
has been a secret meeting in the copse about his love affair, and that
the courtiers are all against it, and are bent on his destruction,
especially the owl, the hawk, the crow, the rook, the weasel (the weasel
worst of all, for they would have chosen him as their deputy), the
stoat, and the jackdaw, and that he has only one true friend, the fox,
who sends the message."
"All right!" said the gnat; "all right, I'll go!" And off he flew,
delighted to be entrusted with so great a secret.
While the courtiers were thus intriguing, not only against Kapchack, but
against each other, Bevis and the squirrel went back into the
raspberries, and Bevis helped himself to the fruit that had ripened
since yesterday.
"It seems to me," said Bevis, after he had eaten as much as he could,
"that they are all very wicked."
"So they are," said the squirrel. "I am sorry to say they are rather
treacherous, and I warned you not to believe all they said to you. I
would not let them use my copse, but the fact is, if they are wicked,
Kapchack is a hundred times more so. Besides, it is very hard on the
jay, who is an old acquaintance of mine--we often have a chat in the
fir-trees--to have his dear, sweet, pretty lady stolen away from him by
such a horrid old wretch, whose riches and crown have quite turned her
head!"
"What a business it all is," said Bevis. "Everybody seems mixed up in
it. And so it is true that Prince Tchack-tchack is also in love with the
pretty jay?"
"Yes, that it is," said the squirrel; "and, between you and me, I have
seen her flirt with him desperately, in that very hawthorn bush he
forced the missel-thrush to give up to him. And that is the reason he
will not let Kapchack peck his eye out, as he is so vain, and likes to
look nice."
"Let Kapchack peck his eye out! But Kapchack is his father. Surely his
papa would not peck his eye out?"
"Oh, dear me!" said the squirrel, "I almost let the secret out.
Goodness! I hope nobody heard me. And pray, Bevis dear, don't repeat
it--oh, pray don't!--or it will be sure to be traced to me. I wish I had
never heard it. If I had not listened to that vile old crow; if I had
not been so curious, and overheard him muttering to himself, and
suggesting doubts at night! Bevis dear, don't you ever be curious, and
don't you say a word."
The squirrel was in a terrible fright, till Bevis promised not to repeat
anything.
"But," said he, "you have not told me the secret."
"No," said the squirrel, "but I very nearly did, and only just stopped
in time. Why, if the trees heard it, they would pass it from one to the
other in a moment. Dear, dear!" He sat down, he was so frightened he
could not frisk about. But Bevis stroked him down, and soothed him, and
said he had the most lovely silky tail in the world, and this brought
him to himself again.
"All this comes," said the squirrel, "of my having run up the wrong side
of the tree first this morning. Take care, Bevis dear, that you too do
not make a mistake, and put the wrong foot first out of bed when you get
up." Bevis laughed at this, and asked which was his wrong foot. "Well,"
said the squirrel, "the fact is, it depends: sometimes it is one, and
sometimes it is the other, and that is the difficulty, to know which it
is, and makes all the difference in life. The very best woman I ever
knew (and she was a farmer's wife) always, when she was out walking, put
one foot before the other, and so was always right."
"Nonsense," said Bevis, "how could she walk without putting one foot
before the other?"
"Oh, yes," said the squirrel, "many people, though they think they put
one foot before the other, really keep the wrong foot foremost all the
time. But do you remember to-morrow morning when you get up."
"I do not see what difference it can make," said Bevis.
"If you put one foot out first," said the squirrel, "it will very likely
lead you to the looking-glass, where you will see yourself and forget
all the rest, and you will do one sort of thing that day; and if you put
the other out first it will lead you to the window, and then you will
see something, and you will think about that, and do another sort of
thing; and if you put both feet out of bed together they will take you
to the door, and there you will meet somebody, who will say something,
and you will do another kind of thing. So you see it is a very important
matter, and this woman, as I said, was the best that ever lived."
"No she wasn't," said Bevis, "she was not half so good as my mother is."
"That is true, dear," said the squirrel. "Your mother is the very best
of all. But don't forget about your feet to-morrow morning, dear."
"Look up," said Bevis, "and tell me what bird that is."
The squirrel looked up, and saw a bird going over at a great height.
"That is a peewit," he said. "He is a messenger; you can see how fast
and straight he is flying. He is bringing some news, I feel sure, about
Choo Hoo. Kapchack sent an out-post of peewits over the hills to watch
Choo Hoo's movements, and to let him know directly if he began to
gather his army together. Depend upon it, dear, there is some very
important news. I must tell the woodpecker, and he will find out; he is
very clever at that." The squirrel began to get restless, though he did
not like to tell Bevis to go.
"You promised to tell me about Choo Hoo," said Bevis.
"So I did," said the squirrel, "and if you will come to-morrow I will do
so; I am rather in a hurry just now."
"Very well," said Bevis, "I will come to-morrow. Now show me the way to
the felled tree." As they were going Bevis recollected the weasel, and
asked if he was really so ill he could not move, but was obliged to lick
his paw to cure the pain.
The squirrel laughed. "No," he whispered; "don't you say I said so: the
truth is, the weasel is as well as you or I, and now the council is
broken up I daresay he is running about as quickly as he likes. And,
Bevis dear, stoop down and I'll tell you (Bevis stooped), the fact is,
he was at the council all the time."
"But I never saw him," said Bevis, "and he never said anything."
"No," whispered the squirrel very quietly, "he wanted to hear what they
said without being present; he was in the elm all the time; you know,
dear, that malice-minded elm on the other side of the raspberries, which
I told you was rotten inside. He lives there in that hole; there is a
way into it level with the ground; that is his secret hiding-place."
"I will bring my cannon-stick to-morrow," said Bevis, delighted to have
discovered where the weasel lived at last, "and I will shoot into the
hole and kill him."
"I could not let you do that," said the squirrel. "I do not allow any
fighting, or killing, in my copse, and that is the reason all the birds
and animals come here to hold their meetings, because they know it is a
sanctuary. If you shoot off your cannon the birds are sure to hear it,
and you will not be present at any more of their meetings, and you will
not hear any more of the story. Therefore it would be very foolish of
you to shoot off your cannon; you must wait, Bevis dear, till you can
catch the weasel outside my copse, and then you may shoot him as much as
you like."
"Very well," said Bevis, rather sulkily, "I will not shoot him in the
hole if you do not want me to. But how could the weasel have been in the
elm all the time, when the humble-bee said he found him lying in the
sunshine on a bank licking his paw?"
"Why, of course he told the humble-bee to say that."
"What a cheater he is, isn't he?" said Bevis. "And how did you find out
where he lived? I looked everywhere for him, and so did Pan--Pan sniffed
and sniffed, but could not find him."
"Nor could I," said the squirrel. "After you shot the--I mean after the
unfortunate business with the thrush, he kept out of the way, knowing
that you had vowed vengeance against him, and although I go about a
good deal, and peep into so many odd corners, I could not discover his
whereabouts, till the little tree-climber told me. You know the
tree-climber, dear, you have seen him in your orchard at home; he goes
all round and round the trees, and listens at every chink, and so he
learns almost all the secrets. He heard the weasel in the elm, and came
at once and told me. Here is the timber, and there is the dragon-fly.
Good-afternoon, Bevis dear; come to-morrow, and you shall hear the
peewit's news, and be sure and not forget to put the right foot out of
bed first in the morning." Bevis kissed his hand to the squirrel, and
went home with the dragon-fly.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE EMPEROR CHOO HOO.
When he woke next morning, Bevis quite forgot what the squirrel had told
him; he jumped out of bed without thinking, and his right foot touched
the floor first, and led him to the window. From the window he saw the
brook, and recollected that the brook had promised to tell him what he
was singing, so as soon as ever he could get out of doors away he went
through the gateway the grasshopper had shown him, and down to the
hatch. Instead of coming quietly on tip-toe, as the brook had told him,
he danced up, and the kingfisher heard him, and went off as before,
whistling: "Weep, weep". Bevis stood on the brink and said: "Brook,
Brook, what are you singing? You promised to tell me what you were
saying."
The brook did not answer, but went on singing. Bevis listened a minute,
and then he picked a willow leaf and threw it into the bubbles, and
watched it go whirling round and round in the eddies, and back up under
the fall, where it dived down, and presently came up again, and the
stream took it and carried it away past the flags. "Brook, Brook," said
Bevis, stamping his foot, "tell me what you are singing."
And the brook, having now finished that part of his song, said: "Bevis
dear, sit down in the shadow of the willow, for it is very hot to-day,
and the reapers are at work; sit down under the willow, and I will tell
you as much as I can remember."
"But the reed said you could not remember anything," said Bevis, leaning
back against the willow.
"The reed did not tell you the truth, dear; indeed, he does not know
all; the fact is, the reeds are so fond of talking that I scarcely ever
answer them now, or they would keep on all day long, and I should never
hear the sound of my own voice, which I like best. So I do not encourage
them, and that is why the reeds think I do not recollect."
"And what is that you sing about?" said Bevis, impatiently.
"My darling," said the brook, "I do not know myself always what I am
singing about. I am so happy I sing, sing, and never think about what it
means; it does not matter what you mean as long as you sing. Sometimes I
sing about the sun, who loves me dearly, and tries all day to get at me
through the leaves and the green flags that hide me; he sparkles on me