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THERE was great excitement in the neighborhood of Farmer Green's house. Rusty Wren had found some strange tracks. And nobody knew whose they were. Now, when they were puzzled like that the field- and forest-folk usually went straight to Mr. Crow for advice. But this time it happened that the old gentleman had gone on an excursion to the further side of Blue Mountain, where Brownie Beaver lived.
There are in the woods occasional moanings, premonitions of change, which are inaudible to the dull ears of men, but which, I have no doubt, the forest-folk hear and understand. If the doe's suspicions were excited for an instant, they were gone as soon. With an affectionate glance at her fawn, she continued picking up her breakfast.
And behind it came clawing a round-paunched opossum; grinning from the pain of sparks that were stinging it to a hated activity. The wilderness was giving up its secrets, with a vengeance. And the Red Terror, as ever, was enforcing a truce among the forest-folk; a truce bred of stark fear.
These sturdy forest-folk of old Virginia, who had reached that state of human advance, midway between savagery and civilization, that is known as barbarism, were but a small portion of that red-skinned, vigorous, and most interesting race familiar to us under their general but wrongly-used name of "Indians."
"The first thing a soldier has to learn is to obey," he barked. "But I'm a general!" Mr. Crow protested. "Well, these are general orders; so you'll have to obey 'em," said Major Monkey glibly. And poor old Mr. Crow didn't know what to say to that. But he couldn't help looking rather grumpy. The New Army "Now, then fall in!" Major Monkey shouted to the whole company of field-and forest-folk.
Crow had flown out of sight the Major rolled over and over on the ground. And then he climbed a tree and swung by his tail from a limb, while he made an odd, chuckling sound. "A general!" he said. "General Crow! Why he never wore a uniform in all his life!" On the following morning the field-and forest-folk began gathering at the edge of the woods near the pasture almost before it was light.
A good many of the forest-folk said that he really wasn't any lamer but he was lazier. However that may have been, he began to stay at home a good deal of the time. And finally Sandy Chipmunk heard that Uncle Sammy had opened a store, in which he kept all sorts of good things to eat. When Sandy learned that he lost no time in going over to Uncle Sammy's house near the swamp. Sure enough!
And he had nailed it on a tree to catch all sorts of animals and birds. And after he had caught all the forest-folk in Pleasant Valley he intended to take the trap to Swift River and set it for fish and eels and turtles. When Mr. Crow heard the news he haw-hawed loudly. "What are you laughing about?" Jasper Jay asked him. "Trap!" Mr. Crow sneered. "That's no trap. That's what's called a mail-box.
It was on such an excursion to the bank of the mill pond that he caught sight, one day, of Paddy Muskrat or to be more exact, that Paddy Muskrat caught sight of him. Now it was seldom that anybody spoke to Grumpy Weasel. On the contrary, most of the forest-folk dodged out of sight whenever they saw him, and said nothing.
There are in the woods occasional moanings, premonitions of change, which are inaudible to the dull ears of men, but which, I have no doubt, the forest-folk hear and understand. If the doe's suspicions were excited for an instant, they were gone as soon. With an affectionate glance at her fawn, she continued picking up her breakfast.
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