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Updated: June 24, 2025
And that remark didn't please Nimble's mother at all. Nimble's mother hadn't liked Mr. Grouse's remark about Foxes. Somehow she couldn't put Foxes out of her mind. And not once did she mean to let Nimble wander out of her sight. At first, when he was only a tiny chap, it was easy for her to keep her young son near her. But Nimble grew a little livelier with each day that passed.
To his amazement, where Mr. Grouse had been sitting on the log there was now nothing at all. "Up! Up!" It was Mr. Grouse's voice that Turkey Proudfoot heard; and it seemed to come from the tree right above his head. Although Turkey Proudfoot didn't like to obey anybody's orders and certainly not Mr. Grouse's there was a note of alarm in the cry that made him squall with terror.
Grouse's warning he would surely have captured Turkey Proudfoot. It was like Turkey Proudfoot not to thank his cousin. And it was like him, too, to fly into a rage. "You might have warned me sooner," he complained to Mr. Grouse. "That red rascal is quick as lightning. He almost caught me." "I thought you'd follow me when you saw me rise," said Mr. Grouse. "I didn't see you."
Tommy had never caught a grouse. But his mother had brought home some of old Mother Grouse's relations for him to eat; and Tommy knew of nothing that tasted any better. He thought that old Mother Grouse must be sleeping, she was so still. And he did not mean to wake her if he could help it at least, not until he had caught her.
Just then came a new, strange, jerky fluttering of wings far softer than the grouse's, and George and Jane cried out together: "Oh, do mind your wings in the fires!" For they saw at once that it was the great white Arctic moth. "What's the matter?" he asked, settling on the dragon's tail. So they told him. "Sealskin, are they?" said the moth. "Just you wait a minute!"
And there's nothing like feathers to keep the cold off," said Brother Tom. "I suppose," said Turkey Proudfoot, "Mr. Grouse's legs wouldn't get as cold as ours do, even if he hadn't a feather on them." "Why not?" asked Brother Tom. "Because they're shorter," said Turkey Proudfoot. Brother Tom made no reply. He was no longer awake.
He sidled along the rail and huddled against his brother Tom. Brother Tom stirred and stretched himself. "This night's a nipper, isn't it?" he remarked. "I can't help wishing my legs were like Mr. Grouse's." "Huh!" Turkey Proudfoot exclaimed. "You'd look queer as fat as you are if you had legs as short as his." "Ah! But his legs are feathered out.
"How many I have missed to one I have killed! How often the fierce arrow hissed its threat close by the wide ears! How often the puff of lifted feathers has marked the innocuous passage of my very best arrow! How often the roar of wings has replied to the 'chuck' of my steel-head shaft as it stabbed the tree branch under the grouse's feet! Oh, le bon temps, que de siecle de fer.
"I hope," he cried, "you don't mean to say that we Grouse aren't swift!" "No, indeed!" Nimble's mother answered hastily. "I should hope not!" was Mr. Grouse's response to that. "For everybody knows that we go up like rockets at the slightest sign of danger." "Exactly!" said Nimble's mother. "You are so swift that you don't really need those spots to help conceal yourself, once you're grown up."
"There is no bard in all the choir, ....... Not one of all can put in verse, Or to this presence could rehearse The sights and voices ravishing The boy knew on the hills in spring, When pacing through the oaks he heard Sharp queries of the sentry-bird, The heavy grouse's sudden whir, The rattle of the kingfisher." Emerson's Harp.
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