IT was late in the afternoon of the same day. In the cottage at home all was quiet and peaceful. The grandmother was taking a nap in her room, with the squirrel curled up comfortably on the pillow beside her. In the kitchen, the fire and the kettle were having it all their own way, for though two other members of the family were in the room, they were either asleep or absorbed in their own thoughts, for they gave no sign of their presence. The kettle was in its glory, for Bruin had polished it that very morning, and it shone like the good red gold. It sang its merriest song, and puffed out clouds of snow-white steam from its slender spout.

"Look at me!" it said to the fire. "Am I not well worth looking at? I feel almost sure that I must have turned into gold, for I never used to look like this. A golden kettle is rather a rare thing, I flatter myself. It really seems a pity that there is no one here except the stupid parrot, who has gone to sleep, and that odious raccoon, who always looks at me as if I were a black pot, and a cracked pot at that."

"To be sure!" crackled the fire, encouragingly. "To be sure! But never mind, my dear! I admire you immensely, as you know, and it is my greatest pleasure to see myself reflected in your bright face. Crick! crack! cr-r-r-r-rickety!" said the fire.

"Hm! hm! tsing! tsing! tsing!" sang the kettle. And they performed really a very creditable duet together.

Now it happened that the parrot was not asleep, though she had had the bad taste to turn her back on the fire and the kettle. She was looking out of the window, in fact, and wondering when the wood-pigeon would come back. Though not a bird of specially affectionate nature, Miss Mary was still very fond of Pigeon Pretty, and always missed her when she was away. This afternoon had seemed particularly long, for no one had been in the kitchen save Coon, with whom she was not on very good terms. Now, she thought, it was surely time for her friend to return; and she stretched her neck, and peered out of the window, hoping to catch the flutter of the soft brown wings. Instead of this, however, she caught sight of something else, which made her start and ruffle up her feathers, and look again with a very different expression.

Outside the cottage stood a man, – an ill-looking fellow, with a heavy pack strapped on his back. He was looking all about him, examining the outside of the cottage carefully, and evidently listening for any sound that might come from within. All being silent, he stepped to the window (not Miss Mary's window, but the other), and took a long survey of the kitchen; and then, seeing no living creature in it (for the raccoon under the table and the parrot on her perch were both hidden from his view), he laid down his pack, opened the door, and quietly stepped in. An ill-looking fellow, Miss Mary had thought him at the first glance; but now, as she noiselessly turned on her perch and looked more closely at him, she thought his aspect positively villanous. He had a hooked nose and a straggling red beard, and his little green eyes twinkled with an evil light as he looked about the cosey kitchen, with all its neat and comfortable appointments.

First he stepped to the cupboard, and after examining its contents he drew out a mutton-bone (which had been put away for Bruin), a hunch of bread, and a cranberry tart, on which he proceeded to make a hearty meal, without troubling himself about knife or fork. He ate hurriedly, looking about him the while, – though, curiously enough, he saw neither of the two pairs of bright eyes which were following his every movement. The parrot on her perch sat motionless, not a feather stirring; the raccoon under the table lay crouched against the wall, as still as if he were carved in stone. Even the kettle had stopped singing, and only sent out a low, perturbed murmur from time to time.

His meal finished, the rascal – his confidence increasing as the moments went by without interruption – proceeded to warm himself well by the fire, and then on tiptoe to walk about the room, peering into cupboards and lockers, opening boxes and pulling out drawers. The parrot's blood boiled with indignation at the sight of this "unfeathered vulture," as she mentally termed him, ransacking all the Madam's tidy and well-kept stores; but when he opened the drawer in which lay the six silver teaspoons (the pride of the cottage), and the porringer that Toto had inherited from his great-grandfather, – when he opened this drawer, and with a low whistle of satisfaction drew the precious treasures from their resting-place, Miss Mary could contain herself no longer, but clapped her wings and cried in a clear distinct voice, "Stop thief!"

The man started violently, and dropping the silver back into the drawer, looked about him in great alarm. At first he saw no one, but presently his eyes fell on the parrot, who sat boldly facing him, her yellow eyes gleaming with anger. His terror changed to fury, and with a muttered oath he stepped forward.

"It was you, was it?" he said fiercely. "You'll never say 'Stop thief' again, my fine bird, for I'll wring your neck before I'm half a minute older."

He stretched his hand toward the parrot, who for her part prepared to fly at him and fight for her life; but at that moment something happened. There was a rushing in the air; there was a yell as if a dozen wild-cats had broken loose, and a heavy body fell on the robber's back, – a body which had teeth and claws (an endless number of claws, it seemed, and all as sharp as daggers); a body which yelled and scratched and bit and tore, till the ruffian, half mad with terror and pain, yelled louder than his assailant. Vainly trying to loosen the clutch of those iron claws, the wretch staggered backward against the hob. Was it accident, or did the kettle by design give a plunge, and come down with a crash, sending a stream of boiling water over his legs? Who can tell? It was a remarkable kettle. But at this last mishap the robber, now fairly beside himself, rushed headlong from the cottage, and still bearing his terrible burden, fled screaming down the road.

At the same moment the door of the grandmother's room was opened hurriedly, and the old lady cried, in a trembling voice, "What has happened? What is it? Coon! Mary! are you here?"

"I am here, Madam!" replied the parrot, quickly. "Coon has – has just stepped out, with – in fact, with an acquaintance. He will be back directly, no doubt."

"But that fearful noise!" said the grandmother. "Was that – "

"The acquaintance, dear Madam!" replied Miss Mary, calmly. "He was excited! – about[163][164] something, and he raised his voice, I confess, higher than good breeding usually allows. Yes. Have you had a pleasant nap?"

The good old lady, still much mystified, though her fears were set at rest by the parrot's quiet confidence, returned to her room to put on her cap, and to smooth the pretty white curls which her Toto loved. No sooner was the door closed than the squirrel, who had been fairly dancing up and down with curiosity and eagerness, opened a fire of questions: —

"Who was it? What happened? What did he want? Who knocked down the kettle? Why didn't you want Madam to know?" etc.

Miss Mary entered into a full account of the thrilling adventure, and had but just finished it when in walked the raccoon, his eyes sparkling, his tail cocked in its airiest way.

"Well?" cried the parrot, eagerly, "is he gone?"

"Yes, my dear, he is gone!" replied Coon, gayly. "Oh, dear me! what a pleasant ride I have had! Why didn't you come too, Miss Mary? You might have held on by his hair. It would have been such fun! Yes, I went on quite a good bit with him, just to show him the way, you know. And then I bade him good-by, and begged him to come again; but he didn't say he would."

Coon shook himself, and fairly chuckled with glee, as did also his two companions; but presently Miss Mary, quitting her perch, flew to the table, and holding out her claw to the raccoon, said gravely: —

"Coon, you have saved my life, and perhaps the Madam's and Cracker's too. Give me your paw, and receive my warmest thanks for your timely aid. We have not been the best of friends, lately," she added, "but I trust all will be different now. And the next time you are invited to a party, if you fancy a feather or so to complete your toilet, you have only to mention it, and I shall be happy to oblige you."

"And for my part, Miss Mary," responded the raccoon warmly, "I beg you to consider me the humblest of your servants from this day forth. If you fancy any little relish, such as snails or fat spiders, as a change from your every-day diet, it will be a pleasure to me to procure them for you. Beauty," he continued, with his most gallant bow, "is enchanting, and valor is enrapturing; but beauty and valor combined, are – "

"Oh, come!" said the squirrel, who felt rather crusty, perhaps, because he had not seen the fun, and so did not care for the fine speeches, "stop bowing and scraping to each other, you two, and let us put this distracted-looking room in order before Madam comes in again. Pick up the kettle, will you, Coon? Look! the water is running all over the floor."

The raccoon did not answer, being apparently very busy setting the chairs straight; so Cracker repeated his request, in a sharper voice.

"Do you hear me, Coon? Please pick up that kettle. I cannot do it myself, for it is twice as big as I am, but I should think you could lift it easily, now that it is empty."

The raccoon threw a perturbed glance at the kettle, and then said in a tone which tried to be nonchalant, "Oh! the kettle is all right. It will get up, I suppose, when it feels like it. If it should ask me to help it, of course I would; but perhaps it may prefer the floor for a change. I – I often lie on the floor, myself," he added.

The squirrel stared. "What do you mean?" he said. "It isn't alive! Toto said it wasn't."

The raccoon beckoned him aside, and said in a low tone, "My good Cracker, Toto says a great many things, and no doubt he thinks they are all true. But he is a young boy, and, let me tell you, he does not know everything in the world. If that thing is not alive, why did it jump off its seat just at the critical moment, and pour hot water over the robber's legs?"

"Did it?" exclaimed the squirrel, much impressed.

"Yes, it did!" replied the raccoon, emphatically. "I saw it with these eyes. And I don't deny that it was a great help, Cracker, and that I was very glad the kettle did it. But see, now! when a creature has no more self-respect than to lie there for a quarter of an hour, with its head on the other side of the room, without making the smallest attempt to get up and put itself together again, why, I tell you frankly I don't feel much like assisting it. You never knew one of us to behave in that sort of way, did you, now?"

"N-n-no!" said Cracker, doubtfully. "But then, if any of us were to lose our heads, we should be dead, shouldn't we?"

"Exactly!" cried the raccoon, triumphantly. "And when that thing loses its head, it isn't dead. That's just the difference. It can go without its head for an hour! I've seen it, when Toto took it off – the head, I mean – and forgot to put it on again. I tell you, it just pretends to be dead, so that it can be taken care of, and carried about like a baby, and given water whenever it is thirsty. A secret, underhand, sly creature, I call it, and I sha'n't touch it to put its head on again!"

And that was all the thanks the kettle got for its pains.

CHAPTER X

WHEN Toto came home, as he did just when night was closing in around the little cottage, he was whistling merrily, as usual; and the first sound of his clear and tuneful whistle brought Coon, Cracker, and Miss Mary all running to the door, to greet, to tell, and to warn him. The boy listened wide-eyed to the story of the attempted robbery, and at the end of it he drew a long breath of relief.

"I am so glad you didn't let Granny know!" he cried. "That was clever of you. She never would have slept quietly again. And, I say! what a good fellow you are, Coon! Shake paws, old boy! And Miss Mary, you are a trump, and I would give you a golden nose-ring like your Princess's if you had a nose to wear it on. To think of you two defending the castle, and putting the enemy to flight, horse, foot, and dragoons!"

"What is dragoons?" asked the parrot, gravely. "I don't think he had any about him, unless it was concealed. He had no horse, either; but he had two feet, – and very ugly ones they were. He danced on them when the kettle poured hot water over his legs, – danced higher than ever you did, Toto."

"Did he?" laughed Toto, who was in high spirits. "Ha! ha! I am delighted to hear it. But," he added, "it is so dark that you do not see our guest, whom I have brought home for a little visit. Where are you, Jim Crow? Come here and be introduced to the family!"

Thus adjured, the crow hopped solemnly forward, and made his best bow to the three inmates, who in turn saluted him, each after his or her fashion. The raccoon was gracious and condescending, the squirrel familiar and friendly, the parrot frigidly polite, though inwardly resenting that a crow should be presented to her, – to her, the favorite attendant of the late lamented Princess of Central Africa, – without her permission having been asked first. As for the crow, he stood on one leg and blinked at them all in a manner which meant a great deal or nothing at all, just as you chose to take it.

"Distinguished persons!" he said, gravely, "it is with pleasure that I make your acquaintance. May this day be the least happy of your lives! Lady Parrot," he added, addressing himself particularly to Miss Mary, "grant me the honor of leading you within. The evening air is chill for one so delicate and fragile."

Miss Mary, highly delighted at being addressed by such a stately title as "Lady Parrot," relaxed at once the severity of her mien, and gracefully sidled into the house in company with the sable-clad stranger, while Toto and the two others followed, much amused.

After a hearty supper, in the course of which Toto related as much of his and Bruin's adventures in the hermit's cave as he thought proper, the whole family gathered around the blazing hearth. Toto brought the pan of apples and the dish of nuts; the grandmother took up her knitting, and said, with a smile: "And who will tell us a story, this evening? We have had none for two evenings now, and it is high time that we heard something new. Cracker, my dear, is it not your turn?"

"I think it is," said the squirrel, hastily cramming a couple of very large nuts into his cheek-pouches, "and if you like, I will tell you a story that Mrs. Cow told me a day or two ago. It is about a cow that jumped over the moon."

"What!" cried Toto. "Why, I've known that story ever since I was a baby! And it isn't a story, either, it's a rhyme, —

"Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow – "

"Yes, yes! I know, Toto," interrupted the squirrel. "She told me that, too, and said it was a pack of lies, and that people like you didn't know anything about the real truth of the matter. So now, if you will just listen to me, I will tell you how it really happened."

THE MOON-CALF

There once was a young cow, and she had a calf.

"And that's half!" said Toto, in rather a provoking manner.

"No, it isn't, it's only the beginning," said the little squirrel, indignantly; "and if you would rather tell the story yourself, Toto, you are welcome to do so."

"Beg pardon! Crackey," said Toto, apologetically. "Won't do so again, Crackey; go on, that's a dear!" and the squirrel, who never bore malice for more than two minutes, put his little huff away, and continued: —

This young cow, you see, she was very fond of her calf, – very fond indeed she was, – and when they took it away from her, she was very unhappy, and went about roaring all day long.

"Cows don't roar!" said Toto the irrepressible. "They low. There's a piece of poetry about it that I learned once: —

"'The lowing herd – '

do something or other, I don't remember what."

"'The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,'"

quoted the grandmother, softly.

"What do they wind?" asked the raccoon. "Yarn, or a chain-pump like the one in the yard, or what?"

"I don't know what you mean by low, Toto!" said the squirrel, without noticing Coon's remarks. "Your cow roared so loud the other day that I fell off her horn into the hay. I don't see anything low in that."

"Why, Cracker, can't you understand?" cried Toto. "They low when they moo! I don't mean that they moo low, but 'moo' is 'low,' don't you see?"

"No, I do not see!" replied the squirrel, stoutly. "And I don't believe there is anything to see, I don't. So there, now!"

At this point Madam interfered, and with a few gentle words made the matter clear, and smoothed the ruffled feathers – or rather fur.

The raccoon, who had been listening with ears pricked up, and keen eyes glancing from one to the other of the disputants, now murmured, "Ah, yes! very explicit. Quite what I should have said myself!" and relapsed into his former attitude of graceful and dignified ease.

The squirrel repeated to himself, "Moo! low! loo! mow! moo!" several times, shook his head, refreshed himself with a nut, and finally, at the general request, continued his story:

So, as I said, this young cow was very sad, and she looed – I mean mowed – all day to express her grief. And she thought, "If I could only know where my calf is, it would not be quite so dreadfully bad. But they would not tell me where they were taking him, though I asked them politely in seven different tones, which is more than any other cow here can use."

Now, when she was thinking these thoughts it chanced that the maid came to milk the cows, and with the maid came a young man, who was talking very earnestly to her.

"What is it, Molly?" says he. "Doesn't thee know me well enough?"

"I knows a moon-calf when I sees him!" says the maid; and with that she boxed his ears, and sat down to milk the cow, and he went away in a huff.

But the cow heard what the maid said, and began to wonder what moon-calves were, and whether they were anything like her calf. Presently, when the maid had gone away with the pail of milk, she said to the Oldest Ox, who happened to be standing near, —

"Old Ox, pray tell me, what is a moon-calf?"

The Oldest Ox did not know anything about moon-calves, but he had no idea of betraying his ignorance to anybody, much less to a very young cow; so he answered promptly, "It's a calf that lives in the moon, of course."

"Is it – are they – like other calves?" inquired the cow, timidly, "or a different sort of animal?"

"When a creature is called a calf," replied the Ox, severely, "it is a calf. If it were a cat, a hyena, or a toad with three tails, it would be called by its own name. Now do you understand?"

Then he shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep, for he did not like to answer questions on matters of which he knew nothing; it fatigued his brain, and oxen should always avoid fatigue of the brain.

But the young cow had one more question to ask, and could not rest till it was answered; so mustering all her courage, she said, desperately, "Oh, Old Ox! before you go to sleep, please —please, tell me if people ever take calves to the moon from here?"

"Frequently!" said the Oldest Ox. "I wish you were there, now. I am asleep. Good-night to you!" and in a few minutes he really was asleep.

But the young cow stood still, thinking. She thought so hard that when the farmer's boy came to drive the cattle into the barn, she hardly saw where she was going, but stumbled first against the door and then against the wall, and finally walked into Old Brindle's stall instead of her own, and got well prodded by the latter's horns in consequence.

"This cow is sick!" said the farmer's boy. "I must give her a warm mash, and cut an inch or two off her tail to-morrow."

Next day the cows were driven out into the pasture, for the weather was warm, and they found it a pleasant change from the barn-yard. They cropped the honey-clover, well seasoned with buttercups and with just enough dandelions scattered about to "give it character," as Mother Brindle said. They stood knee-deep in the cool, clear stream which flowed under the willows, and lay down in the shade of the great oak-tree, and altogether were as happy as cows can possibly be.

All but the young red cow. She cared nothing for any of the pleasures which she had once enjoyed so keenly; she only walked up and down, up and down, thinking of her lost calf, and looking for the moon. For she had fully made up her mind by this time that her darling Bossy had been taken to the moon, and had become a moon-calf; and she was wondering whether she might not see or hear something of him when the moon rose.

The day passed, and when the evening was still all rosy in the west, a great globe of shining silver rose up in the east. It was the full moon, coming to take the place of the sun, who had put on his nightcap and gone to bed. The young cow ran towards it, stretching out her neck, and calling, —

"Bossy! Moo! moo! Bossy, are you there?"

Then she listened, and thought she heard a distant voice which said, "There!"

"I knew it!" she cried, frantically, "I knew it! Bossy is now a moon-calf. Something must be done about it at once, if I only knew what!"

And she ran to Mother Brindle, who was standing by the fence, talking to the neighbor's black cow, – her with the spotted nose.

"Mother Brindle!" she cried. "Have you ever had a calf taken to the moon? My calf, my Bossy, is there, and is now a moon-calf. Tell me, oh! tell me, how to get at him, I beseech you!"

"What nonsense is this?" said Mother Brindle, severely. "Compose yourself! You are excited, and will injure your milk, and that would reflect upon the whole herd. As for your calf, why should you be better off than other people? I have lost ten calves, the finest that ever were seen, and I never made half such a fuss about them as you make over this puny little red creature."

"But he is there, in the moon!" cried the poor cow. "I must find him and get him down. I must, do you hear?"

"Decidedly, your wits must be in the moon, my dear," said the neighbor's black cow, not unkindly. "They certainly have left you. Who ever heard of calves in the moon? Not I, for one; and I am not more ignorant than others, perhaps."

The red cow was about to reply, when suddenly across the meadow came ringing the farm-boy's call, "Co, Boss! Co, Boss! Co, Boss!"

"Ah!" said Mother Brindle, "can it really be milking-time? What a pleasant day this has been! Good-evening to you, neighbor. And you, child," she added, turning to the red cow, "come straight home with me. I heard James promise you a warm mash, and that will be the best thing for you."

But at these words the young cow started, and with a wild bellow ran to the farthest end of the pasture. "Bossy!" she cried, staring wildly up at the silver globe, which was rising steadily higher and higher in the sky, "you are going away from me! Jump down from the moon, and come to your mother! Bossy! Bossy! Come!"

And then a distant voice, floating softly down through the air, answered, "Come! come!"

"He calls me!" cried the red cow. "My darling calls me, and I go. I will go to the moon; I will be a moon-cow! Bossy, Bossy, I come!"

She ran forward like an antelope, gave a sudden leap into the air, and went up, up, up, – over the haystacks, over the trees, over the clouds, – up among the stars.

But, alas! in her frantic desire to reach the moon she overshot the mark; jumped clear over it, and went down on the other side, nobody knows where, and she never was seen or heard of again.

And Mother Brindle, when she saw what had happened, ran straight home and gobbled up the warm mash before any of the other cows could get there, and ate so fast that she made herself ill.

"That is the whole story," said the squirrel, seriously; "and it seemed to me a very curious one, I confess."

"Very!" said Toto, dryly. "But there's nothing about the others in it, – the cat and fiddle, and the little dog, you know."

"Well, they weren't in it really, at all!" replied Cracker. "They were all lies, Mrs. Cow says, every one of them."

"Humph!" said Toto "Well, Mrs. Cow ought to be a good judge of lies, I should say."

"What can be expected," said the raccoon loftily, "from a creature who eats hay? Be good enough to hand me those nuts, Toto, will you? The story has positively made me hungry, – a thing that has not happened – "

"Since dinner-time!" said Toto. "Wonderful indeed, Coon! But I shall hand the nuts to Cracker first, for he has told us a very good story, whether it is true or not."