Читать книгу: «The Hollow Tree and Deep Woods Book», страница 5

THE LITTLE LADY'S VACATION AND HER RETURN

The Little Lady who lives in the House of Many Windows (sometimes called a flat or an apartment by people who, because they are grown up, do not know any better) had been spending the summer on a nice farm in the Land of Pleasant Fields. There had been many things to see – little pigs among other things, and some very small chickens. Also a cow with two calves – one a dark red one, and one spotted, even to its tail, that looked like a barber pole.

Amid all this, and a great deal more, not forgetting the Hillside of Sweet Fruits, the Little Lady had almost forgotten a number of people who lived in the Big Deep Woods, and whose acquaintance she had made through the Story Teller during the winter before, while sailing at evening in the Rockaby Chair for the Shore of White Pillows.

But when the cold winds began to blow and they were all back to the City of Rumbling Streets in the House of Many Windows again and she heard the wind men moaning in the speaking tube, she forgot even the striped tailed calf, and remembered all at once the dark forest and the queer people who dwelt there. And when the Story Teller that night had drawn his chair up before the fire and sat rocking she climbed upon his knee and rocked, too, while he thought, and smoked, and looked into the blaze.

The Little Lady waited a good while. Then she took hold of the lapel of his coat and tugged it gently and looked up into the Story Teller's face.

"Tell me a story," she commanded softly. "One about Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Possum, and Mr. Jack Rabbit and all the others. What did they do this summer? You know; tell it."

The Story Teller grumbled something about not having met any of these fellows lately, and rocked a little harder and thought very fast.

"I s'pose you've heard about Mr. Crow's April fool," he said, as he knocked the ashes from his pipe into the grate.

"No, I haven't – not that story – I never heard that story," she said eagerly.

So, then, the Story Teller rocked some more, and half shut his eyes and began.

THE STORY OF THE C. X. PIE
MR. CROW PLANS AN APRIL FIRST PARTY AND PREPARES A SURPRISE FOR THE OCCASION

Once upon a time when the Crow and the 'Coon and the 'Possum lived together in three big hollow branches of a great Hollow Tree in the Big Deep Woods, and used to meet and have good times together in the parlor down stairs, the Crow made up his mind to have a party next day. He told the 'Coon and the 'Possum about it right away, and they asked him if he was going to have Mr. Dog this time, and Mr. Crow said "No" and looked foolish, because once he did have Mr. Dog just for a joke and got the worst of it himself.

"I remember about that," said the Little Lady.

That's what the Crow did, too – remembered, and he had never felt just right about the way he had been fooled when he meant to fool the others. So when they reminded him about Mr. Dog he said to himself that he would fool them yet, and he'd do it at this very party.

But he made b'lieve he was very meek and said he was going to have Mr. Jack Rabbit over, and Mr. Turtle, to make a full table, and that they would have chicken pie and hot biscuits with maple syrup for dinner. This suited the 'Coon and the 'Possum exactly, for Mr. Crow was the best cook anywhere in the country, and they were both fond of good things. The 'Coon said he'd go right away with the invitation for Jack Rabbit, and the 'Possum said that he felt like taking a walk anyway, and that he'd pass around by the Wide Blue Water where Mr. Turtle lived, and tell him. So off they went and left Mr. Crow all alone to think about it and get ready.

He walked back and forth a while in his own room and scratched his head, and then he went down stairs out in the sun and thought some more. All at once he jumped right straight up and laughed, for he happened to remember that it was the last day of March, and that it was the very thing to have a party on April fool day, and fool the 'Possum and the 'Coon in some way, so that the others would laugh and say it was the best joke of the season. Then he thought of a way to fool them, and pretty soon he had that fixed, too.

He didn't wait a minute, but went right to cooking and baking just as hard as ever he could, and pretty soon he had three chicken pies done, as fine looking as any you ever saw. And two of them were fine, sure enough – just as fine as Mr. Crow could make them – but the other wasn't chicken at all. It was made out of leaves and sticks, and the only thing good about it was the crust. This pie he intended for the 'Coon and the 'Possum, and one of the good ones was for Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Turtle. The last one was for himself, with an extra piece over for anybody that might happen to want a second helping.

Well, he set them all in a row on the kitchen table, and walked up and down looking at them and laughing and thinking what fun it would be for the others when Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon cut their pie and tried to eat what was inside of it. He had the pies set on the table so he knew just which was which, and besides had made some letters on the upper crust so the right ones would be sure to get them. On the leaf pie he had "P. C.," for 'Possum and 'Coon. On one of the others he had "R. T.," for Rabbit and Turtle. On the last one he had "C. X.," which stood for Crow, and an extra piece for manners. He had put these letters where the fancy thing is in the centre of pies, and had joined them together so you'd hardly notice them at first.

All at once, while he was looking at them and laughing, he heard Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum coming back. Then he called out to them and asked them if they had invited the guests and told them to come up and see the pies he had made while they were gone. So they came up and looked at them, and said they certainly were fine, and that Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Turtle were busy getting out their best clothes, and would be there early.

Then the Crow said he guessed he'd slip over to Mr. Man's pantry and borrow some maple syrup while Mr. Man was at dinner and be back for early supper. So off he went and left the 'Coon and the 'Possum there together.

When he'd been gone awhile Mr. 'Possum said he believed he'd take one more look at those nice pies, and Mr. 'Coon said he guessed he would, too. So they went up to Mr. Crow's kitchen again and stood and looked at them till they were so hungry that Mr. 'Possum licked out his tongue and walked up and smelled of them. First he smelled a good long smell of the C. X. pie – so – and said, "O-o-oh! How nice!" Then he smelled a very long smell of the R. T. pie – so – and said, "O-o-o-o-oh! How delicious!" Then he smelled a very, very long smell of the P. C. pie – so – and said, "O-o-o-o-o-oh! How strange!"

That made the 'Coon want to smell, too, and when he had smelled of all three he said that there certainly did seem to be a difference in those pies, and that the last one had a sort of a woodsy spring-like flavor, like the first of April. That made the 'Possum jump, and he said he had not remembered till that very minute that to-morrow was the first, sure enough. Then he said he didn't suppose Mr. Crow would care how the pies were set on the table, so he moved them about and put the P. C. pie where the C. X. pie had stood, and the C. X. pie at the end instead of the P. C. pie. But while he was doing it he happened to notice the joined letters in the middle of the pies, which he hadn't seen before. He looked at first one and then the other, and studied a minute what to do. Then he picked up an old thin knife that Mr. Crow used for cutting around cake and slipping pies out sometimes when they stuck to the pan.

"Oh," said Mr. 'Coon. "I hope you're not going to cut them!"

"Well," said Mr. 'Possum, "Not so's you'll notice it."

Then he slipped the thin knife around the top crust of the P. C. pie and lifted it off carefully and looked in and made a very queer face. Mr. 'Coon came and looked in, too, and made another very queer face. Then Mr. 'Possum lifted off the top of the C. X. pie and looked in and smiled, and Mr. 'Coon looked in and smiled, too. There were two nice, fat chicken legs right on top, and Mr. 'Coon took one and Mr. 'Possum the other, because they said that as this was to be their pie any way, they might just as well have a little taste of it beforehand. Then they changed the covers and put the P. C. cover on the good pie and C. X. cover on the fool pie, and just then they heard Mr. Crow coming home, and slipped down into the parlor and up into their own rooms and pretended to be asleep when he came in.

THE STORY OF THE C. X. PIE
CONTINUED
MR. CROW'S PARTY AND THE OPENING OF THE PIES

Well, next morning Mr. Crow was down stairs bright and early, putting the big parlor room in order and setting the table. Pretty soon the 'Coon and 'Possum came down, too, and helped him, and now and then, when they happened to look at each other across the table, they would wink and smile, but they didn't say a word. By and by the three pies were brought in and set in a row at one end of the table, and nobody could tell from looking at them but what they were exactly as the Crow had baked them.

Just then there was a knock down stairs, and Mr. Rabbit came in carrying a large bunch of early flowers that he had gathered as he came along, and dressed in his new spring suit. They saw a little white roll in one of his coat pockets, too, and they knew it was a poem for the occasion, for Jack Rabbit writes poems whenever he gets a chance, specially in the early springtime.

Mr. Crow hurried out and got the pair of pink glass vases that Mr. 'Coon had given him for Christmas and put the flowers in them for the table, while he asked Jack Rabbit if it was muddy walking and if he had seen anything of Mr. Turtle.

Mr. Rabbit said that the ground was rather damp, but that he could pick his way pretty well, and that he had never seen such a wet spring since the year that the Wide Blue Water came up over his back garden and drowned his early pease. He hadn't seen Mr. Turtle, but just then Mr. Turtle himself waddled in with a basket of nice water salad, which he had gathered before starting. Then Mr. Crow hurried off to put his biscuits in the oven and left the others to sit around the table and talk.

After they had talked about the weather and told the latest things that had happened to Mr. Dog, who lived with Mr. Man, and whom none of them liked very well, the 'Possum said all at once that being this was April First he shouldn't wonder if it was to be a sort of surprise party in some way.

That made Mr. Turtle and Jack Rabbit curious right away, and they wanted to know what kind of a surprise he thought it was going to be and if he thought it would be a pleasant one. Mr. 'Possum said he was sure it would be pleasant, and then he looked at the three fine pies on the table and said it was just as apt to be in one of those pies as anywhere. Then Mr. Turtle said he'd heard of "four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie," and how they began to sing when the pie was opened, but he hoped it wouldn't be that kind of a surprise, for he didn't care much for blackbirds himself, specially in pies. The 'Possum said there might be one black bird sing when these pies were opened, but he didn't b'lieve there'd be any more, which made the 'Coon laugh so he nearly fell off his chair. Just then they heard the Crow coming, and the 'Possum whispered quick to the Turtle and the Rabbit that they must be sure and eat their pie all up and ask for more, as Mr. Crow was proud of his cooking and always felt offended when people didn't eat heartily.

Well, Mr. Crow came in carrying a great pan of fine biscuits and set them down in the middle of the table, while everybody said, "What lovely biscuits!" and asked whether they were made with buttermilk or baking powder, and wanted his recipe. Mr. Crow said he didn't have any recipe, but just took a pinch of this and a pinch of that, and that there was a good deal in the knack and in having things come natural, just as it was natural for Mr. Rabbit to write poetry. Then he said he hoped Mr. Rabbit hadn't forgotten to think up a few thoughts for this occasion, and Mr. Rabbit said that he had been too busy with spring work to write much lately, but that he did have a few lines in his pocket that they might be willing to listen to. So then he took out the roll he had brought and put on his glasses and stood up, while all the others sat still and listened.

 
Oh, sweet the month of April,
When birds begin to twitter!
When dewdrops on the clover
And tender grasses glitter!
When every shoot of lettuce
That from the ground arises
Gives promise of a salad —
Oh, month of sweet surprises!
 

You see Mr. Rabbit is a great gardener, and specially fond of young clover and tender salad.

 
Oh, sweet the month of April,
When youthful chicks are hatching,
And gayly in the meadows
Around their ma are scratching!
The finest way to eat them
In dumpling or in pies is —
Oh, here's to you, sweet April,
With all your glad surprises!
 

Mr. Rabbit knew that the Crow would have chicken either in dumpling or pies, and anyhow he needed "pies is" to rhyme with "surprises," and when he came to those lines and sat down the others shouted and laughed and Mr. Crow pounded on the table and declared he couldn't have done better if he'd been a poet and written it himself! And the 'Coon and the 'Possum both pounded too and said "That's so! That's so!"

Then Mr. Crow shoved the R. T. pie over between Jack Rabbit and Mr. Turtle and the pie that was marked P. C. between the 'Coon and the 'Possum. The C. X. pie he pulled up in front of himself, for of course he never even suspected that the top crust on them had been changed by the 'Possum.

 
The finest way to eat them
In dumpling or in pies is —
he said, quoting Mr. Rabbit's poem,
Oh, here's to you, sweet April,
With all your glad surprises!
 

Then he told them not to be bashful, but to help themselves and remember there was plenty more where that came from. Just as he said this he picked up his knife and stuck it down deep into the C. X. pie. Mr. 'Possum picked up his knife and stuck it down deep into the P. C. pie, and Mr. Rabbit picked up his knife and stuck it into the R. T. pie and cut it in half. Mr. Turtle was watching him pretty anxiously, for he remembered what the 'Possum had said about a surprise, but when Jack Rabbit laid a smoking half with the gravy running out of it on his plate he forgot all about everything else.

Mr. 'Possum didn't divide the P. C. pie just yet, but kept cutting as if it cut very hard, and talking a good deal while he cut. He said that, speaking of surprises, it used to be quite a fashion to fool people on the first of April, and that he'd known lots of the biggest kind of jokes played on people that day. The biggest jokes, though, he said, were those that came back on the people who played them, and that he knew one of that kind once that made him laugh now every time he thought about it. Then he did laugh some, and sawed away and said he guessed he'd struck a bone; and the 'Coon laughed, too, and Mr. Crow was nearly dying with trying to keep from laughing, for he thought Mr. 'Possum was sawing away on an old stick. He didn't want to let on, though, so he quit looking and commenced cutting his own pie. He laughed to himself and cut a minute, and then, all of a sudden, he didn't want to laugh any more, for he had cut a hole in the top of the C. X. pie and he saw something and smelled something that made him right sick. He looked over quick to Mr. 'Possum's plate, and what he saw there made him sicker yet. For there lay a half of the P. C. pie, and Mr. Crow saw with one look that it was just as fine a chicken pie as ever came out of an oven.

Mr. 'Coon had a piece on his plate, too, and they were saying what a fine pie it was, and Mr. Turtle and Mr. Rabbit said so, too, and that Mr. Crow was certainly the finest cook in those parts.

THE STORY OF THE C. X. PIE
CONTINUED
WHAT HAPPENS TO MR. CROW AND HIS PIE

Poor Mr. Crow! You never saw anybody look as sickly and foolish as he did. He thought that he had made a dreadful mistake in marking the pies, and that now he had got to eat or pretend to eat the mess of old leaves and sticks that filled up the C. X. pie clear to the top. He never thought of Mr. 'Possum's changing the crust, and even if he had, he wouldn't have felt any better.

I don't suppose you'll ever know just how bad Mr. Crow did feel, unless you get into a fix like that some time yourself. First he got hot and then he got cold, and the sweat began to break out on his bill like dew drops. He began to eat a little of the crust first, and then he was afraid if he ate the crust away the others would see what was inside of it, so he put his fork in and got a rolled up leaf with gravy on it and whisked it into his mouth and chewed and tried to swallow till his eyes stuck out and the tears ran down in a stream. He was glad that nobody seemed to be looking at him, for everybody else was too busy eating the nice pie, and Mr. 'Possum was just saying that he liked Mr. Crow's surprises, for he always surprised them by having something better than they expected.

Then he told how once, when they were snowed in, Mr. Crow had kept them all from starving by making a kind of bread called Johnnie cake, and some chicken gravy, and how they could never get him to tell where he got the things to make it of.¹ He said he thought maybe Mr. Crow would tell pretty soon, though, now. Then they all looked at Mr. Crow and begged him to tell his great secret, and when they looked they saw he wasn't eating his pie, but was just sitting there picking at it with his fork a little. They all told him not to be afraid to eat some of his own nice pie, for they were sure there'd be plenty, and Mr. Crow said in a weakly voice that when he cooked he never could eat very much. He said he guessed he'd take a biscuit and some syrup because he didn't feel quite well, anyway. So he pushed the C. X. pie away and ate a biscuit with butter and syrup on it, and felt a good deal better.

But pretty soon Mr. Turtle finished his piece and remembered what Mr. 'Possum had whispered about asking for a second helping. So he said he guessed he'd take another piece of that fine pie – just a small one to hold the other down. Mr. Rabbit said he guessed he'd have to ask for another small piece, too, it was so good, and the Coon and the 'Possum both said that, although they were home folks and used to Mr. Crow's good cooking, they certainly would have to take another little piece of that fine pie.

Then Mr. Crow knew there were only two things that he could do. He could either faint, or "holler" "Fire!" And, after studying for about half a second, he keeled right over and fainted dead away.

Of course that stopped the dinner for a while. Jack Rabbit and Mr. Turtle jumped up frightened, and the 'Coon and the 'Possum pretended to be frightened, too. They all ran to Mr. Crow and carried him up stairs to his room and put him on his bed. Then Mr. 'Coon brought some water and Mr. Rabbit fanned him and Mr. Turtle unbuttoned his vest to give him air. Mr. 'Possum he stood still and gave orders, and said pretty soon that he was sure a good strong hot mustard poultice would help matters. When he said that Mr. Crow opened his eyes a little pinch and asked where he was, and then he said he guessed he must have fainted, for he'd been taken with a dreadful bad turn at the table and didn't remember any more.

Mr. 'Possum winked at Mr. 'Coon and said yes, that Mr. Crow had even forgot to give them a second helping of pie, but that he supposed Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Turtle could go back and help themselves. Then the sweat broke out on Mr. Crow again, and he said he hoped they wouldn't, for it would be cold now and they would find the biscuits and syrup much better. Jack Rabbit said he thought so, too, and the 'Possum, who was really beginning to feel sorry for the poor Crow, said the same, and so did the others. So then Mr. Crow got better as quick as anything, and they all went back down stairs and ate the biscuits and syrup, which were certainly very fine. Once Mr. Rabbit wondered what that nice, leafy smell was that he got a whiff of now and then, and Mr. Turtle said he'd been thinking about that, too. Then Mr. 'Coon helped out and said that he s'posed it was Mr. Man and Mr. Dog burning brush over on the edge of the Wide Grass Lands, and he went on to make a little speech that was kind of a reply to Mr. Rabbit's poem. He said how nice it was to give one's friends pleasant surprises of good things as Mr. Crow had done, instead of unpleasant ones such as Mr. 'Possum had mentioned, and all the others said, "Yes, Yes!" and cheered him, all except Mr. Crow, who looked down into his plate and didn't say a word, but just seemed to be thinking and thinking.

And by and by, when Jack Rabbit and Mr. Turtle said goodby and went away, he hurried back to the table, and was just going to take the C. X. pie up to his own part of the house, when Mr. 'Possum and Mr. 'Coon grabbed him and said they must have a piece of that pie, after all. And when Mr. Crow wasn't going to give it to them they both commenced to laugh and said it was their pie anyway, and that they meant to have it. And right then Mr. Crow knew just what had happened, and that it was no use to be an April fool any longer. He stood still a minute, looking first at Mr. 'Coon and then at Mr. 'Possum. Then he walked to the window and flung the C. X. pie out as far as he could send it among the leaves and brush, where it belonged. The 'Coon stood on one side and the 'Possum on the other, and they watched it strike and roll out of sight before they said anything. Then Mr. 'Coon said that perhaps it would be a good time now to tell the great secret of the Johnnie cake and gravy, and Mr. Crow said he would do that and anything else they wanted him to if they'd promise they wouldn't tell this joke on him to anybody – Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Turtle especially. Then he went right on and told them the great secret of the Johnnie cake, and the 'Coon and the 'Possum did promise, though they didn't intend to tell anyway, for they thought a great deal of Mr. Crow and they were all good friends.

"But, dear me!" exclaimed the story teller, "I've been telling for three evenings on this story, and here it is nine o'clock again."

"You'll tell some more to-morrow night won't you?" said the Little Lady, drowsily.

"We'll have a story about Mr. Jack Rabbit next time," said the story teller.