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 pa.s.s 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-gla.s.s, 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 woodp.e.c.k.e.r, 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 c.h.i.n.k, 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 gra.s.shopper 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 everywhere he can, and does not like me to be in the shadow. Sometimes I sing to the wind, who loves me next most dearly, and will come to me everywhere, in places where the sun cannot get. He plays with me whenever he can, and strokes me softly, and tells me the things he has heard in the woods and on the hills, and sends down the leaves to float along, for he knows I like something to carry. Fling me in some leaves, Bevis dear.
"Sometimes I sing to the earth and the gra.s.s; they are fond of me too, and listen the best of all. I sing loudest at night, to the stars, for they are so far away they would not otherwise hear me."
"But what do you say?" said Bevis; but the brook was too occupied now to heed him, and went on.
"Sometimes I sing to the trees; they, too, are fond of me, and come as near as they can; they would all come down close to me if they could.
They love me like the rest, because I am so happy, and never cease my chanting. If I am broken to pieces against a stone, I do not mind in the least; I laugh just the same, and even louder. When I come over the hatch, I dash myself to fragments; and sometimes a rainbow comes and stays a little while with me. The trees drink me, and the gra.s.s drinks me, the birds come down and drink me; they splash me, and are happy. The fishes swim about, and some of them hide in deep corners. Round the bend I go, and the osiers say they never have enough of me. The long gra.s.s waves and welcomes me; the moor-hens float with me; the kingfisher is always with me somewhere, and sits on the bough to see his ruddy breast in the water. And you come too, Bevis, now and then to listen to me; and it is all because I am so happy."
"Why are you so happy?" said Bevis.
"I do not know," said the brook. "Perhaps it is because all I think of is this minute; I do not know anything about the minute just gone by, and I do not care one bit about the minute that is just coming; all I care about is this minute, this very minute now. Fling me in some more leaves, Bevis. Why do you go about asking questions, dear? Why don"t you sing, and do nothing else?"
"Oh, but I want to know all about everything," said Bevis. "Where did you come from, and where are you going, and why don"t you go on and let the ground be dry--why don"t you run on, and run all away? Why are you always here?"
The brook laughed, and said: "My dear, I do not know where I came from, and I do not care at all where I am going. What does it matter, my love?
All I know is I shall come back again; yes, I shall come back again."
The brook sang very low, and rather sadly now: "I shall go into the sea, and shall be lost; and even you would not know me--ask your father, love, he has sailed over the sea in the ships that come to Southampton, and I was close to him, but he did not know me. But by-and-by, when I am in the sea, the sun will lift me up, and the clouds will float along--look towards the hills, Bevis dear, every morning, and you will see the clouds coming and bringing me with them; and the rain and the dew, and sometimes the thunder and the lightning, will put me down again, and I shall run along here and sing to you, my sweet, if you will come and listen. Fling in some little twigs, my dear, and some bits of bark from the tree."
Then the brook sang very low and very sad, and said: "I shall come back again, Bevis; I always come back, and I am always happy; and yet I do not know either if I am really happy when I am singing so joyously.
Bevis dear, try and think and tell me. Am I really happy, Bevis? Tell me, dear; you can see the sun sparkling on me, and the wind stroking me, just as he strokes your hair (he told me he was very fond of you, and meant to tell you a story some day), and the reeds whispering, and the willows drooping over me, and the bright kingfisher; you can hear me singing, Bevis, now am I happy?"
"I do not know," said Bevis; "sometimes you sound very happy, but just now you sound very sad. Stop a little while and think about it."
"Oh, no, Bevis; I cannot stop, I must keep running. Nothing can stop, dear: the trees cannot stop growing, they must keep on growing till they die; and then they cannot stop decaying, till they are all quite gone; but they come back again. Nor can you stop, Bevis dear."
"I will stop," said Bevis.