The Curious Lobster

by Richard W. Hatch

  Fortunately the night was cool with the blessing of falling dew, and Mr. Lobster realized that possibly he would not get dry after all so long as the night lingered and the woods were damp. But he did not like the dark, and he did not like the thought of having to stay where he was until morning.

  Just then there was a whush, like silence rushing by, and something scratched along his shell.

  Mr. Lobster thought that he was being attacked, and he raised up one big claw and snapped, and he just missed catching something big and blurry in the darkness.

  “Who are you?” he asked. He was frightened, but he tried to make his voice sound bold and angry.

  “Someone you can’t catch!” answered a proud voice.

  “Who are you?” demanded Mr. Lobster again.

  “So you are the friend of that contrary Mr. Badger,” came the answer. “He never would take my advice, and evidently you don’t take advice either, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Ah, I know,” guessed Mr. Lobster. “You are the owl.”

  “A much wiser bird than you will ever be,” said the unpleasant voice.

  “I am thankful to say I shall never have to be a bird,” answered Mr. Lobster angrily.

  “If you were, you could see your way home now.” The owl was chuckling in a most disagreeable manner.

  Mr. Lobster realized that he had made a mistake in speaking crossly, and now he tried being polite.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “since you are the wisest bird in these woods you would show me the way home. I fear I am lost.”

  Again the owl chuckled disagreeably.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “since you are the wisest lobster in the Ocean you will show yourself the way home. It is a foolish person, indeed, who doesn’t know the way to his own home. What is home for, anyway, if it is not to go to when you have been away long enough?”

  Mr. Lobster groaned. The mention of home made him more unhappy than ever.

  “How true,” he murmured.

  “Everything I say is true,” said the owl. “And now I shall say ‘Good night,’ and resume my hunting.”

  “Wait a minute, I beg of you!” exclaimed Mr. Lobster.

  But there was just another whush in the darkness, and the owl was gone.

  “I hope,” said Mr. Lobster to himself, “that I never let my wisdom make me so disagreeable as that. Really wise persons are glad to share their knowledge and help others. Wisdom is never selfish. I dare say the owl is not so wise as he thinks he is.”

  He knew there was no use trying to go home now. He knew also that he did not like the idea of staying where he was and having things whushing over him in the black dark.

  So he crawled around from tree to tree and from stump to stump, looking for shelter, and all the time wishing all the harder that he was back in his own home under the ocean waves.

  “Oh, the perils of curiosity,” he said to himself. “But anyway, if I ever do get home again, I shall know what the woods are.” And he tried to get comfort from that thought.

  Finally, seeing a hole under an old stump, he backed in very carefully.

  Almost before he was safely inside he heard a terrified squeaking in the farthest corner of the hole.

  “Who is there?” he demanded.

  “Just a mouse, sir,” came the answer in a very squeaky and frightened little voice.

  “Ah,” said Mr. Lobster, remembering what Mr. Badger had said. “Then besides your squeak you have a long tail.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you are a very insignificant creature.”

  “Oh, yes, indeed, sir.”

  “Well, may I ask you why you are making all that noise?” asked Mr. Lobster.

  “I was saying my prayers, sir.” The little small voice from the corner was still trembling and frightened.

  “Why were you saying your prayers?” asked Mr. Lobster, who, of course, was curious.

  “You see, sir,” answered the mouse, “no one ever comes into a mouse’s home except to eat him. So I knew, sir, that you would eat me immediately. And I didn’t dare run out because if I do the owl will eat me. So there was nothing left for me to do but say my prayers. It is miserable to be a mouse, sir. No one realizes how gentle we are.”

  Mr. Lobster thought over what the mouse had said.

  “Is the owl your enemy?” he finally asked the mouse.

  “Oh, a terrible enemy, sir.”

  “Then I shall be your friend, for I have no affection for the owl.” Mr. Lobster felt that he was being very kind.

  “Oh, be my friend, sir!” squeaked the mouse. “I have never had a friend, only a few relatives. And let me stay here in peace in my house until the owl goes to bed. I will do anything I can for you.”

  “Very well,” said Mr. Lobster, “I am your friend, and you may stay here. I think, since you got here first, that is only reasonable, anyway. But tell me one more thing, if you will pardon my curiosity. I believe Mr. Badger told me the owl goes out only at night. Is it also true, then, that he goes to bed in the morning?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “That settles it,” said Mr. Lobster. “I knew that he couldn’t be as wise as he thinks he is, for he is most discourteous. And if he goes to bed in the morning, then he is plain foolish.”

  With that comforting thought Mr. Lobster settled down to wait the long night through. He knew that he would not sleep a wink. He was too worried about getting home in the morning. The dampness and coolness of the night would not last forever. So he was very nervous and twitchety, folding and unfolding his tail, creaking in all his joints just from sheer worry, and, when all is said, having a perfectly miserable night.

  Of course, the night had to pass, for the world must roll on, and the sun must have its day. And in the first light of the early day Mr. Lobster crawled out of the hole in the stump, hoping that now he would be able to see his way home or meet someone who could direct him to Mr. Badger.

  The mouse came out, said, “Thank you, sir,” and scampered off to find a small breakfast.

  Mr. Lobster found that he was alone. There were just as many trees in the woods as there had been the night before. And no sign of a path, and no sign of the Ocean. He had no idea which way to go, or where the tallest tree was.

  “I am just as lost as I was last night,” he said to himself. “This trip has turned out to be a dreadful mistake.”

  He did not hear any birds, for at this time of the morning the birds were busy getting their breakfasts. He looked around for some passing creature, but there were no creatures. So he just crawled unhappily along, feeling worse by the minute.

  Mr. Lobster did not know that the woods creatures had already spied him, and that they were all so frightened at seeing a lobster in the woods, and such a great big lobster, that they were keeping well hidden, watching Mr. Lobster from safe distances.

  “What a lonesome place,” thought poor Mr. Lobster. “Lonesomeness is one of the very worst things I know. Being lost is another. And here I am both lonesome and lost!”

  He crawled and crawled, and the sun grew brighter and brighter. The dew on the grass and leaves was dried by the sun, taken up into the air so that it could fall again the next night, and the air of the woods became warm. Mr. Lobster felt his shell beginning to get dry.

  And he was still lost.

  He tried to hurry, but he could hurry only when he was swimming; and he couldn’t swim on land no matter how hard he tried.

  “It is all up with me now,” he said sadly. “I am lost and alone, and all my wisdom is doing me no good at all. Evidently you have to have different kinds of wisdom for different places.”

  So he stopped to rest, feeling that there was no use in struggling further, and looking around, he was amazed to find that he was right in front of the hole in the stump where he had spent the night.

  “After all my crawling I haven’t gotten anywhere!” he moaned. “What a strange place a woods is, and how dreadful!”

  Just then the mous
e came scampering toward the hole in the stump. Seeing Mr. Lobster, the mouse stopped, trembling all over so that even his long tail was all aquiver.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Mr. Lobster, “and please don’t squeak. I couldn’t stand it now. I am lost. Soon I shall be nothing but a dried-up shell. I shall be gone.”

  “I was afraid you had changed your mind, sir,” said the mouse, “and had decided to eat me. You see, I am not used to kindness. But can’t I do anything for you, sir, if you are lost?”

  Mr. Lobster looked at the tiny creature. He was a dormouse, a very pretty creature with large ears and a pure white chest, and an extra long tail.

  “I fear not,” he said. “You are too insignificant.”

  “I have beautiful relatives, sir,” said the mouse.

  “Have you any relatives that know Mr. Badger or Mr. Bear?” asked Mr. Lobster, with only a very little hope.

  “Well, not exactly, sir,” replied the mouse, “but perhaps my cousin, the squirrel, could help you. He could climb a tree and see where your friends are, and perhaps he would tell them your trouble.”

  “I am getting drier every second,” said Mr. Lobster, “and if I get all dry then I am done for. And I shall get all dry if I don’t get home. And I don’t know the way home.”

  “How awful!” exclaimed the mouse, who was, like all mice, a kind and considerate creature. “If you don’t mind, sir, I can’t spread the news unless I know your name.”

  “I AM GETTING DRIER EVERY SECOND,” SAID MR. LOBSTER.

  “I am Mr. Lobster.”

  In an instant the mouse was gone, and Mr. Lobster was alone again. He just stayed where he was, feeling drier and drier, and unhappier and unhappier. He really had little faith in the mouse. The creature seemed too small to be of any good.

  Just before the very worst happened, the mouse came scampering back.

  “Good news, sir!” he cried. “I have told my cousin, and he climbed a tall tree and saw Mr. Badger in one place and Mr. Bear in another, and he told the birds of your plight, and the story is spreading all through the woods.”

  Indeed, the mouse had been as good as his word. Soon there was the greatest chatter, and birds began coming to perch in trees and look at Mr. Lobster, all of them very much excited. There were robins and finches and thrushes. There were sparrows and wrens and bluebirds. Two blue jays were talking very loud. One crow came and took a good look at Mr. Lobster and immediately flew away to tell all his friends, the way crows always do. The trees were full of birds, and they made a babel of noise, without stopping for an instant.

  Mr. Lobster was more miserable than ever at being the object of so much attention. He felt altogether too conspicuous.

  “I am not sure that it is true that misery loves company,” he said wisely but sadly to himself, “but it certainly draws a crowd.”

  And then who should come but Mr. Badger, running just as fast as his legs would carry him. And right behind him came Mr. Bear.

  “My poor friend!” cried Mr. Badger. “To think you came up here to see me, and came to this! I will save you!”

  All the birds made a great outcry then.

  “Hold on to my tail!” exclaimed Mr. Badger. “I will drag you from here to the Ocean!”

  “Too late,” moaned Mr. Lobster. “I am almost fainting, and I could not hold on tight enough for such a ride.”

  “Then what shall we do?” cried Mr. Badger.

  “Let him ride on my back,” said Mr. Bear. “Mr. Lobster saved my life once, and now it is my turn to save his. You are both heroes already. Now I shall be a hero.”

  Mr. Bear came up close to Mr. Lobster so that he could climb on. Alas, Mr. Bear’s back was so high up from the ground that Mr. Lobster did not have the strength to climb up.

  “It is no use,” said Mr. Lobster, and he sighed so deeply that all the birds sighed too, making a sad little sound trembling among the leaves of the trees.

  “I could climb on Mr. Badger’s back,” said Mr. Lobster, “but that is the best I can do. I am nearly dry.”

  “Oh, dear,” cried Mr. Badger. “I could pull you easily, but I could never carry you on my back.”

  Everything seemed lost and hopeless. Even the birds were silent.

  But just then, when Mr. Lobster was sure that he was going to faint and that everything was all over, there was a rush of wings. A new bird came flying with the speed of a bullet. It was the permanent partridge, the most cunning of all the birds.

  “What is all this hubbub and chatter I’ve been hearing?” he asked. “Is there trouble?” Oh, he was a fine-looking bird, and he stood on the ground, unafraid of anything, and he spread out his tail and raised up the ruff on his neck, so that he looked magnificent.

  Mr. Badger quickly told him the whole story of Mr. Lobster’s unhappy trip to the woods.

  “Well, well,” said the permanent partridge. “It is a very good thing I came along. I should say let Mr. Lobster climb up on Mr. Badger’s back, and then let Mr. Badger climb up on Mr. Bear’s back, and then let Mr. Bear run down to the Ocean as fast as he can.”

  And that is just what happened.

  Poor Mr. Lobster was now so dry that he scarcely knew what he was doing, but he managed to climb on Mr. Badger’s back and wrap his long claws around Mr. Badger’s neck.

  And then Mr. Badger, groaning under the heavy load, but being as brave as any hero, climbed up on Mr. Bear’s back and wrapped his arms about Mr. Bear’s neck.

  Mr. Bear started.

  It was an exciting and strange sight—the strangest the woods had ever seen.

  Mr. Bear ran fast.

  All the birds flew along beside him, chirping and calling out encouragement until he got to the end of the woods.

  Mr. Lobster cried out to Mr. Badger, “Faster! Faster!”

  And Mr. Badger called out to Mr. Bear, “Faster! Faster!”

  And Mr. Bear, who was really three creatures at once, ran so fast that he didn’t have any breath left even for a single growl as he went.

  It was a wild and terrible trip, and there was danger every minute that Mr. Lobster or Mr. Badger might fall off. But they didn’t. And when Mr. Bear reached the beach he bravely walked right into the water, so that Mr. Lobster could let go of Mr. Badger and fall right into his own Ocean without doing another thing.

  Mr. Lobster did let go at once. He fell with a splash that soaked Mr. Bear and Mr. Badger, and both of them ran for the beach.

  And so Mr. Lobster was saved.

  The Very Strange End of a Long Voyage

  MR. LOBSTER recovered his health very soon after he was restored to salt water, and he went gladly home.

  After the desperate adventure in the woods he felt that he had gathered about all the knowledge any lobster could possibly hold. When he counted up all the things he had learned since he had first gone ashore, they were so many that the number amazed him. And so it seemed quite foolish for him to seek after more knowledge.

  He rested for some days after Mr. Bear and Mr. Badger saved his life, but it wasn’t long before he was out crawling around again, pruning some of the seaweeds in his garden, looking for pleasant creatures, and feeling very much like his old self. It was while he was taking a long crawl that he met the sculpin, whom he had not seen for some weeks.

  Mr. Lobster said to the sculpin, “I want to tell you the things I have learned by going ashore.” And he told the sculpin everything that he could think of, not leaving out even the mouse.

  The sculpin was forced to listen, because he was always polite, but he was so envious that he almost ceased being Mr. Lobster’s friend right then and there. And when Mr. Lobster had finished his speech, the sculpin looked him right in the eye.

  “That all sounds very well,” he said, “but pray remember that all those things will do you no good the instant you are dead!”

  “Me dead! Me gone!” exclaimed Mr. Lobster. “Why do you have to say such unpleasant things, when I have just been telling you what a wonderful summer I hav
e had?”

  “The truth is sometimes unpleasant to those who are reckless,” said the sculpin in his most important and dignified manner. “Still, it is the solemn truth that if you persist in your wanderings you will come to a sudden, and probably very disagreeable, end. Then you will be dead and gone.”

  “I suppose you want me to stay at home all the time.” Mr. Lobster did not like the idea of the sculpin’s giving him advice, but in his own heart he had recently thought a good deal about staying home. The affair in the woods had made him think deeply. In fact, he was just going to say that he thought of staying home for a time; but now the sculpin had said it first, and so Mr. Lobster wanted to do just the opposite.

  “I can be as independent as Mr. Badger,” he said to himself.

  The sculpin frowned, and when he frowned his dignity became very impressive, and he became so homely that he was positively unique.

  “I should think,” he said, “that at your age of sixty-eight it was time you settled down.”

  “We shall see about that,” said Mr. Lobster.

  “Yes, we shall see,” said the sculpin.

  Mr. Lobster did not wait to see any more of the sculpin that day. Just to show the sculpin that his age was nothing to worry about, he tail-snapped away at such a rate that the sand flew up in a cloud, and there was a stream of bubbles a yard long behind him—and good big bubbles, too.

  Now Mr. Lobster was always bold and fearless when he talked with the sculpin, but when he was alone with himself he was not always so sure of things. And so it happened that when he did begin to go ashore again he did not take any long walks away from the beach. He stayed right near the Ocean so that he could crawl into the water any minute.

  “I still have to go ashore,” he explained to himself, “even if I don’t go very far, because my curiosity is not cured. I should think that it would be quite cured after that horrible adventure, but it isn’t. I must ask Mr. Badger about that.”

  When he asked Mr. Badger, that wise and fearless creature smiled.

  “Of course it is not cured,” he said. “The only cure for curiosity is finding out, and you have not found out everything yet.”