Freddy and the Ignormus

by Walter R. Brooks

  Even Old Whibley, the owl, who never left the woods if he could help it, was there.

  “Fellow citizens,” said Freddy, “I have asked to have this meeting called because a grave danger threatens our state. It is a free state, and any animal or bird living within its boundaries, regardless of size, species, color or number of legs, is free to enjoy its privileges. Every animal and every bird has equal rights under the flag of the F.A.R.”

  At this point there was prolonged cheering, and when it had died down, Freddy went on. “Every animal but one. For I think you will agree with me that there is no place in a republic of free animals, for rats.”

  “Right, Freddy! Down with rats!” shouted a squirrel, and there was a general mutter of approval through the audience.

  “It may be,” said Freddy, “that there are good rats in the world. But our experience with them here has not been a happy one. You all know Simon; you know the trouble he has caused us in the past. You have all slept more peacefully in your beds since he was driven out of the country. But my friends—” Freddy paused impressively—“Simon has come back!”

  After the excitement caused by this announcement had quieted down, Freddy started to tell his story. “I was coming back this afternoon from an exploring trip in the Big Woods,” he began. But at once the whole audience was on its feet. “The Big Woods!” they shouted, and all began talking confusedly together and yelling questions at Freddy. Mrs. Wiggins had to pound on the dashboard repeatedly with her hoof to restore order.

  “Fellow animals,” she said, “this is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. If anyone but Freddy came here with a story of having been into the Big Woods I’m afraid I wouldn’t believe him. But you all know Freddy. My land, Freddy exaggerates some when he tells a story. I guess all poets do. But if he says he’s been to the Big Woods, I guess he has. Let’s all be quiet now and let him tell us about it.”

  So Freddy stood up again, very pink and important, and told them the whole story. At least he told all but the part about how hard Theodore had to work to get him to go, and the part about his being so scared his tail uncurled, and the part about how hard they ran to get out again. And there were a few other little parts he didn’t tell. There was quite a lot left of the story though—enough to make most of the animals feel that Freddy had been pretty brave. And after all he had been—and why shouldn’t he get a little glory out of it? I don’t see why.

  But there were some who didn’t believe the story, and one of them was Charles. At least he said he didn’t, though perhaps he was only pretending, so that he would have an excuse for making a speech. Like most people who love to make speeches, he could talk for hours on any subject, whether he knew anything about it or not, and the things he said sounded fine until you thought about them, and then you realized that they didn’t mean much of anything. So when the meeting was thrown open for discussion, he got up.

  “Fellow citizens,” he began, “we are gathered together here under the glorious banner of the F.A.R.; a banner, as you know, whose bright stripes and shining stars were flung to the breeze on that historic May 3d when we, as free animals, banded together in the name of liberty to form the first animal state on this continent. Long may they wave, my friends. Long may they flutter, above the humble cot of the lowliest rabbit, as above the palatial mansion of a Mr. Bean.”

  Old Whibley, the owl, who had been sitting with his eyes shut, suddenly gave a hoot of impatience. “Cut out the fireworks, rooster,” he said. “This isn’t the Fourth of July.”

  Charles, for once, looked a little confused. He had, as a matter of fact, got mixed up, and started by mistake on an oration which he had delivered the preceding July Fourth. But he recovered himself quickly.

  “My venerable friend reminds me,” he said, with a sour look at Old Whibley, “that this is no time for oratory. And he is right. There are matters of grave moment before this gathering. Leaving aside, for the nonce, the matter of Simon’s reappearance—”

  “There are matters of grave moment before this gathering.”

  “What’s a nonce, Charles?” called Jinx.

  “Why, it’s a—it’s a—” Charles looked angrily at the cat. “Oh, let me alone, will you? I’m just trying to say that this story of Freddy’s, about having been in the Big Woods, just isn’t believable. It’s—”

  “You mean he’s a liar?” said Jinx, and a bluejay laughed. “He may be a liar,” he said, “but he isn’t as big a liar as that.”

  “Listen, my friends,” said Charles. “You know and I know that no animal has been to the Big Woods and returned alive in all the history of the Bean farm. Why not? Because there is something there. Something! And what is that something? You don’t know and I don’t know. The only animals who can answer that question are not here tonight, because—” He lowered his voice impressively—“because they have been eaten up.”

  “That’s right,” whispered the audience. “Nobody has ever come back.”

  “Is it a lion with the head of an eagle?” Charles went on. “Or is it, as some old legends tell, a bird with the head of a lion? Is it a mysterious Something? Is its name, as Simon says, the Ignormus? No one knows.”

  “If you just got up to tell us that you don’t know anything,” said Old Whibley, opening one enormous yellow eye, “you can sit down again. We knew that before.”

  “Silence in the gallery!” said Charles crossly. “I am just trying to say that I think Freddy will have to give us some proof that he has been to the Big Woods. If old Hoot-and-Goggle up there will let me,” he added with an angry look at the owl.

  Old Whibley laughed. “Best thing you’ve said yet. Old Hoot-and-Goggle, eh? Not bad. Go ahead, then, old Scratch-and-Peck.”

  But Freddy interrupted. “Since I’ve been called a liar, “he said, “I think I have a right to protest. Charles wants more proof than just my word and Theodore’s, does he? Well, all right. I’ll go into the Big Woods with him any day he sets. I’ve been there before; I’m not afraid to go again.”

  There was prolonged applause at this bold speech, and all the animals looked at Charles. The rooster didn’t look very brave. His tail feathers drooped and if there had been anything to crawl under, he would have crawled under it. But perched on the dashboard of the phaeton, he was completely surrounded. There was no escape.

  He pulled himself together. “I have heard the challenge,” he said, “and I reject it with the contempt which it deserves. Believe me, my friends, it takes more courage to do this, than to accept; to let you think that I am afraid, rather than to march boldly into the Big Woods, there to brave whatever perils it may hold. But I have a wife; I have twenty-six small children. What would happen to them, if in a moment of foolhardy bravado I were to be swallowed up forever in the shadow of those enormous trees? No, no, my friends. Alluring as the prospect of this adventure is, I must decline.

  “And I ask you, what would it prove? Suppose we do come out again unharmed. Would my word be taken more quickly than Freddy’s? Would you believe me, any more than you believe him?”

  But a disturbance had begun at the back of the barn, and now it got louder. “Take Freddy up!” the animals shouted. “Either sit down, or go up to the Big Woods with Freddy.” Charles began to look pretty worried.

  Suddenly Henrietta, Charles’s wife, jumped up beside him. She ruled the rooster with a claw of iron, and he was usually pretty scared of her, but when he got into trouble she always stood by him. “Listen, you animals,” she said. “You’re having a lot of fun with Charles, aren’t you? Well, I don’t deny he talks too much. But he isn’t any coward. And he’ll go to the Big Woods with Freddy. But on one condition. That is that one other animal among those present volunteers to go along. Well now, come along; who’ll it be?”

  But nobody answered. The animals all looked at the ground, and some of those who had been noisiest began to edge quietly towards the door.

  “Come on,” said Henrietta. “Who’ll it be? You, Mrs. Wogus?”
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  “Land sakes, no,” said the cow. “Wild horses wouldn’t drag me into those woods.”

  “I guess you wouldn’t find a wild horse to drag you, nor a tame one, either,” said Hank. “No, you needn’t look at me, Henrietta.”

  Henrietta pointed from one animal to another with her claw, but they all refused. Charles was beginning to perk up, when suddenly Little Weedly, Freddy’s young cousin, stepped forward.

  “I’ll go,” he said.

  Henrietta looked surprised, and Charles said: “Oh dear me, that’s very courageous of you, but I’m afraid you’re much too young for such an expedition. Your mother would never consent.”

  “I’m old enough to vote,” said Weedly. “I voted for Mrs. Wiggins at the last election. So I guess I’m old enough to go along with you and Cousin Frederick.”

  “Certainly you are,” said Henrietta. “And now let’s settle on a time.”

  “How about—let me see,” said Charles; “would a week from next Thursday be a good time? I can’t say definitely without consulting my engagement book, but—”

  I’ll be your engagement book,” said Henrietta, “and suppose we say tomorrow morning at nine.”

  “All right with me,” said Weedly, and Freddy said that suited him.

  Charles didn’t look very happy, but he was still on the dashboard of the phaeton, surrounded by an admiring audience, and a lot of things could happen before tomorrow at nine. So he cleared his throat and said: “Well, my friends—” But he didn’t get any farther because Henrietta seized his wing and pulled him down. “You’ll do your speechifying after you’ve been to the Big Woods, not before,” she said. “Right now you’re going home and get some sleep.” And she hustled him out through the crowd.

  “Well,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “now that that’s settled, suppose we get back to the business of the evening. Freddy has seen Simon, and I guess we can be pretty sure that the rest of his family aren’t far away. Of course, he may just have been coming back from Iowa, as he said, and not be staying in this neighborhood at all. But we can’t take any chances with rats. Has anyone seen any rats around?”

  But no one had.

  “In that case,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “about all we can do is to keep a sharp watch. Jinx, it’s your job to keep an eye on those sacks of corn upstairs, and the oat bin, and so on. I don’t have to give you instructions as to what to do if you see Simon or any of his gang. Probably your sister Minx can be of some help there.”

  “When I was in Spain a few years ago,” said Minx, “in the town where I was visiting, there was a rat named Pablo. He was very large and ferocious, and was known as the king of the rats—”

  “And she knocked him out in the third round,” put in Jinx hastily. “That’ll do, Sis. This isn’t a bragging party: this is business.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “I don’t think you need to be rude to your sister, Jinx—”

  “You don’t know her,” said Jinx. “She’s like Charles in some ways: you just have to be rude to her, or go deaf. But excuse me, your Excellency; you were about to say?”

  “My goodness,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “what was I going to say? Oh, yes. Where’s the standing army?”

  “Here, your Excellency,” piped a little voice, and the rabbits filed up and stood in a row in front of the phaeton.

  So then Mrs. Wiggins gave them their instructions. Each rabbit was to patrol a section of fence, or a strip of road, bounding the farm, and keep an eye out for the rats. If any were seen, they were to run at once and report to her, or to Jinx. “And beyond that,” she said, “I don’t see what else there is to do, for the present. Has anyone any suggestions?” And as no one had, she said: “Then I think for the rest of the evening we might play games.”

  So checker boards and parchesi boards and tiddleywinks sets were brought out, and some of the animals played these games, and others chose up sides for a spelling bee, a form of entertainment that had grown very popular since so many of them had learned to read. At the far end of the barn some of the older animals chose partners for square dances, which they went through to the music of a small radio which Mr. Bean had had put in the winter before when Hank had been confined to his stall with the rheumatism.

  But at ten o’clock sharp the party broke up. For that was one thing Mr. Bean was particular about.

  Chapter 5

  Charles, the rooster, sat on the fence. In the east, the sun was just coming up, pushing a flock of little pink clouds in front of him. Charles took a deep breath and threw back his head as if he was about to crow; then he let the breath out again and shook his head dejectedly. “Oh, dear,” he said. “Oh, dear.”

  He had perched on this rail so many mornings to crow that it was all worn smooth. “Thousands of mornings,” he thought; “thousands of mornings it took to do that. And never a one of them on which I did not look forward to the day with happy expectation. Never a one until today. Oh, dear.”

  The sun’s rim was now a tiny gold line above the horizon. It was Charles’s job to get everybody on the farm out of bed before the sun was high enough to cast a shadow. There were no shadows yet, but in a minute or two there would be. Already a sort of ghost of a shadow stretched towards him from every tree and bush and fence between him and the sun. Well, he had to crow; better get it over with. So he took another deep breath and crowed.

  It was a pretty poor crow,—weak and husky, and hardly loud enough to wake up a mosquito. And Henrietta stuck her head out of the henhouse door.

  “What’s the matter with you, Charles?” she said. “Give! Give! You sound like a sick katydid.”

  “Well, I-I don’t feel very well this morning,” said Charles. “Maybe it’s this weather. I’ve had several sharp twinges in my second joint. I think perhaps I’d better go back to bed.”

  “I think perhaps you’d better not try to,” said Henrietta. “Look at all those shadows, and you’ve only crowed once. You know what happens to roosters who don’t stick to their jobs. They get fricasseed.”

  “I don’t know but I’d just as soon be,” Charles mumbled. But as Henrietta came out of the henhouse and started towards him with fire in her eye, he crowed several times more.

  “That’s better,” said the hen.

  “Well, now can I go back to bed?” said Charles. “I don’t know what it is, but really, I just ache all over.”

  But Henrietta had heard this before. Charles always ached all over and had to take to his bed when he had to do something he didn’t want to. “You’ll just have to ache, then,” she said. “Because you don’t come back into this henhouse until you’ve been up to the Big Woods.”

  Charles looked at the long shadows on the grass, and then he thought of the much deeper and darker shadows in the Big Woods, and he shivered. “Oh, dear,” he said miserably.

  Henrietta took pity on him. “There’s one thing you want to remember,” she said. “Freddy’s just as scared of the woods as you are. If he goes more than two feet into them, I miss my guess. And you don’t have to go any farther in than he does, so there isn’t much to worry about. Only, make no mistake about it,” she said: “you’re going.”

  Charles didn’t ache so much when he thought that Freddy was scared too, and he was able to eat a good breakfast. He was almost cheerful when Weedly came for him, and he went along without protesting, although he cast several longing looks back at the safe and comfortable henhouse as they started up along the brook.

  “Better hurry,” said Weedly. “I’m afraid I’m a little late. Freddy said he’d meet us at the second big maple you come to as you go through Mr. Bean’s woods.”

  When they passed the duck pond, Alice and Emma came waddling up. “You’re really going, then?” said Alice. “I do think you’re dreadfully brave.”

  Charles stuck out his chest. “Pooh!” he said. “A little stroll in the woods—what’s that to be scared of?”

  “That’s the way our Uncle Wesley used to talk,” said Emma. “Do you re
member, sister? He just wasn’t afraid of anything.”

  “He loved danger,” said Alice. “He would have walked right up to a lion and quacked in his face. I’ve often thought that when he disappeared, something like that must have happened. He was just too fearless.”

  Charles would have liked to stay and be praised some more, but they were late and Weedly hurried him along. They went into the woods and at the second big tree they came to Weedly stopped.

  “This doesn’t look like a maple tree to me,” said Charles.

  “It’s the second big one,” said Weedly. “A tree’s a tree. Why is a maple tree any different than any other?”

  “My goodness, you’re ignorant!” said the rooster. “A maple tree is as different from an elm tree as a—a raspberry bush is from a strawberry bush.”

  “Strawberries don’t grow on bushes,” said Weedly. “I know that much.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. And in my opinion this is not a maple. We must go on farther.”

  As they went on, Charles explained what a maple was like. He was always ready to explain anything, and this is a nice characteristic if you know what you’re talking about. Charles usually didn’t. And so the tree he finally chose to wait under for Freddy was a large beech, nearly quarter of a mile beyond the tree Freddy had meant.

  So there they were in the woods, Freddy under his maple, and Charles and Weedly under the beech. It got to be nine o’clock, and it got to be half-past, and it got to be ten. Charles got more and more impatient.

  “I can’t stay here all day,” he said. “Freddy’s backed out on us. I’m going home.”

  “Cousin Frederick wouldn’t do such a thing!” said Weedly indignantly. “You can go home if you want to, but I’m going on to the Big Woods. We’ve made a mistake in the meeting place probably.”

  “This heart has never quailed before peril.”

  “He’s got to writing his poetry,” said Charles. “That’s what’s happened, and he’s forgotten all about us. Not that I blame him. There’s no point in this expedition anyway. Come along, Weedly.”