The Story of Freginald

by Walter R. Brooks

  “Really,” said the wren.

  “Yes indeed,” said Freginald. “Wear like iron, you know. I’ve seen dip-dip nests that were twenty years old and as good as the day they were made.”

  “That animal with you is a lion, isn’t he?” asked the wren.

  “Yes, but, boy, how he cherishes that mane! None of our dip-dips get any building material from him. Uh, uh; not Leo. He says it’s nothing in his life what color their children grow up to be.”

  “Color?” asked the wren. “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “Oh, I forgot,” said Freginald. “Why, I don’t think there’s any truth in it, but the dip-dips claim that children reared in a nest made of lion’s hair are much brighter colored. Doesn’t sound reasonable, though, does it?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said the wren. “Look, do you suppose that lion—”

  “No, no. Not a chance,” said Freginald quickly. “Pshaw, I’m sorry I spoke of it. Why, Leo’d go to the rack before he’d let you touch a hair of that mane.”

  “I don’t care for myself,” said the wren. “But I do like the children to have all the advantages I can give them. And while up here it doesn’t matter so much, down in South America in the winter there are so many bright birds—toucans and parrots and humming-birds—well, you just can’t get anywhere socially unless you are noticed. The children we raised last year, now—they were bright enough, goodness knows, but it’s no good being bright inside if you aren’t bright outside.”

  “Fine feathers make fine birds,” said Freginald solemnly. “True enough, I’m afraid. I’ve seen the same thing so often in the circus. We have an ostrich—”

  “Excuse me,” said the wren, “but to go back to your lion. Don’t you suppose you could persuade him to spare a few hairs? It wouldn’t take many.”

  “You put me in a very embarrassing position,” said Freginald. “It’s true, it’s just barely possible that later on, when we have joined the band and he’s less upset about things—”

  “You intend to join, then?” interrupted the wren.

  “What else can we do? Well, as I say, later you might approach him about it. But right now, when he’s so angry—why, I wouldn’t dare even mention it to him.”

  “But later it will be too late,” protested the wren. “We can’t put off building. It has to be done right away. Look here; you wanted me to carry a message for you. Well now, I’ll make a deal with you. You get me enough hair for a nest and I’ll carry your message.”

  “I’m awfully sorry,” said Freginald. “I’m just simply awfully sorry I said anything about it at all. It’s nice of you to offer, but under those conditions—well, please let’s say no more about it. And—” He hesitated a minute, then he said: “Well, I’ll be honest with you. I made the whole thing up. I wanted to get you to carry our message. But I’m not going to deceive you into doing it. So just let’s forget it, shall we?”

  But the wren didn’t believe him. “Nonsense,” he said. “You don’t fool me for a minute. If you’d made it all up, you wouldn’t be silly enough to turn down my offer. Come along, now. You see if you can’t do something with your lion, and if you can, I’ll go tell Mr. Boomschmidt where you are.”

  “Well,” said Freginald doubtfully, “I’ll try. You wait here.”

  But as soon as he got in the loft where the wren couldn’t see him, he let the pleased feeling that had been bottled up inside him come out in a wide grin. He had gained his point and he hadn’t told a lie either. Or at least he had told one, but he had said it was a lie. He had discovered something, too—that suspicious people are the easiest to fool.

  But now he had to get some hair out of Leo’s mane. That wasn’t going to be easy. For what he had said about Leo was true; he was terribly proud of that mane. It would mean an argument. Of course, Leo would give in, because no animal would refuse to sacrifice a handful of hair to get his freedom. But Freginald thought he could avoid the argument, too.

  He went downstairs.

  “What luck?” said Leo.

  “Oh, fair. I’ve got a wren interested. But we’ve got to wait awhile.” He went and sat down beside his friend. “My goodness, Leo,” he said. “Your mane is in a terrible state. All full of burs.”

  “What of it?” said Leo grumpily.

  “Why, I don’t know,” said Freginald. “Only I should think you’d want to look your best in front of this gang. Just because they look like a lot of old mops there’s no reason why we should. There’s an old rake over in the corner. Suppose I comb it out for you.”

  So he got the rake and set to work. He had to pull anyway to get the burs out, and every now and then he would yank out a few hairs. Leo snarled and protested a good deal, but by the time his mane was free of burs, Freginald had more than enough hair for the nest.

  The wren was delighted and wanted to start building right away, but Freginald said no, he wasn’t going to give him the hair until he was sure Mr. Boomschmidt had got his message. So the wren started off. And Freginald went downstairs again and told Leo.

  CHAPTER 7

  At dinner-time the guard was changed and a coarse but ample lunch was served the prisoners. About two o’clock the wren came back. He had seen Mr. Boomschmidt, who had at once halted the northward march and called a council of war. “He said not to worry; he’ll get you out.”

  “When will he get here?” Freginald asked.

  “Well, he’s got a good fifteen-mile march ahead of him,” said the wren. “I shouldn’t expect him before tomorrow.”

  Late that afternoon the rooster came back, to inquire if they had yet decided to join the Confederacy.

  Leo blinked at him good-naturedly. “What’s the use?” he said. “There won’t be any Confederacy by this time tomorrow.”

  The rooster jerked his head indignantly. “That’s a very stupid way for you to talk,” he said. “You don’t seem to realize the seriousness of your position.”

  “Don’t you worry about our position,” said Leo. “Boy, you’d better take a look at your own, my old bantam. Pretty proud of those tail-feathers, aren’t you? Well, you’d better admire ’em all you can; you won’t have ’em much longer.”

  “You will regret this,” said the rooster vindictively. “Guards!” he shouted, his voice rising into a shrill squawk. “See that no straw is brought in for the prisoners tonight. They can sleep on the bare ground. And no supper for them, either. Captain’s orders.”

  “Yes, lieutenant,” said the guards.

  Freginald thought it was rather silly to make the rooster mad, but before he could remonstrate with Leo there was a commotion outside. There was running, and excited talk, and the rooster, who was just leaving, stopped in the doorway and stared nervously up at the sky.

  The prisoners got as near the door as the guards would let them and looked too. Across the littered barnyard was the back of the dilapidated house, and beyond, the close, leafy wall of the forest. And above the trees, swooping swiftly down toward the plantation, was a small flock of birds. Freginald recognized them. They were Mademoiselle Rose’s pet pigeons. They were flying in formation, three by three, and just as it seemed as if they were about to alight in front of the barn, the leader, followed instantly by the others, swerved and swung up out of sight. But as he did so he dropped something that fluttered to the ground.

  “That’s one of Mr. Boomschmidt’s checkered handkerchiefs,” whispered Leo excitedly. “They dropped it so we’d know they were coming.”

  The pigeons were out of sight now, but Freginald and Leo could tell where they were by watching the animals who had gathered in the barnyard. For every head turned slowly as the pigeons circled and dipped. They had evidently been sent as scouts to spy out the enemy’s strength and position.

  In a minute or two they came into sight again, swinging over the house. But just as Freginald caught sight of them, he saw two hawks rise from a tall pine. They beat the air swiftly with their wide wings as they spiraled to get above the pigeons
. The rooster flapped his wings and laughed shrilly. “Now we’ll see some fun,” he said. Then he turned and looked at the prisoners. “I suppose this is the rescue party you’ve been waiting for,” he sneered. “Lot of silly pigeons, playing drop the handkerchief! Well, watch what happens to them.”

  But Leo laughed at him. “We’re watching, rooster. Look.” He pointed straight up in the air. Above the pigeons, above the hawks, a tiny speck that none of them had noticed before was growing rapidly larger. It shot downward like an arrow, straight for the larger of the two hawks. And a harsh scream drifted down from the upper air.

  “Leo,” exclaimed Freginald excitedly, “it’s the eagle! It’s old Baldy.”

  “Yes,” said the lion. “I knew the chief wouldn’t send the pigeons out alone. You watch now. You’ll see something.”

  The hawks had seen the eagle now and had abandoned the pigeons and were diving for the trees. The smaller one tumbled anyhow in among the protecting branches. But the larger one was still fifty feet above the tallest pine when the eagle was upon him. He turned on his back to defend himself, talons uppermost, but Baldy’s huge claws struck and held. With the fluttering hawk in his grasp he circled the plantation, screaming defiance. And then suddenly, as he swept over the barnyard, he dropped the hawk, swooped, and snatched the rooster from under the very noses of his comrades.

  A roar of rage went up from the robbers as a solitary bright tail-feather floated slowly down among them.

  Leo whacked Freginald on the back. “Didn’t I tell go you?” he shouted. And he let out a full-throated roar which the eagle answered with a scream as he beat up to clear the trees. Through the angry shouting of the animals Freginald could hear the frightened squawks of the rooster growing fainter and fainter as he disappeared in the northern sky.

  But the capture of their lieutenant had aroused the robbers. In a few moments the doorway was filled with a jostling crowd of threatening animals whom the guards had difficulty in holding back. There were shouts of “Lynch them!” and Leo began surreptitiously to try out the sharpness of his claws on a post, when the bull came shouldering heavily through the mob.

  “Stand back!” he bellowed, thrusting right and left with his horns. In the doorway he stood with his head low, looking menacingly at the prisoners with his little red eyes. Then he turned and gave his orders swiftly.

  Half an hour later Leo and Freginald had been taken out of the barn and shoved up into the attic of the house. There was a guard at the foot of the attic stairs and through the little windows at each end the could see sentinels being posted and sacks of grain being dragged into the cellar. The house was evidently being prepared for a state of siege.

  When it began to get dark, Leo went to the head of the stairs and shouted to the guards, demanding something to eat. For some time there was no reply, but at last a voice said: “You might as well pipe down, lion. No supper for you tonight. Captain’s orders.”

  “Well, look here,” said Leo, “that’s no way to treat prisoners. You can’t starve us to death.”

  “Why not?” said the voice.

  Leo couldn’t think of any answer to this, so he just snarled.

  After a minute the voice said: “You’ll get something to eat when your Mr. Boomschmidt agrees to go on about his business. Not before.”

  “Oh, so that’s the game, is it?” said Leo.

  “Captain’s orders,” said the voice.

  “Well,” said Leo, coming back and lying down beside Freginald, “I guess we’ll have to make the best of it. But we can irritate ’em a little. How’s your voice, Fredg—can you sing tenor?”

  “I’m not much of a singer,” said the bear, “but I guess I can carry a tune.”

  “H’m,” said Leo. “Well, just so they can recognize it. Let’s give ’em Marching through Georgia. You take the air.”

  Now, some singing is very pretty, but Leo’s voice was more suited to calling to friends a long distance away to making melody. And Freginald, like most bears, had no voice at all. So it is probable that the howls of anger that came from the robbers were due as much to the noise they made as to their choice of song. It was really pretty bad. And, although he was pleased to be able to annoy the robbers, Freginald refused to go on after they had finished the first verse.

  CHAPTER 8

  Nothing happened that night. Freginald didn’t sleep very well. He was hungry and worried for fear that Mr. Boomschmidt wouldn’t be able to rescue them. All night long there was stir and movement in and around the house—animals coming and going, and heavy things being pushed up to barricade the doors. But as the windows began to glimmer with the coming dawn, Leo raised his head.

  “Listen,” he said.

  From far away came a faint regular sound, thump, thump, thump-thump-thump. Steadily it came always a little louder.

  “The drum!” exclaimed Freginald.

  “They’re on the march,” said Leo exultantly. “They’re coming. Boy, what a scrap there’s going to be! I wish we could be in it. But I don’t see how we can get past those guards.”

  They went to the northern window and looked out. But there was nothing to see. Below them the barnyard lay empty and misty in the dawn, and beyond, the wall of trees was motionless in the windless air. No sound came up from the house.

  But as the light grew, the drum-taps grew louder. Birds were fluttering about excitedly on the roof and in the trees. But wherever the robbers were waiting, they were keeping very quiet. Freginald went to the stairway and looked down, but the guards were on duty. He went back to the window. Now he could hear the tramp and scuffle of marching feet. Leo couldn’t sit still. “Where are they?” he said. “I wish I could see them. They must be at the end of the road now.”

  A bugle blew two clear notes and the drum stopped. For a few minutes nothing happened. Then the horse that had challenged them yesterday came pushing through the bushes, and behind him Bill Wonks, mounted on Mr. Huber and carrying a white flag on the end of a stick.

  “By George!” said Leo, “that’s the chief for you! He certainly does things with a dash. Sending out a flag of truce for a parley.”

  Bill was indeed a warlike figure sitting his horse in the misty early sunlight. He wore a tall fur cap and a tight, long-skirted Cossack coat. Freginald recognized the costume. It was one that Mr. Blodgett, the ring-master, wore when he and Mademoiselle Rose did feats of horsemanship in the show.

  Presently the bull came out of somewhere back of the house and he and Bill talked together. They were too far away for the prisoners to hear what they said. But after a few minutes the bull seemed to get angry. He pawed the earth and shook his horns, and Bill, after arguing for a little longer, saluted and rode back into the thicket. The bull turned and trotted off heavily round the corner of the house.

  For a little while there was silence. The mist in the barnyard thinned and the sunlight became warmer. And then all at once things began to happen. Behind the trees the bugle blew, there was a roll from the snare drums which ended in a double boom from the bass drum, and then, with a blare of brass, the band crashed into the marching song that Freginald had made up for them. The drum boomed, there was a crackling and smashing of branches, and then the words of the song, roared out by half a hundred voices, filled the morning.

  Red and gold wagons are coming down the street

  With a Boomschmidt, Boomschmidt, boom, boom, boom;

  With shouting and music and tramp of marching feet

  And a Boomschmidt, Boomschmidt, boom, boom, boom.

  Hear the squeal of the cornets and the rattle of the snares;

  The fifes scream shrilly and the trombone blares,

  And here come the lions and the tigers and the bears,

  With a Boomschmidt, Boomschmidt, BOOM!

  Here come the caribou and kangaroos and camels,

  The koodoos, zebus, zebras, and yaks,

  The hippopotamuses and the rhinoceroses

  And the big gray elephants with houses on their back
s.

  Boom—be quick! Buy a ticket at the wicket.

  Boom—get your pink lemonade. Get your gum.

  Boom—get your peanuts, popcorn, lollipops.

  Boom—Mr. Boom—Mr. Boomschmidt’s come.

  Louder and nearer came the singing and then there was a shaking in the wall of foliage, a whole row of trees bowed forward to the watchers, and three huge gray heads appeared! The elephants! They came on slowly, steadily, tramping down and brushing aside trees and bushes as if they were made of paper, opening a road for the others. On the middle elephant, an old giant named Hannibal, with tusks four feet long, sat Mr. Boomschmidt, his hat on the back of his head, his mouth open in a wide O as he bawled the words of the song. The little houses on the backs of the other elephants were crowded with monkeys. Then to the left of the three a smaller head appeared, and Freginald saw that it was Louise.

  The elephants headed straight for the house. And now the rest of the circus came into sight. As they followed through the breach in the wall, they spread out. To the left of the elephants was Jerry, the rhinoceros, then a small company of lions, tigers, and leopards, then a detachment of cavalry under Mr. Blodgett. To the right were two alligators, then Oscar the ostrich, then the buffalo, Uncle Bill, and the rest of the men, armed with poles. Behind the elephants marched the band.

  “I’ll bet Eustace is there,” said Leo. “Small as he is, there’s one animal that wouldn’t miss a fight. Gosh, Fredg, I wish we could get into it.”

  “There’s a loose board in the floor just back of us,” said Freginald. “Maybe we could get it up.” He turned away from the window, but a sudden wild bellowing and a thunder of hoofs brought him back. From the barn where they had been concealed a big company of the shaggy cattle with the old bull at their head were charging down upon the attackers. They struck the line at the right, where it was held by Oscar and the alligators. The alligators didn’t mind; they crouched close to the ground and let the charge go over them, lifting their heads to snap at the enemy as they passed. Uncle Bill had locked horns with one tough old cow and was pushing her back toward the house. But Oscar and the men had been thrown back into the woods.