‘But, my dear, your father thinks a great deal of the Chipmunks; and it is an old family custom to have all the relatives here at Christmas.’
‘And an awful bore it is! Why must people of refinement and elevation be for ever tied down because of some distant relationship? Now there are our cousins the High-Flyers — if we could get them, there would be some sense in it Young Whisk rather promised me for Christmas; but it’s seldom now you can get a flying squirrel to show himself in our parts, and if we are intimate with the Chipmunks it isn’t to be expected.’
‘Confound him for a puppy!’ said old Nutcracker, when his wife repeated these sayings to him. ‘Featherhead is a fool. Common, forsooth! I wish good, industrious, painstaking sons like Tip Chipmunk were common. For my part, I find these uncommon people the most tiresome; they are not content with letting us carry the whole load, but they sit on it, and scold at us while we carry them.’
But old Mr. Nutcracker, like many other good old gentlemen squirrels, found that Christmas dinners and other things were apt to go as his wife said, and his wife was apt to go as young Featherhead said; and so, when Christmas came, the Chipmunks were not invited, for the first time in many years. The Chipmunks, however, took all pleasantly, and accepted poor old Mrs. Nutcracker’s awkward apologies with the best possible grace, and young Tip looked in on Christmas morning with the compliments of the season and a few beech-nuts, which he had secured as a great dainty. The fact was, that Tip’s little striped fur coat was so filled up and overflowing with cheerful good-will to all, that he never could be made to understand that any of his relations could want to cut him; and therefore Featherhead looked down on him with contempt and said he had no tact, and couldn’t see when he was not wanted.
It was wonderful to see how, by means of persisting in remarks like these, young Featherhead at last got all his family to look up to him as something uncommon. Though he added nothing to the family, and required more to be done for him than all the others put together — though he showed not the smallest real perseverance or ability in anything useful — yet somehow all his brothers and sisters, and his poor foolish old mother, got into a way of regarding him as something wonderful, and delighting in his sharp sayings as if they had been the wisest things in the world.
But at last old papa declared that it was time for Featherhead to settle himself to some business in life, roundly declaring that he could not always have him as a hanger-on in the paternal hole.
‘What are you going to do, my boy?’ said Tip Chipmunk to him one day. ‘We are driving now a thriving trade in nuts, and if you would like to join us—’
‘Thank you,’ said Featherhead, ‘but I confess I have no fancy for anything so slow as the nut trade; I never was made to grub and delve in that way.’
The fact was, that Featherhead had lately been forming alliances such as no reputable squirrel should even think of. He had more than once been seen going out evenings with the Rats of Rat Hollow, — a race whose reputation for honesty was more than doubtful. The fact was, further, that old Longtooth Rat, an old sharper and money-lender, had long had his eye on Featherhead as just about silly enough for their purposes, engaging him in what he called a speculation, but which was neither more nor less than downright stealing.
Near by the chestnut-tree where Nutcracker Lodge was situated, was a large barn filled with com and grain, besides many bushels of hazel-nuts, chestnuts, and walnuts. Now old Longtooth proposed to young Featherhead that he should nibble a passage into this loft, and there establish himself in the commission business, passing the nuts and corn to him as he wanted them. Old Longtooth knew what he was about in the proposal, for he had heard talk of a brisk Scotch terrier that was about to be bought to keep the rats from the grain; but you may be sure he kept his knowledge to himself, so that Featherhead was none the wiser for it.
‘The nonsense of fellows like Tip Chipmunk!’ said Featherhead to his admiring brothers and ‘sisters. ‘The perfectly stupid nonsense! There he goes, delving and poking, picking up a nut here and a grain there, when I step into property at once.’
‘But I hope, my son, you are careful to be honest in your dealings,’ said old Nutcracker, who was a very moral squirrel.
With that, young Featherhead threw his tail saucily over one shoulder, winked knowingly at his brothers, and said, ‘Certainly, sir! If honesty consists in getting what you can while it is going, I mean to be honest.’
Very soon Featherhead appeared to his admiring companions in the height of prosperity. He had a splendid hole in the midst of a heap of chestnuts, and he literally seemed to be rolling in wealth; he never came home without showering lavish gifts on his mother and sisters; he wore his tail over his back with a buckish air, and patronized Tip Chipmunk with a gracious nod whenever he met him, and thought that the world was going well with him.
But one luckless day, as Featherhead was lolling in his hole, up came two boys with the friskiest, wiriest Scotch terrier you ever saw. His eyes blazed like torches; and poor Featherhead’s heart died within him as he heard the boys say, ‘ Now we’ll see if we can’t catch the rascal that eats our grain.’
Featherhead tried to slink out at the hole he had gnawed to come in by, but found it stopped.
‘Oh, you are there, are you, mister?’ said the boy.
‘Well, you don’t get out; and now for a chase!’
And, sure enough, poor Featherhead ran distracted with terror up and down, through the bundles of hay, between barrels, and over casks; but with the barking terrier ever at his heels, and the boys running, shouting, and cheering his pursuer on. He was glad at last to escape through a crack, though he left half of his fine brush behind him; for Master Wasp the terrier made a snap at it just as he was going, and cleaned all the hair off it, so that it was bare as a rat’s tail.
Poor Featherhead limped off, bruised and beaten and bedraggled, with the boys and dog still after him, and they would have caught him, after all, if Tip Chipmunk’s hole had not stood hospitably open to receive him. Tip took him in, like a good-natured fellow as he was, and took the best of care of him; but the glory of Featherhead’s tail had departed for ever. He had sprained his left paw, and got a chronic rheumatism, and the fright and fatigue which he had gone through had broken up his constitution, so that he never again could be what he had been. But Tip gave him a situation as under-clerk in his establishment, and from that time he was a sadder and a wiser squirrel than he ever had been before.
THE HISTORY OF TIP-TOP.
UNDER the window of a certain pretty little cottage there grew a great old apple-tree, which in the spring had thousands and thousands of lovely pink blossoms on it, and in the autumn had about half as many bright red apples as it had blossoms in the spring.
The nursery of this cottage was a little bower of a room, papered with mossy-green paper, and curtained with white muslin; and here five little children used to come, in their white nightgowns, to be dressed and have their hair brushed and curled every morning.
First, there were Alice and Mary, bright-eyed, laughing little girls, of seven and eight years; and then came stout little Jamie, and Charlie; and, finally, little Puss, whose real name was Ellen, but who was called Puss, and Pussy, and Birdie, and Toddlie, and any other pet name that came to mind.
Now it used to happen, every morning, that the five little heads would be peeping out of the window together into the flowery boughs of the apple-tree; and the reason was this. A pair of robins had built a very pretty, smooth-lined nest in a fork of the limb that came directly under the window, and the building of this nest had been superintended, day by day, by the five pairs of bright eyes of these five children. The robins at first had been rather shy of this inspection; but as they got better acquainted, they seemed to think no more of the little curly heads in the window, than of the pink blossoms about them, or the daisies and buttercups at the foot of the tree.
All the little hands were forward to help; some threw out flossy bits of cotton
— for which, we grieve to say, Charlie had cut a hole in the crib quilt — and some threw out bits of thread and yarn, and Allie ravelled out a considerable piece from one of her garters, which she threw out as a contribution; and they exulted in seeing the skill with which the little builders wove everything in.
‘Little birds, little birds,’ they would say, ‘you shah be kept warm, for we have given you cotton out of our crib quilt, and yam out of our stockings.’ Nay, so far did this generosity proceed, that Charlie cut a flossy, golden curl from Toddlie’s head and threw it out; and when the birds caught it up, the whole flock laughed to see Toddlie’s golden hair figuring in the bird’s nest When the little thing was finished, it was so neat, and trim, and workman-like, that the children all exulted over it, and called it ‘our nest,’ and the two robins they called ‘our birds.’ But wonderful was the joy when the little eyes, opening one morning, saw in the nest a beautiful pale-green egg; and the joy grew from day to day, for every day there came another egg, and so on, till there were five little eggs; and then the oldest girl, Alice, said, ‘There are five eggs; that makes one for each of us, and each of us will have a little bird by and by;’ — at which all the children laughed and jumped with glee.
When the five little eggs were all laid, the mother’ bird began to sit on them; and at any time of day or night, when a little head peeped out of the nursery window, might be seen a round, bright, patient pair of bird’s eyes contentedly waiting for the young birds to come. It seemed a long time for the children to wait; but every day they put some bread and cake from their luncheon on the window-sill, so that the birds might have something to eat; but still there she was patiently watching!
‘How long, long, long she waits!’ said Jamie, impatiently. ‘I don’t believe she’s ever going to hatch.’
‘Oh yes, she is!’ said grave little Alice. ‘Jamie, you don’t understand about these things; it takes a long, long time to hatch eggs. Old Sam says his hens set three weeks; only think, almost a month!’
Three weeks looked a long time to the five bright pairs of little watching eyes; but Jamie said, the eggs were so much smaller than hen’s eggs, that it wouldn’t take so long to hatch them, he knew. Jamie always thought he knew all about everything, and was so sure of it that he rather took the lead among the children.
But one morning, when they pushed their five heads out of the window, the round, patient little bird-eyes were gone, and there seemed to be nothing in the nest but a bunch of something hairy.
Upon this they all cried out, ‘Oh mamma, do come here! the bird is gone and left her nest!’ And when they cried out, they saw five wide little red mouths open in the nest, and saw that the hairy bunch of stuff was indeed the first of five little birds.
‘They are dreadful-looking things!’ said Mary; ‘I didn’t know that little birds began by looking so badly.’
‘They seem to be all mouth,’ said Jamie.
‘We must feed them,’ said Charlie.
‘Here, little birds, here’s some gingerbread for you,’ he said; and he threw a bit of gingerbread, which, fortunately, only hit the nest on the outside, and fell down among the buttercups, where two crickets made a meal of it, and agreed that it was as excellent gingerbread as if old Mother Cricket herself had made it.
‘Take care, Charlie,’ said his mamma; ‘ we do not know enough to feed young birds. We must leave it to their papa and mamma, who probably started out bright and early in the morning to get breakfast for them,’
Sure enough, while they were speaking, back came Mr and Mrs. Robin, whirring through the green shadows of the apple-tree; and thereupon all the five little red mouths flew open, and the birds put some thing into each.
It was great amusement, after this, to watch the daily feeding of the little birds, and to observe how, when not feeding them, the mother sat brooding on the nest, warming them under her soft wings, while the father-bird sat on the tip-top bough of the apple tree and sang to them. In time they grew and grew, and, instead of a nest full of little red mouths, there was a nest full of little, fat, speckled robins, with round, bright, cunning eyes, just like their parents; and the children began to talk together about their birds, ‘I’m going to give my robin a name,’ said Mary. ‘I call him Brown-Eyes.’
‘And I call mine Tip-Top,’ said Jamie, ‘because I know he’ll be a tip-top bird.’
‘And I call mine Singer,’ said Alice.
‘I call mine Toddy,’ said little Toddlie, who would not be behindhand in anything that was going on.
‘Hurrah for little Toddlie!’ said Charlie, ‘her’s is the best of all. For my part, I call mine Speckle.’
So then the birds were all made separate characters, by having each a separate name given it. Brown-Eyes, Tip-Top, Singer, Toddy, and Speckle made, as they grew bigger, a very crowded nestful of birds.
Now the children had early been taught to say, in a little hymn:
‘Birds in their little nests agree,
And ’tis a shameful sight
When children of one family
Fall out, and chide, and fight
and they thought anything really written and printed in a hymn must be true; therefore they were very much astonished to see, from day to day, that their little birds in their nest did not agree.
Tip-Top was the biggest and strongest bird, and he was always shuffling and crowding the others, and clamouring for the most food; and when Mrs. Robin came in with a nice bit of anything, Tip-Top’s red mouth opened so wide, and he was so noisy, that one would think the nest was all his. His mother used to correct him for these gluttonous ways, and sometimes made him wait till all the rest were helped before she gave him a mouthful; but he generally revenged himself in her absence, by crowding the others and making the rest generally uncomfortable. Speckle, however, was a bird of spirit, and he used to peck at Tip-Top; so they would sometimes have a regular sparring-match across poor Brown-Eyes, who was a meek, tender little fellow, and would sit winking and blinking in fear while his big brothers quarrelled. As to Toddy and Singer, they turned out to be sister birds, and showed quite a feminine talent for chattering; they used to scold their badly behaving brothers in a way that made the nest quite lively.
On the whole, Mr and Mrs. Robin did not find their family circle the peaceable place the poet represents.
‘I say,’ said Tip-Top one day to them, ‘this old nest is a dull, mean, crowded hole, and it’s quite time some of us were out of it. Just give us lessons in flying, won’t you, and let us go!’
‘My dear boy,’ said Mother Robin, ‘we shall teach you to fly as soon as your wings are strong enough.’
‘You are a very little bird,’ said his father. ‘and ought to be good and obedient, and wait patiently till your wing-feathers grow; and then you can soar away to some purpose.’
‘Wait for my wing-feathers? — humbug!’ Tip-Top would say, as he sat balancing with his little short tail on the edge of the nest, and looking down through the leaves and grass below, and up into the blue clouds above. ‘Father and mother are slow old birds; keep a fellow back with their confounded notions. If they don’t sharpen up, I’ll take matters into my own claws, and be off some day before they know it. Look at those swallows, skimming and diving through the blue air! That’s the way I want to do.’
‘But, dear brother, the way to learn to do that is to be good and obedient while we are little, and wait till our parents think it best for us to begin.’
‘Shut up your preaching,’ said Tip-Top; ‘what do you girls know of flying?’
‘About as much as you,’ said Speckle. ‘ However, I’m sure I don’t care how soon you take yourself off, for you take up more room than all the rest put together.’
‘You mind yourself, Master Speckle, or you’ll get something you don’t like,’ said Tip-Top, still strutting in a very cavalier way on the edge of the nest, and sticking up his little short tail quite valiantly.
‘Oh my darlings,’ said the mamma, now fluttering hom
e, ‘cannot I ever teach you to live in love?’
‘It’s all Tip-Top’s fault,’ screamed the other birds in a flutter.
‘ My fault? Of course, everything in this nest that goes wrong is laid to me,’ said Tip-Top; ‘and I’ll leave it to anybody, now, if I crowd anybody. I’ve been sitting outside, on the very edge of the nest, and there’s Speckle has got my place.’
‘Who wants your place?’ said Speckle. ‘I’m sure you can come in, if you please.’
‘My dear boy,’ said the mother, ‘do go into the nest and be a good little bird, and then you will be happy.’
‘That’s always the talk,’ said Tip-Top. ‘I’m too big for the nest, and I want to see the world. It’s full of beautiful things, I know. Now there’s the most lovely creature, with bright eyes, that comes under the tree every day, and wants me to come down in the grass and play with her.’
‘My son, my son, beware!’ said the frightened mother; ‘that lovely seeming creature is our dreadful enemy, the cat, — a horrid monster, with teeth and claws.’
At this, all the little birds shuddered and cuddled deeper in the nest; only Tip-Top in his heart disbelieved it. ‘I’m too old a bird,’ said he to himself, ‘to believe that story; mother is chaffing me. But I’ll show her that I can take care of myself.’
So the next morning, after the father and mother were gone, Tip-Top got on the edge of the nest again, and looked over and saw lovely Miss Pussy washing her face among the daisies under the tree, and her hair was sleek and white as the daisies, and her eyes were yellow and beautiful to behold, and she looked up to the tree bewitchingly, and said, ‘Little birds, little birds, come down; Pussy wants to play with you!’
‘Only look at her!’ said Tip-Top; ‘ her eyes are like gold.’
‘No, don’t look,’ said Singer and Speckle. ‘She will bewitch you and then eat you up.’
‘I’d like to see her try to eat me up,’ said Tip-Top, again balancing his short tail over the nest. ‘Just as if she would! She’s just the nicest, most innocent creature going, and only wants us to have fun. We never do have any fun in this old nest!’
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 565
