The Burgess Animal Book for Children

by Thornton W. Burgess

  “What about his tail?” piped up Peter Rabbit. You know Peter is very much interested in tails.

  Old Mother Nature smiled. “He is worse off than you, Peter,” said she, “for he hasn’t any at all. That is, he hasn’t any that can be seen. He lives way up among the rocks of the great mountains above where the trees grow and often is a very near neighbor to Whistler.”

  “I suppose that means that he makes his home down in under rocks, the same as Whistler does,” spoke up Johnny Chuck.

  “Right,” replied Old Mother Nature. “He is such a little fellow that he can get through very narrow places, and he has his home and barns way down in among the rocks.”

  “Barns!” exclaimed Happy Jack Squirrel. “Barns! What do you mean by barns?”

  Old Mother Nature laughed. “I just call them barns,” said she, “because they are the places where he stores away his hay, just as Farmer Brown stores away his hay in his barn. I suppose you would call them storehouses.”

  At the mention of hay, Peter Rabbit sat bolt upright and his eyes were wide open with astonishment. “Did you say hay?” he exclaimed. “Where under the sun does he get hay way up there, and what does he want of it?”

  There was a twinkle in Old Mother Nature’s eyes as she replied, “He makes that hay just as you see Farmer Brown make hay every summer. It is what he lives on in the winter and in bad weather. Little Chief knows just as much about the proper way of making hay as Farmer Brown does. Even way up among the rocks there are places where grass and pea-vines and other green things grow. Little Chief lives on these in summer. But he is as wise and thrifty as any Squirrel, another way in which he differs from the Hare family. He cuts them when they are ready for cutting and spreads them out on the rocks to dry in the sun. He knows that if he should take them down into his barns while they are fresh and green they would sour and spoil; so he never stores them away until they are thoroughly dry. Then, of course, they are hay, for hay is nothing but sun-dried grass cut before it has begun to die. When his hay is just as dry as it should be, he takes it down and stores it away in his barns, which are nothing but little caves down in among the rocks. There he has it for use in winter when there is no green food.

  “Little Chief is so nearly the color of the rocks that it takes sharp eyes to see him when he is sitting still. He has a funny little squeaking voice, and he uses it a great deal. It is a funny voice because it is hard to tell just where it comes from. It seems to come from nowhere in particular. Sometimes he can be heard squeaking way down in his home under the rocks. Like Johnny Chuck, he prefers to sleep at night and be abroad during the day. Because he is so small he must always be on the lookout for enemies. At the first hint of danger he scampers to safety in among the rocks, and there he scolds whoever has frightened him. There is no more lovable little person in all my great family than this little haymaker of the mountains of the Great West.”

  “That haymaking is a pretty good idea of Little Chief’s,” remarked Peter Rabbit, scratching a long ear with a long hind foot. “I’ve a great mind to try it myself.”

  Everybody laughed right out, for everybody knew just how easy-going and thriftless Peter was. Peter himself grinned. He couldn’t help it.

  “That would be a very good idea, Peter,” said Old Mother Nature. “By the way, there is another haymaker out in those same great mountains of the Far West.”

  “Who?” demanded Peter and Johnny Chuck and Happy Jack Squirrel, all in the same breath.

  “Stubtail the Mountain Beaver,” replied Old Mother Nature promptly.

  “I know Paddy the Beaver,” declared Peter promptly. “I suppose Stubtail is his cousin.”

  Old Mother Nature shook her head. “No,” said she. “No. Stubtail and Paddy are no more closely related than the rest of you. Stubtail isn’t a Beaver at all. His proper name is Sewellel. Sometimes he is called Showt’l and sometimes the Boomer, and sometimes the Chehalis, but most folks call him the Mountain Beaver.”

  “Is it because he looks like Paddy the Beaver?” Striped Chipmunk asked.

  “No,” replied Old Mother Nature. “He looks more like Jerry Muskrat than he does like Paddy. He is about Jerry’s size and looks very much as Jerry would if he had no tail.”

  “Hasn’t he any tail at all?” asked Peter.

  “Yes, he has a little tail, a little stub of a tail, but it is so small that to look at him you would think he hadn’t any,” replied Old Mother Nature. “He is found out in the same mountains of the Far West where Whistler and Little Chief live, but instead of living way up high among the rocks he is at home down in the valleys where the ground is soft and the trees grow thickly. Stubtail has no use for rocks. He wants soft, wet ground where he can tunnel and tunnel to his heart’s content. In one thing Stubtail is very like Yap Yap the Prairie Dog.”

  “What is that?” asked Johnny Chuck quickly, for, you know, Yap Yap is Johnny’s cousin.

  “In his social habits,” replied Old Mother Nature. “Stubtail isn’t fond of living alone. He wants company of his own kind. So wherever you find Stubtail you are likely to find many of his family. They like to go visiting back and forth. They make little paths between their homes and all about through the thick ferns, and they keep these little paths free and clear, so that they may run along them easily. Some of these little paths lead into long tunnels. These are made for safety. Usually the ground is so wet that there will be water running in the bottoms of these little tunnels.”

  LITTLE CHIEF THE PIKA. Also called Cony and Little Chief Hare. See page 57.

  STUBTAIL THE MOUNTAIN BEAVER. He is not a Beaver at all but a Sewellel. See page 59.

  “What kind of a house does Stubtail have?” inquired Johnny Chuck interestedly.

  “A hole in the ground, of course,” replied Old Mother Nature. “It is dug where the ground is drier than where the runways are made. Mrs. Stubtail makes a nest of dried ferns and close by they build two or three storehouses, for Stubtail and Mrs. Stubtail are thrifty people.”

  “I suppose he fills them with hay, for you said he is a haymaker,” remarked Happy Jack Squirrel, who is always interested in storehouses.

  “Yes,” replied Old Mother Nature, “he puts hay in them. He cuts grasses, ferns, pea-vines and other green plants and carries them in little bundles to the entrance to his tunnel. There he piles them on sticks so as to keep them off the damp ground and so that the air can help dry them out. When they are dry, he takes them inside and stores them away. He also stores other things. He likes the roots of ferns. He cuts tender, young twigs from bushes and stores away some of these. He is fond of bark. In winter he is quite as active as in summer and tunnels about under the snow. Then he sometimes has Peter Rabbit’s bad habit of killing trees by gnawing bark all around as high up as he can reach.”

  “Can he climb trees?” asked Chatterer the Red Squirrel.

  “Just about as much as Johnny Chuck can,” replied Old Mother Nature. “Sometimes he climbs up in low bushes or in small, low-branching trees to cut off tender shoots, but he doesn’t do much of this sort of thing. His home is the ground. He is most active at night, but where undisturbed, is out more or less during the day. When he wants to cut off a twig he sits up like a Squirrel and holds the twig in his hands while he bites it off with his sharp teeth.”

  “You didn’t tell us what color his coat is,” said Peter Rabbit.

  “I told you he looked very much like Jerry Muskrat,” replied Old Mother Nature. “His coat is brown, much the color of Jerry’s, but his fur is not nearly so soft and fine.”

  “I suppose he has enemies just as the rest of us little people have,” said Peter.

  “Of course,” replied Old Mother Nature. “All little people have enemies, and most big ones too, for that matter. King Eagle is one and Yowler the Bob Cat is another. They are always watching for Stubtail. That is why he digs so many tunnels. He can travel under the ground then. My goodness, how time flies! Scamper home, all of you, for I have too much to do to talk any
more to-day.”

  10. Prickly Porky and Grubby Gopher

  ALL the way to school the next morning Peter Rabbit wondered who they would learn about that day. He was so busy wondering that he was heedless. Peter is apt to be heedless at times. The result was that as he hopped out of a bramble-tangle just within the edge of the Green Forest, he all but landed in something worse than the worst brambles that ever grew. It was only by a wild side jump that he saved himself. Peter had almost landed among the thousand little spears of Prickly Porky the Porcupine.

  “Gracious!” exclaimed Peter.

  “Why don’t you look where you are going,” grunted Prickly Porky. Plainly he was rather peevish. “It wouldn’t be my fault if you had a few of my little spears sticking in you this very minute, and it would serve you right.” He waddled along a few steps, then began talking again. “I don’t see why Old Mother Nature sent for me this morning,” he grumbled. “I hate a long walk.”

  Peter pricked up his long ears. “I know!” he cried. “You’re going to school, Prickly Porky. You’re a Rodent, and we are going to learn all about you this morning.”

  “I’m not a Rodent; I’m a Porcupine,” grunted Prickly Porky indignantly.

  “You’re a Rodent just the same. You’ve got big gnawing teeth, and any one with that kind of teeth is a Rodent,” retorted Peter. Then at a sudden thought a funny look passed over his face. “Why, that means that you and I are related in a way,” he added.

  “Don’t believe it,” grunted Prickly Porky, still shuffling along. “Don’t believe it. Don’t want to be related to anybody as heedless as you. What is this school, anyway? Don’t want to go to school. Know all I want to know. Know how to get all I want to eat and how to make everybody get out of my way and leave me alone, and that’s enough to know.” He rattled the thousand little spears hidden in his coat, and Peter shivered at the sound. It was a most unpleasant sound.

  “Well, some folks do like to be stupid,” snapped Peter and hurried on, lipperty-lipperty-lip, while Prickly Porky slowly shuffled and rattled along behind.

  All the others were there when Peter arrived. Prickly Porky wasn’t even in sight. Old Mother Nature wasted no time. She has too much to do ever to waste time. She called the school to order at once.

  “Yesterday,” she began, “I told you about two little haymakers of the high mountains of the Far West. Who were they, Peter Rabbit?”

  “Little Chief Hare, called the Pika or Cony, and Stubtail the Mountain Beaver or Sewellel,” replied Peter with great promptness.

  “Right,” said Old Mother Nature. “Now I am going to tell you of one of my little plowmen who also lives in the Far West but prefers the great plains to the high mountains, though he is sometimes found in the latter. He is Grubby the Gopher, a member of the same order the rest of you belong to, but of a family quite his own. He is properly called the Pocket Gopher, and way down in the Southeast, where he is also found, he is called a Salamander, though what for I haven’t the least idea.”

  “Does he have pockets in his cheeks like mine?” asked Striped Chipmunk eagerly.

  “He has pockets in his cheeks, and that is why he is called Pocket Gopher,” replied Old Mother Nature; “but they are not at all like yours, Striped Chipmunk. Yours are on the inside of your cheeks, but his are on the outside.”

  “How funny!” exclaimed Striped Chipmunk.

  “Your pockets are small compared with those of Grubby,” continued Old Mother Nature. “One of his covers almost the whole side of his head back to his short neck, and it is lined with fur, and remember he has two of them. Grubby uses these for carrying food and never for carrying out earth when he is digging a tunnel, as some folks think he does. He stuffs them full with his front feet and empties them by pressing them from the back with his feet. The Gopher family is quite large and the members range in size from the size of Danny Meadow Mouse to that of Robber the Rat, only these bigger members are stouter and heavier than Robber. Some are reddish-brown and some are gray. But whatever his size and wherever he is found, Grubby’s habits are the same.”

  All this time Peter Rabbit had been fidgeting about. It was quite clear that Peter had something on his mind. Now as Old Mother Nature paused, Peter found the chance he had been waiting for. “If you please, why did you call him a plowman?” he asked eagerly.

  “I’m coming to that all in due time,” replied Old Mother Nature, smiling at Peter’s eagerness. “Grubby Gopher spends most of his life underground, very much like Miner the Mole, whom you all know. He can dig tunnels just about as fast. His legs are short, and his front legs and feet are very stout and strong. They are armed with very long, strong claws and it is with these and the help of his big cutting teeth that Grubby digs. He throws the earth under him and then kicks it behind him with his hind feet. When he has quite a pile behind him he turns around, and with his front feet and head pushes it along to a little side tunnel and then up to the surface of the ground. As soon as he has it all out he plugs up the opening and goes back to digging. The loose earth he has pushed out makes little mounds, and he makes one of these mounds every few feet.

  “Grubby is a great worker. He is very industrious. Since he is underground, it doesn’t make much difference to him whether it be night or day. In summer, during the hottest part of the day, he rests. His eyes are small and weak because he has little use for them, coming out on the surface very seldom and then usually in the dusk. He has a funny little tail without any hair on it; this is very sensitive and serves him as a sort of guide when he runs backward along his tunnel, which he can do quite fast. A funny thing about those long claws on his front feet is that he folds them under when he is walking or running. Do any of you know why Farmer Brown plows his garden?”

  PRICKLY PORKY THE PORCUPINE. An independent fellow with a thousand little spears in his coat. See page 63.

  As she asked this, Old Mother Nature looked from one to another, and each in turn shook his head. “It is to mix the dead vegetable matter thoroughly with the earth so that the roots of the plants may get it easily,” explained Old Mother Nature. “By making those tunnels in every direction and bringing up the earth below to the surface, Grubby Gopher does the same thing. That is why I call him my little plowman. He loosens up the hard, packed earth and mixes the vegetable matter with it and so makes it easy for seeds to sprout and plants to grow.”

  “Then he must be one of the farmer’s best friends,” spoke up Happy Jack Squirrel.

  Old Mother Nature shook her head. “He has been in the past,” said she. “He has done a wonderful work in helping make the land fit for farming. But where land is being farmed he is a dreadful pest, I am sorry to say. You see he eats the crops the farmer tries to raise, and the new mounds he is all the time throwing up bury a lot of the young plants, and in the meadows make it very hard to use a mowing machine for cutting hay. Then Grubby gets into young orchards and cuts off all the tender roots of young trees. This kills them. You see he is fond of tender roots, seeds, stems of grass and grain, and is never happier than when he can find a field of potatoes.

  “Being such a worker, he has to have a great deal to eat. Then, too, he stores away a great deal for winter, for he doesn’t sleep in winter as Johnny Chuck does. He even tunnels about under the snow. Sometimes he fills these little snow tunnels with the earth he brings up from below, and when the snow melts it leaves queer little earth ridges to show where the tunnels were.

  “Grubby is very neat in his habits and keeps his home and himself very clean. During the day he leaves one of his mounds open for a little while to let in fresh air. But it is only for a little while. Then he closes it again. He doesn’t dare leave it open very long, for fear Shadow the Weasel or a certain big Snake called the Gopher Snake will find it and come in after him. Digger the Badger is the only one of his enemies who can dig fast enough to dig him out, but at night, when he likes to come out for a little air or to cut grain and grass, he must always watch for Hooty the Owl. Old Man Coyote and
members of the Hawk family are always looking for him by day, so you see he has plenty of enemies, like the rest of you.

  “He got the name Gopher because that comes from a word meaning honeycomb, and Grubby’s tunnels go in every direction until the ground is like honeycomb. He isn’t a bit social and has rather a mean disposition. He is always ready to fight. On the plains he has done a great deal to make the soil fine and rich, as I have already told you, but on hillsides he does a great deal of harm. The water runs down his tunnels and washes away the soil. Because of this and the damage he does to crops, man is his greatest enemy. But man has furnished him with new and splendid foods easy to get, and so Grubby’s family increases faster than it used to, in spite of traps and poison. Hello! See who’s here! It is about time.”

  There was a shuffling and rattling and grunting, and Prickly Porky climbed up on an old stump, looking very peevish and much out of sorts. He had come to school much against his will.

  11. A Fellow with a Thousand Spears

  “THERE,” said Old Mother Nature, pointing to Prickly Porky the Porcupine, “is next to the largest member of your order, which is?”

  “Order of Rodents,” piped up Striped Chipmunk.

  “He is not only next to the largest, but is the stupidest,” continued Old Mother Nature. “At least that is what people say of him, though I suspect he isn’t as stupid as he sometimes seems. Anyway, he manages to keep well fed and escape his enemies, which is more than can be said for some others who are supposed to have quick wits.”

  “Escaping his enemies is no credit to him. They are only too glad to keep out of his way; he doesn’t have to fear anybody,” said Chatterer the Red Squirrel to his cousin, Happy Jack.

  His remark didn’t escape the keen ears of Old Mother Nature. “Are you sure about that?” she demanded. “Now there’s Pekan the Fisher——”