The chairman was a rather fat man named Veasy. He had to be helped, puffing, down into the cellar. And what he saw there moved him profoundly. It moved him so much that he had to make a speech. After all, it was Hedley Day, and the politicians were allowed to make speeches. “Dear friends,” he began, “I cannot tell you how touched I am by the discovery of the foundations of the Joseph Hedley homestead! It is a matter of the highest—of the very greatest—”
Just above Chairman Veasy’s head, on the ledge outside Henry’s house, the animals were listening to his speech, too. “Here it comes!” whispered Tucker Mouse.
The chairman groped for exactly the right words: “—a matter of the deepest historical significance!”
“Didn’t I tell you?” squeaked the mouse. “Hic! hic! hic! hic!”
Mr. Veasy went on to say that because of the momentous importance of the discovery, plans to build apartment houses in the Old Meadow would have to be reconsidered. He himself intended to propose, at a special meeting of the Town Council to be called that very night, that the whole area be left just as it was—“as a natural shrine in memory of the great pioneer.”
Like all the other boys and girls, Ellen was listening to the chairman’s speech as politely as she could. But when she heard those words—about leaving the meadow just as it was—her eyes shone and she had to hold her hands together tight to keep from shouting out loud. When the speech was done, she and Jaspar clapped harder than anyone. (Except for Henry Chipmunk, that is. But he had such tiny hands to clap that none of the humans heard him at all.)
It was truly a marvelous afternoon. The animals watched as the wonderful sign, so fortunately recovered after all these years, was passed from hand to hand. When it came to be Ellen’s turn to look at it and hold it, something about the iron letters struck her as familiar. Without knowing what she was doing, she said, “Mother, do you remember that old wooden sign we used to have in our front yard?”
“Oh, my gosh!” burst out Tucker Mouse. “She’s going to give the whole thing away!”
Mrs. Hadley was standing nearby, chatting with the other ladies. Jaspar’s mother had just been saying how grand she thought it all was, and just to think—there they were, standing in the cellar of history! “What, dear?” Mrs. Hadley said to her daughter. “I’m sorry—I didn’t hear.”
“I said, do you remember—” Ellen began. But abruptly she stopped, looked quickly up at her mother, and then glanced down at the sign in her hand. A kind of smile came over her face. “It was nothing, Mother,” she said. “I forgot what I was going to say.” She lowered the sign behind her back, and as soon as she could, she passed it on to Jaspar, who kept insisting that it rightfully was his.
From the ledge above the ladies a sigh of relief so great went up that it raised a cloud of dust. The dust settled serenely over the now historic foundations of the homestead of Joseph Hedley.
All the rest of the day that sly smile lingered on Ellen’s face, the kind of smile you have when you know a secret. She didn’t say a word to anyone, but she kept wandering off by herself and looking around the meadow, as if she was searching for someone—but someone she didn’t know. Her mother noticed how strangely she was behaving and asked her if she wasn’t happy, now that the Old Meadow had been saved. Ellen said she was very happy, but her happiness, too, was private and quiet, like her smile.
Many other people, including several members of the Town Council, came to inspect the cellar. And they were all just as thrilled—a few gave speeches—as Chairman Veasy had been. It became very crowded around the rim, with the human beings all staring down. When they got the chance, the animals crept off to be by themselves. Harry Cat, too, slipped away from Ellen. He wanted to spend this great afternoon with his friends.
But history, to say nothing of speeches, can become a little tiring. At twilight the people began to leave. When they reached the road, most turned to look back. The meadow looked the same—the hill, the brook, the darkening fields—but somehow now it felt truly important: a “historical” place. They should have known better. The meadow had been important for years, and beautiful, too—and not because of history.
Tucker Mouse, in the meantime, had not been idle. He had done some extensive exploring and scrounging, and what he had found delighted him! “Harry!” he said. “You wouldn’t believe it! The whole place is littered with ends of hot dogs, chunks of hamburgers, great gooey gobs of potato salad—!”
“The mind reels!” Harry Cat laughed.
“I tell you what!” said Chester. “Let’s have a party! Goodness knows, we’ve got something to celebrate! And everybody’s invited!”
“Hooray!” came a cry from sundry fieldmice.
“We’ll collect all the food and take it down to my stump,” said Chester.
“And I want to hear you play,” said Tucker. “Some of the human things you learned. Especially that one from the farewell concert you gave in New York.”
Henry Chipmunk began jumping up and down. “Let’s start right now! All the people have gone.”
“Not all of them,” said Harry. “Look.”
On top of the hill above Simon’s Pool, Ellen Hadley was standing. The animals heard her mother call her. “Ellen—it’s getting pretty chilly. Don’t you think you ought to come in?”
“I will,” the girl called back. “In a minute.”
“She’s been acting funny all afternoon,” said Tucker.
“It’s that sign,” said Chester. “She knows she knows something—but she doesn’t know what it is.”
Ellen began to walk down the hill, toward her Special Place beside the brook. “Let’s see what she’s going to do,” said Harry. The animals padded and crept and hopped to the thickets surrounding the Special Place.
There was a shiver in the air, a promise of autumn to come, and winter after that. But within the shiver there was also the promise of spring beyond winter, and then the summer, and all the changing, circling seasons that now would be able to come to the meadow. Ellen stood for a moment, looking, listening. Then very softly she said, “I feel sort of silly, talking to no one—but whoever you are—thank you.”
She turned, climbed the hill without looking back, crossed the road, and went home.
* * *
That night, the night of the day of the Great Discovery, as it came to be known in Hedley, Connecticut, is well remembered by many people.
It is especially well remembered by Mr. Frank Lawler and his wife. Mr. Lawler taught music in one of the Hedley public high schools. On this particular night Mr. Lawler and his wife were driving by the meadow. Just over the bridge where the brook flowed out, Mr. Lawler stopped his car.
“What’s wrong?” said his wife.
“Don’t you hear that?” said Mr. Lawler.
“Hear what?”
“There’s a melody out there in the darkness.”
“A what?” said Mrs. Lawler.
“It’s an insect!” said Mr. Lawler, and his voice began to shake—not from fear. “And it’s playing—why, I know that piece! I’ve heard it on Saturday afternoon, when the Metropolitan Opera is broadcast. It’s playing the sextet from Lucia di Lammermoor!”
“Dear,” said Mrs. Lawler quietly, “if you want to believe that some bug in that meadow knows how to play opera, I don’t mind, Frank. I honestly don’t. I love you, dear. But please—let’s go home.”
In a state of perplexed amazement and pleasure Mr. Lawler started his car and drove off.
But perhaps the person who best remembers the night of the wonderful day is Ellen Hadley. Long after she had gone to bed, she had the feeling that the great events of the afternoon were still not over. Her bedroom faced the meadow, and she kept tiptoeing to the window, to peer out under the blind. Off down to the right, where the willow tree grew, there seemed to be a haze of light: the full moon, she thought, glancing off the brook—and fireflies flickering much later in the season than they should. And often she thought she heard strange sounds—like music at times, and t
hen like clapping, and then like laughter. Could animals laugh, she wondered. Could insects laugh? Could the trees and the brook and even the grass laugh? She didn’t know. But whatever the magic of the meadow was, on this special night it was clearly collected beneath the branches of the willow tree, where there was an old stump that the brook curved around. She was almost tempted to put on her clothes and go out in the night and try to see the mystery. But she didn’t. It would have made her parents angry. That wasn’t the real reason, though. Ellen wisely realized that there are certain kinds of magic which are best left undisturbed.
THIRTEEN
Another Goodbye
Monday morning all the inhabitants of the meadow slept late. Everyone was exhausted from the activity of the past two days, and the party last night had gone on till all hours. It wasn’t until noon that Tucker and Chester woke up. They had a quick drink and wash in the brook—it had become Tucker’s habit, too, by now—and then headed over to the Hadleys’ house, to see what the human beings had decided about the meadow.
At the top of the hill they saw something that struck them both as a very good sign. Frank, the truck driver, had brought back the dirt Bertha had gouged out, and was filling in the hole. And the steam shovel herself was being loaded onto the huge, flat truck that had brought her. Lou was walking backward up a ramp to the truck and was giving Sam directions where to steer Bertha’s creeping caterpillar tread. “Steady! Steady!” he called.
“Boy, don’t worry about me keepin’ ol’ Bertha steady!” Sam called back happily. “It’ll sure be more fun to dig some more space for the reservoir than tearin’ up this meadow would be!”
Tucker and Chester hurried across the road and around the Hadleys’ house to the sun-porch door. Harry Cat, who had gone back after the party, was waiting for them there. “Finally you’re here!” he exclaimed, without even so much as a good morning, and began to tell them all the news. “The whole town is buzzing! It’s been in the morning newspaper—on the radio—on television! They’re calling it a miracle!”
“They should only know how much work went into that ‘miracle’!” said Tucker Mouse.
“But what about the meadow?” said Chester.
“Chairman Veasy gets his way,” Harry answered. “They’re leaving it just the way it is. And they’re even going to plant some more trees. The paper said they were going to ‘build a natural wilderness.’”
Tucker Mouse shook his head. “Where but Connecticut would you have to ‘build a wilderness’!”
“The only thing they’re going to add,” said Harry, “is a path up to the cellar. So people can go and see it. And Tucker, you’ll be very proud to hear that they’re going to put up a stone monument with a plaque on it that says: Site of the Original Joseph Hedley Homestead.”
“Hm!” sniffed the mouse. “That plaque ought to say, ‘Site of the Original Joseph Hedley Homestead—As Invented by Tucker Mouse and Thrown Together Overnight by All the Inhabitants of the Meadow.’”
“And they’re changing the name, too,” Harry went on. “From now on it’s going to be Hedley’s Meadow instead of just the Old Meadow. Oh, and look!” Harry held up the front page of the newspaper, which he’d saved to show them. Right in the center of it was a picture of Jaspar, holding the sign. “It says, ‘This young boy, who uncovered the sign which proved conclusively that this was the cellar of the Hedley homestead, has generously donated his discovery to the town of Hedley. It will be exhibited, with the Hedley family Bible, in a case under glass in the lobby of the City Hall.’”
“They must have twisted his arm to make him give it up,” said Tucker.
Harry laughed. “I heard his mother tell Ellen this morning that he wouldn’t let go of it until they promised to put his picture on the front page of the newspaper.”
“You wait,” said Chester. “He’s going to be chairman of the Town Council himself when he grows up!”
“So you see, Chester,” said Harry, “you get what you wanted.”
“Thanks to Tucker,” said Chester Cricket. “And you, too, Harry. If you hadn’t trapped Ruff in the cellar, it all would have been in vain.”
“But Tucker had the plan,” said Harry. He unlatched the door and came out. “Mousiekins—you saved the day!” And he picked Tucker up and gave him a hug.
“Easy, Harry! You wouldn’t know your own strength.” Harry set the mouse down again. “You know, you can break a person’s back from friendship, too.”
“And now you’ve got to help me,” said Harry. “Because I have a problem.”
“What problem?” said Tucker.
“It’s Ellen.” Harry swished his tail nervously. “She’s had me as a pet all summer, but the time’s coming when you and I have to think about getting back to New York.”
“Don’t tell me!” burst out Tucker. “Is the kitty getting sick of all the lobster Newburg and chocolate sundaes?”
“All right, all right—that’s enough of that,” said Harry. “You’ve had your share, too.”
“You don’t have to go right away, do you?” said Chester rather woefully. “I mean—now that the meadow’s been saved, we can all enjoy it together.”
“Well, not this very day,” said Harry. “But pretty soon. I’m beginning to get homesick for neon lights and the rumble of the subway. And the mousiekins here must be worried about his Life Savings.”
“My Life Savings—!” Tucker Mouse clutched his chest. “I’d forgotten all about them!”
“The day you forget your Life Savings!” said Harry in disbelief.
“No, Harry, I had!” said Tucker. “I’ve been so busy saving the meadow. I wonder if those nasty rats got everything.” He began fidgeting. “Harry, when can we go? When, Harry?”
“When you solve my problem,” said the cat. “You’ve got to find some way so that Ellen won’t be unhappy when she loses her pet. Me, that is.”
“Hmm.” Tucker scratched one ear and wiggled his whiskers. “A very difficult assignment.”
“I hope you can’t think of anything for a long time,” said Chester. “September’s beautiful in the meadow.”
“So that’s it,” said Harry. “You come up with a good idea, and then we go back to New York. In the meantime, come over again tomorrow some time. Mrs. Hadley’s baking an apple pie for supper, and I’ll try to steal you a chunk.”
“Apple pie—” A familiar look of glazed rapture came over Tucker’s face.
“You know something, Harry,” said Chester Cricket. “I think you may be around for quite a while yet.”
“I think we may, too!” Harry Cat laughed.
* * *
But it wasn’t too many days before Tucker Mouse did think of a good idea. August ended and September began. The green, golden summer was flecked here and there with touches of red and brown. School started for Ellen, and this year the little kids, too, were entering the first grade. Tucker and Chester went over to the Hadleys’ every day. Harry always had a little delicacy tucked away for his friends. But the mouse knew that however good a cook Mrs. Hadley was, he and Harry couldn’t stay in Connecticut forever. So one morning when they were together in the stump, he told Chester his plan.
Chester shook his head and said, “It’s wonderful—if he’ll do it.”
When Harry heard the new idea, he burst out laughing. “He’s so timid, though—don’t tell him till the very last minute.”
For the next two days Harry spent a great deal of time in the meadow. He slept in the stump too, because he wanted Ellen to get used to the notion that he might be getting restless and want to move on. On the third morning, however, when she woke up, there was Harry, sitting on the foot of her bed. “You’re back!” she said. “And I thought you were gone for good.”
They had breakfast together. Harry’s was cat food, but she gave him a little piece of her fried egg, too. The last thing she always did before leaving for school was to pick Harry up and kiss him on the head. When she did so today, Harry licked her hand and gave a
long purr. She looked at him curiously. He was such an extraordinary cat! There were times when she felt as if he knew much more about her than she did about him. Harry purred again, and she put him down. He knew it was the last time she would ever see him.
And so, at last, the afternoon came when Tucker and Harry were to leave for New York. All the animals of the meadow wanted them to stay, but they knew how it was when you’d been away from home a long time. At five o’clock, when the light was long and low and lovely, they were all gathered by Simon’s Pool to say goodbye, before John Robin guided the cat and the mouse to the station.
“Is she over in her Special Place?” whispered Tucker to Harry.
“Yes. And she’s calling me,” said Harry. “It makes me feel awful! Hurry up!”
Tucker jumped up on Simon’s log. “Dear friends,” he began, “before we say goodbye, there is something that still must be taken care of. As most of you know, Harry Cat—who also goes by the name of Kittykittykitty—has been living over at the Hadleys’ all summer as Ellen’s pet. And she has grown to love him. Who could not?—for to know Harry is to love him.”
“Hooray!” came a shout from the sundries. It was the first and only time in the history of Connecticut that a crowd of fieldmice had shouted “hooray” for a tomcat.
Tucker continued: “Now, in order that Ellen shouldn’t be too unhappy at her tragic loss, we’ve decided that she ought to have another pet. Nobody can ever replace Harry, but somebody is going to try. And that somebody is—” His right front paw flashed out and pointed straight at— “—you, Henry Chipmunk!” He jumped down off the log and patted Henry on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Henry—you are now Ellen Hadley’s new pet.”
“Me?” the chipmunk asked in a wavering voice. “Why me?” His tiny black nose turned pale.
“I would have volunteered, Henry,” said Chester. “But Ellen likes furry folk.”
Henry began to stammer. “Well—um—there’s a very nice skunk named Joe who lives in the woods beyond the cellar—”
“A very nice skunk named Joe is just what Ellen wouldn’t want,” said Tucker. “To say nothing of her mother.”
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