Weedly looked up and saw towering over him, a great shaggy animal, such as he had never seen before. Peter held out a big paw to help him up, but Weedly thought the creature was trying to catch him. He jumped up and tore back down the path the way he had come, squealing just as loud as he had before. Only now he was calling on his Uncle Jinx for help, instead of his mother.
… he tore back down the path.
“Well, my goodness!” said Peter, and went back to the raspberry patch.
In the Bean barnyard, the animals had gathered around Freddy, who was telling them about Little Weedly. “Jinx said he’d look after him,” said the pig, “but evidently Jinx has gone off hunting somewhere, and he got scared. Do you know what scared him, Hank?”
“Didn’t know anything about it till he began squealing,” said the horse. “My land, he scared me out of a year’s growth. He ain’t coming back, is he, Freddy?”
“He didn’t sound as if he intended to,” said the pig. “No, he’s gone back home, and I don’t believe—”
“Yeah, he’s comin’ back,” said the horse gloomily. “Listen.”
The squeals which had got fainter and fainter and died away in the distance had begun again, and were getting louder and louder. “It’s like these moving pictures of races,” said Georgie, “and then you see them run over again backward.” Louder and louder. “Help! Uncle Jinx! Help!” yelled Weedly, and then he was in the barnyard, and he scattered the animals as he dashed through them and disappeared again into the barn.
“There goes my night’s sleep,” grumbled Hank.
“Where on earth is Jinx?” said Mrs. Wiggins. “He’s the one to be looking after the poor little creature.”
But Jinx had heard the squeals. He had been just dropping off to sleep when they began. “My goodness,” he said, jumping up, “it’s Little Weedly! I forgot all about him! Oh, I’ve got to get out of here!”
Jinx didn’t waste any time. The only way to get out was through the door, and as he couldn’t open it himself, either Aunt Effie or Uncle Snedeker would have to open it for him. He climbed up on a big pile of boxes and began pushing them one after the other on to the floor.
After the bang that each box made in falling, he listened a minute, and at last he heard what he had been waiting for—voices in the hall. He went down close to the door.
“Eh, eh, I’ll open it, Effie, I’ll open it,” he heard Uncle Snedeker say. “But ain’t it kind of foolhardy, Effie? Indian warwhoops, that’s what those yells were if I ever heard ’em. And then the noises in the attic—that’s the way the Indians come; cut a hole in the roof and then creep in, all silent and stealthy, and first thing you know—zip! And you’re scalped.”
“Nonsense!” said Aunt Effie sharply. “There hasn’t been an Indian around here for two hundred years. And if there was, what good would your scalp do ’em, I’d like to know?”
“Eh, that’s just it,” said Uncle Snedeker. “‘Tain’t myself I’m thinking about. I’m balder’n an old eagle. But your nice long, thick hair—eh, I’d hate to have you lose it, Effie. All the trouble you’ve had combin’ and curlin’ it—”
“Snedeker,” interrupted Aunt Effie, “open that door!”
There was a pause, and then as the knob turned, Jinx got ready. And when the door slowly opened he dashed through.
Even then he was hardly quick enough. Uncle Snedeker gave a yelp and staggered back, but Aunt Effie was made of sterner stuff. “There’s your Indians!” she exclaimed, and swung with her broom. It missed Jinx by the width of his tail, and then he was dashing down the stairs, with Aunt Effie in pursuit.
It was lucky for the cat that the Snedekers had thrown up the front parlor window to see what all the noise was about. He made one bound from the foot of the stairs to the parlor door, another to the windowsill, and the third landed him on the ground and in safety, with Aunt Effie shaking her broomstick at him from the window. At another time Jinx would have sat down in full view of Aunt Effie and calmly washed his face, pretending all the time that he didn’t see her, that he never had seen her before, and that he hadn’t the slightest interest in anything concerned with her. And he probably would have succeeded in making her good and mad. But now there were other things to attend to. So he went over to the barn.
Little Weedly was cowering in the farthest corner of the box stall. He was about worn out—not so much because he had been running, as because he had been yelling. For yelling is about the hardest exercise there is, and if a lot of people who weigh too much would just yell ten minutes a day, instead of playing golf or tennis or swinging Indian clubs, they would reduce very quickly. Only, of course, the neighbors probably wouldn’t like it much.
“Well, well, Weedly,” said Jinx, “what’s wrong here? Who’s been playing tricks on you?”
“Oh, Uncle Jinx,” panted Little Weedly, “I’m so glad you’re here. It was awful!”
“What was awful?” said Jinx. But Weedly couldn’t tell him. It was awful, and it had scared him; that was all he knew.
“Well, you’re all right now,” said Jinx. “You go to sleep, and I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
So he went out to get to the bottom of it. The animals were still standing around the barn door. “You fellows ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” he said angrily, “playing tricks on a poor little helpless pig.”
“Nobody played tricks on him, Jinx,” said Robert. “As far as we can make out, he just scared himself, because you’d gone off and left him alone. After all, you adopted him; why didn’t you stay with him?”
“Because I had important business to see to, for Mr. Bean,” said Jinx.
Henrietta cackled drily. “Yes, we know the kind of important business. Down on the flats chasing frogs, probably. You’ve got about as much sense of responsibility as—well, as Charles here. I can’t put it any stronger than that.”
“Oh, come, Henrietta,” said Charles, “just because you asked me to sit on those eggs this afternoon, and I forgot and went down to swim—”
“Now, now,” put in Mrs. Wiggins good-naturedly, “one thing at a time. Are we discussing Charles’ shortcomings as a husband, or Jinx’s shortcomings as a guardian? What was this business, Jinx? You’ve got something important to tell us, I know.”
“Yes, if you’ll let me tell it,” said Jinx grumpily. “I couldn’t be with Weedly because I was locked in the attic.” And he told them his story.
The animals were a good deal worried by the news. They had heard from Freddy about the result of the sheriff’s visit, and so they knew that the Snedekers really were Mr. Bean’s relatives. It was probably going to be unpleasant enough trying to get along with them until the Beans got home, but nobody had supposed that they were really up to any mischief.
“We mustn’t let them get that teapot if we can help it,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “But I don’t see how we can help it. Even if one of us could get in and get it, he certainly couldn’t get out with it. Of course, I’m not very good at thinking up things. Maybe one of you animals has got an idea.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t,” said Freddy.
“Land sakes,” said Hank, “don’t look at me!
“Peter could get in,” said Georgie. “He’s terrible strong. He could just push the door in and walk upstairs and get the teapot, and then walk out with it. And if she came after him with the broom, he’d just laugh.”
“Yes,” said Jinx, “and what if, instead of the broom, she picked up Mr. Bean’s shotgun? We don’t want to spend the rest of the summer picking birdshot out of poor old Peter. No, we can’t prevent them getting the teapot. But what we’ve got to prevent them from doing is taking it back to Ohio. We’ve got to keep them here either until we can get it away from them and hide it, or until the Beans come home.”
“And I know how we can do that,” said Freddy suddenly. “Jinx told you what Aunt Effie said; that she thought it was terrible to leave a farm with nobody but the animals to look af
ter it, and that she was going to see that it was properly run. You see, she’s one of those people that can’t stand it to see things being misused, and not taken care of. Even if they aren’t her things. So all we’ve got to do is make her think everything on the farm is going to pieces, and then she’ll stay here until she gets it all in good shape.”
“Gosh, that’s an idea, Freddy,” said Jinx.
“Maybe it is,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Maybe it is. I’m not much good at ideas myself, and that’s a fact. You mean, Freddy, that if there’s a hole in the barn roof, she’ll stay until she gets it mended?”
“Exactly,” said Jinx, “and I know just where we can make a hole in the barn roof. It’ll keep her busy here for one day, anyway. There’s some loose shingles I noticed the other night when I was up there singing.”
“Yeah,” said Hank, “and I guess maybe it was your singing that loosened them. If I had that gun you were talking about, there’d have been a hole in that song of yours that it would take more than Aunt Effie to patch up.”
“Why, Hank,” said Jinx with a grin, “don’t you like music?”
“Sure,” said the horse. “But I thought we were talking about your singing.”
Jinx couldn’t think of anything to say to that so he just said, “Pooh!” And then after a minute he said: “Well, as I was saying, I can go up and tear some of those shingles out—”
“You’re not going to leave that little pig alone any longer,” said Mrs. Wiggins firmly. “You brought him here, and you’ve got to look after him. Though what you’re going to do with him, I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Pooh,” said Jinx, “you leave it to me. He’ll turn out all right; you wait and see. He’s smart, that young one—smart as a whip. He’ll get over being so bashful and scared in a little while. We were all that way once ourselves. Why, when I was a kitten—”
“When you were a kitten,” said Mrs. Wiggins, “you were the worst nuisance on four legs. You were about as bashful as a pack of firecrackers, and just about as comfortable to have around.”
“Oh, that was later,” said the cat. “I really was scared of everything though. And do you know what cured me? I was down playing in the brush-lot with my mother one day. My mother was pretending she was a mouse, and I was jumping out and pretending to scare her. Well, she hid, and I was hunting for her when I saw something come poking through the bushes. I thought it was mother, and I made a jump and landed with all four feet right on your nose. You’d heard something moving in the bushes and had poked your nose in to find out what it was. Ho, ho!” Jinx laughed, “talk about Weedly making a noise! They could hear you over at Witherspoons’.”
Mrs. Wiggins smiled, and if you have never seen a cow smile, you don’t know how large and comfortable and pleasant a smile can be. “I guess I did make quite a commotion,” she said.
“I’ll say you did,” said Jinx. “And I wasn’t ever scared of things after that. When I knew that an animal fifty times as big as I was, was afraid of me—” He stopped suddenly. “Golly!” he said. “That’s how we can cure Weedly. If we all pretend to be afraid of him—”
“Pretend to be afraid of a pig?” exclaimed Charles, ruffling up his feathers indignantly.
“Sure. When you see him, squawk and run away and hide. Give him the big build-up.”
“Well, I certainly shall do nothing of the kind,” said the rooster. “Why, it’s—it’s undignified.”
“Ha!” said Henrietta. “That’s a good one—from you.”
“Let me handle this, Henrietta,” said Jinx. “Come on, Charles, be a sport. Just to please me. The others will all do it; won’t you, animals?”
“’ Twouldn’t be any trouble for me,” said Hank. “I’m scared of the critter now.” And Freddy and Robert and the other animals said, well yes, they’d try it.
But Mrs. Wiggins shook her head. “I don’t know, Jinx,” she said. “I’m willing to do anything within reason. But I can’t go cavorting off over the hills in hysterics every time I see him. How would it be if I just look startled?”
“How do you look when you look startled?” the cat asked, and Mrs. Wiggins thought a minute, and then she opened her eyes wide and dropped her jaw and waggled her ears. “Guess that’s about it,” she said.
“Good gracious!” said Jinx. “You’d scare him to death!”
“H’m,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “Well, how’s this?” And she suddenly sat down weakly, and closed her eyes, and put one front hoof to her heart and said: “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, dear me!”
“Splendid!” said Freddy. “Mrs. Wiggins, you’re a born actor. My goodness, that gives me an idea. Good night, you fellows.” And he trotted off toward the pigpen.
“That’s what it is to be a poet,” said the cat disgustedly. “Right in the middle of something, you get an idea and have to go write it down, and leave the other fellow to do the work. Well, anyway, I guess it’s all settled that you’ll help me out with Weedly. I know it’ll be a nuisance, but he’s a swell little pig, really. And I know you’ll help him a lot. Besides, you’ll be doing something for me. And I don’t ask favors of you very often.”
“No, that’s true, Jinx,” said Henrietta. “You can count on the chickens—and that includes Charles, of course.” And she moved over beside her husband and smoothed down a feather on the side of his head with her beak.
Charles started, and eyed her suspiciously. Her beak was very close to his ear, and although a rooster’s ear isn’t large, it is very sensitive. “Well,” he said, “I—er, that is, certainly, Jinx. I am only too pleased to take any steps which would tend to ameliorate the conditions surrounding the education of your adopted nephew, and I will say here and now—”
“Don’t make a speech,” said Henrietta sharply.
“—that I—er, that is, you can count on me,” concluded Charles.
“Fine,” said Jinx. “And now that’s settled, I’ll go fix that roof. Don’t worry—I’ll take Weedly along so he won’t cause any more trouble.”
Chapter 4
Jinx took Little Weedly up the narrow barn stairs into the loft, and then he climbed out on the roof and began to loosen the shingles. Every now and then he would call down: “Are you all right, Weedly?” and the pig would answer: “All right, Uncle Jinx.” As soon as the hole was big enough, Jinx dropped down through it.
“I guess that’ll give Aunt Effie something to do tomorrow,” he said. “Now we’ll go down to the box stall and get some sleep.”
An hour or so later, a dark cloud came rolling silently across the sky. One by one the stars went out; the night got darker, and a cool damp feeling came into the air. Up in the woods all the little animals stirred, and snuggled closer into their nests, and Peter, the bear, woke up and sniffed. “H’m,” he grunted. “Rain.” So he got up and lumbered off to the shallow cave in the rocks where he took shelter in stormy weather. For he knew the birds would not steal his berries if it rained.
But the farm animals, who slept under roofs, did not wake up, even after the stars had all gone out, and the first raindrops pattered like mice running over the shingles. In the barn, Hank slept standing up, and next door in the box stall, Jinx and Weedly snoozed away side by side. The patter grew to a soft and steady rushing sound, and pretty soon there were little gurglings and splashings as the water ran into the eaves trough and down into the rain barrel at the corner of the barn. And under all these sounds was a steady drip-drip-drip, that got faster and faster. And that was the rain coming down through the hole in the shingles.
It dripped down on to the floor of the loft, and it ran along a crack between two boards until it came to a knothole, and it went down through the knothole and dripped on the middle of Hank’s back. And then it ran down Hank’s left hind leg, and where it went after that I don’t know.
Pretty soon Hank woke up with a snort. He had been dreaming that he was out skating—something of course that he had never done in his life—and that the ice had given way. He struggled and struggled
to get to the surface, and suddenly his head popped out, and he was awake and listening to the rain dripping on his back.
“Consarn it!” he said. “It would have to be my roof they made a hole in! Darn that Jinx! If he’s awake, I’ll make him go up and stuff some hay in that hole.”
He whispered Jinx’s name several times, but the cat didn’t answer.
“And if I call him louder,” said Hank to himself, “that crazy pig will wake up and commence squealing. And my nerves just won’t stand that again.” He stood thinking for a minute, and the rain dripped faster. “Ideas!” he said disgustedly. “There’s too many ideas around here if you ask me.” And then he said: “Well, I suppose I can move. That’s an idea too, I suppose.”
He backed out of his stall, trying to walk on tiptoes, which is a pretty hard thing for a horse to do. But he managed not to make much noise. He went over and stood behind the old phaeton, which he had drawn all the way back from Florida the year the animals had taken their famous trip south. Since he usually slept standing up, you wouldn’t think it mattered very much where he did it. But lots of people find it hard to sleep in a strange bed, and probably it was that way with Hank. He was restless, and finally, when the rain began to slacken, he thought: “If I stand around wet like this, it isn’t going to help the rheumatism in my off hind leg. I’ll be as stiff as a saw-horse in the morning.” So he went out for a walk.
When he came back, the sky in the east was all pink, and as he passed the henhouse he heard Henrietta’s voice. “This is the third time I’ve called you. Now you take your head out from under your wing and get on out there.”
There was a sleepy mumble from Charles, and Henrietta said: “If Mr. Bean’s away, all the more reason why you should do your duty. Come along. Out you go.” There was a fluttering and squawking, and then the door flew open and Charles came tumbling out.
The rooster’s feathers were tousled, and he looked nervously over his shoulder as he walked toward the fence. But as he shook his feathers down he caught sight of Hank, and at once he threw out his chest and began to strut pompously. “Good morning, Hank; good morning,” he said. “Excuse me one moment.” And he climbed up on the fence and crowed. Then he said: “Have to do this regular as clockwork every morning, you know, or things wouldn’t get started right. It’s a great responsibility, in a way, but so far I think I can say I have always done my duty.” He crowed again. “Mr. Bean expects every animal to do his duty,” he said solemnly.
Freddy’s Cousin Weedly Page 3