Mother West Wind When Stories

by Thornton W. Burgess

  IX. WHEN BOB WHITE WON HIS NAME

  |THIS isn't the story of the Bob White you know, and yet when I thinkit over, I don't know but that it is, after all. It is the story of thefirst Bob White, the great-great-great-ever-so-great-grand-father ofthe Bob White you know and I know and everybody who ever has heard hiswhistle knows. It is a story of that long-ago time, way back in thebeginning of things, when the world was young, and yet I guessit is just as much our own Bob White's story as it is hisgreat-great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather's. You see, it is becauseof it, of what happened in that long-ago time, that Bob White _is_ BobWhite. So that makes it his story too, doesn't it? Anyway, I'll tell youthe story and leave it to you to decide.

  Old Mother West Wind told me the story, and she got it from PeterRabbit, and Peter got it from--well, I don't know for sure, but Isuspect he got it from Bob White himself. You know Peter and Bob Whiteare great friends. They are very near neighbors. They are such nearneighbors and such good friends that if it popped into Peter's funnylittle head to be curious about Bob White's affairs, he wouldn'thesitate an instant to ask Bob about them. Anyway, some one told Peterthe story, and I like to think that that some one was none other thanthat brown-coated little whistler, Bob White the Quail, himself. Here isthe story as Old Mother West Wind told it to me:

  "Long, long ago, way back in the beginning of things, when the world wasyoung, when the Green Meadows were new, and the Green Forest was new,and the Smiling Pool and the Laughing Brook and the Big River were new,and the little and big people whom Old Mother Nature put in them tolive were new too, being the very first each of his kind, things weredifferent, quite different from what they are now. Old Mother Naturewas busier than she is now, and goodness knows she is busy enough thesedays. In fact, she is a million times busier than the busiest otherperson in all the Great World. If she wasn't, if she grew tired or lazyor careless or anything like that, I am afraid things would go so wrongwith the Great World that they never, never could be righted again.

  "But in these far-away days in the beginning of things she was busierstill. It is always easier to keep things going after they are oncestarted than it is to start them, and Old Mother Nature was juststarting things. So she started a great many of the little people off inlife, and told them to make the best of things as they found them inthe Great World and do as well as they could while she was attending toother matters.

  "Now one of these little people was a plump little personin a coat of reddish-brown feathers. He was Mr. Quail, thegreat-great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of all the Quails. To Mr.Quail, as to all the others, Old Mother Nature said: 'The Great Worldis new. There is a place in it for you, but you must find that placefor yourself. There is work for you to do, but you must find out foryourself what it is. When you have real need of anything come to me, butdon't bother me until you do have. No one who proves to be helpless oruseless will live long. Now run along and prove whether or not you havea right to live.'

  "So little Mr. Quail went out among the other people in the Great Worldto try and find his place. All the other people were trying to findtheir places, and some of them were having a dreadful time doing it. Agreat many began by trying to do just what their neighbors did, whichwas the very worst kind of a mistake. It was a pure waste of time. Worsestill, it wasn't making a place in the work of the Great World. LittleMr. Quail's eyes were very bright, and he used them for all they wereworth. His wits were quite as bright, and he used these the same way.

  "'There are two things for me to find out,' said he to himself, 'whatI can't do and what I can do. The sooner I find out what I can't do, themore time I'll have to find out what I can do. I've got wings, and thatmust mean that Old Mother Nature intends me to fly. I'm glad of that. Itmust be fine to sail around up in the air and see all that is going ondown below.'

  "Up overhead Ol' Mistah Buzzard was sailing 'round and 'round, high upin the sky, with hardly a motion of his broad wings. Little Mr. Quailwatched him a long time, and a great longing to do the same thing filledhim. At last he sprang into the air, and right then he made a discovery.Yes, Sir, he made a discovery. He must beat his wings with all his mightin order to stay in the air. When he stopped beating them and held themspread out as Ol' Mistah Buzzard did, he found that he simply saileda little way straight ahead and then began to come down. He must keepthose wings moving very fast or else come down to the ground. Then hemade another discovery. In a very little while his wings were so tiredthat he just had to stop flying.

  "Little Mr. Quail squatted in the grass and panted for breath. He wasdisappointed, terribly disappointed. 'It's plain to me that Old MotherNature doesn't intend that I shall spend my time sailing about in theair,' said he. He scratched his pretty little head thoughtfully. 'I canfly pretty fast for a short distance,' he continued, talking to himself,'but that is all. That must mean that I have been given wings for useonly in time of need. There are some birds flitting about in a tree.They seem to be having a good time. I think I'll join them. If I can'tsail about in the air, the next best thing will be flitting about in thetrees.'

  "So after he had rested a bit, little Mr. Quail flew to the treewhere the other birds were flitting about, and there he made anotherdisappointing discovery. Try as he would, he couldn't flit about asthey did. Moreover, he didn't feel comfortable perched in a tree for anylength of time. It made his toes ache to bend them around the branch onwhich he was sitting. He watched the other birds, and his bright eyessoon discovered that their feet were different from his feet. Their toeswere made to clutch twigs and hold them there comfortably, while hiswere not. 'Old Mother Nature doesn't intend that I shall spend my timeflitting about in trees,' said he sorrowfully, and flew down to theground once more.

  "Right away his feet felt better. All the ache left them. It was good tobe on the ground. Pretty soon he began to run about. It was good to runabout. He felt as if he could run all day without getting tired. Whilehunting for food he discovered that if his toes were not made forperching in trees, they certainly were made for scratching over leavesand loose earth where stray seeds were hiding. Then he made stillanother discovery. His coat was just the right color to make it hardwork for others to see him when he squatted down close to the ground. Ifan enemy did discover him, his stout little wings took him out of dangerlike a bullet.

  "Little by little it came over him that he had found his place in theGreat World, which was on the ground most of the time. But he rememberedwhat Old Mother Nature had said about work to do, and this worried him alittle. One day he watched Mr. Toad catching bugs. Old Mr. Toad wasgrumbling. 'I can't keep up with these pesky bugs,' said he. 'When I getmy stomach full, I have to wait for it to get empty again before I cancatch any more. But _they_ don't wait. _They_ keep right on eating allthe time, and there won't be any green things left if I don't havehelp.'

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  "Little Mr. Quail grew thoughtful. Then he started in to help Old Mr.Toad catch bugs so as to give the green things a chance to grow. He hadfound work to do, and he did it with all his might. He forgot he everhad wanted to sail around in the air or flit about in the trees. He hadfound his place in the Great World, and he had found work to do, andalso he had found the secret of the truest happiness. He was so happythat he had to tell his neighbors about it. So every morning, justbefore starting work, he would fly up on a stump and whistle with allhis might; what he tried to say was, 'All-all's right! All-all's right!'But what his neighbors thought he said was, 'Bob-Bob White! Bob-BobWhite!'

  "So they promptly called him Bob White and loved him for the cheer whichhis clear whistle brought to them. When Old Mother Nature came to seehow things were getting on, she found little Mr. Quail the happiest andthe most useful of all the birds, and as she listened to his whistle,she smiled and said: 'I love you, Bob White, and all the world shalllove you.' And all the world has loved him to this very day."