Mr. Beaver was the most exclusive animal of the North Woods. He not only lived apart from the other animals, but he constructed a house which no others could get into. Often it was merely an island in the middle of the stream, which he built up himself, and no animals except perhaps Billy the Mink or Browny the Muskrat could even reach.
But Billy and Browny had no desire to reach it or to investigate it. Mr. Beaver was as cross as he was fierce and dangerous. He had long teeth, which he kept as sharp as a razor by cutting down trees with them. Teeth that could cut down a big oak or chestnut were certainly to be feared.
Living alone had made Mr. Beaver a good deal of an old cross-patch. Most people who live that way generally do get cross and irritable in time. Sometimes if another animal ran across Mr. Beaver’s house-top he would jump out and make a great time about it.
Mr. Beaver had constructed a dam across a branch of the river so the water above it had backed up and formed a big pond. Thus he could have his own private fishing pond, for the fish upstream couldn’t go down any further, and once caught in the pond Mr. Beaver killed a few whenever he was hungry.
Naturally he was very careful about this dam, and didn’t want any one crossing it or interfering with it. If it was broken in one place the water would rush through it and let out many of his fish.
One day, after a long roundabout trip through the woods, Bumper was returning home when he reached the river. The bridge made of fallen trees that crossed to the other side was nearly a mile below him.
“Oh, dear,” he groaned, “I’m dead tired, and now I must walk a mile down the river to get home.”
He stood on the brink of the stream looking longingly at the other side. Then, glancing up, his eyes opened with surprise and pleasure. There was Mr. Beaver’s dam a few yards above him, stretching from bank to bank.
“I suppose Mr. Beaver will object,” he said to himself, “but if I walk very softly he won’t hear me. Certainly not if he’s asleep. Anyway, I’m going across that dam.”
You couldn’t blame him for wanting to save that long tramp down the river and back, and nobody but Mr. Beaver would have objected to his crossing the dam. Bumper hoped that by hopping along gently he wouldn’t attract Mr. Beaver’s attention. But it is very difficult to walk across the roof of a house and not attract the attention of those living in it.
No sooner had Bumper got fairly well on the top of the dam, than there was an angry growl inside. Then almost before he could think, up came Mr. Beaver, snorting and spouting water from his nose.
“What are you doing on my dam?” he demanded. “Don’t you know that nobody is allowed to cross it?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beaver,” replied Bumper. “I’ve been a long distance today, and when I reached the river I felt too tired to go down by the bridge. I thought if I stepped very softly it wouldn’t disturb you.”
“Well, it did! Now go back and take the bridge, and don’t you ever dare cross this dam again.”
“But the bridge is a mile down stream,” replied Bumper, “and I’m half way across the dam. Surely you’ll let me go on now.”
“No, you can’t go another step.”
Mr. Beaver stood directly in his way so he could not cross without passing close to him. Mr. Beaver’s refusal angered Bumper for a moment, and instead of turning around to obey he decided he’d trick Mr. Beaver. He could easily leap over his head and run away from him.
“You’re not very friendly to make me do that,” Bumper replied, still watching for his chance.
“I don’t intend to be friendly,” was the prompt retort. “I only want to be let alone. Now go back!”
“Do you know, Mr. Beaver,” Bumper replied, “I could get by you very easily and cross the dam? I could jump over your head in one hop and almost reach the other shore. But I won’t do it! If you’re so mean as to send me back, I don’t want anything more to do with you. The sooner I get away the better I’ll like it. But some day, Mr. Beaver, your selfishness will bring you trouble. You will wish for a friend then, and none will come. No, not one!”
“You can’t frighten me!” exclaimed Mr. Beaver. “Nothing’s going to happen to me!”
But even as he said it he felt a little nervous. Bumper’s words had touched the quick. He wished now he hadn’t been so selfish, but he was too old and crusty to acknowledge it. So he stood on guard and watched the white rabbit hop back to the shore, and then he swung around to take a long dive into the water.
Perhaps Mr. Beaver had been on that log a hundred times, and nothing had ever happened; but one end had been balanced on another log for so long that it was rotted away. Suddenly it slipped down and carried Mr. Beaver with it, but not on top. He was wedged in between two logs so that he couldn’t move down or up. Squeeze his body as flat as he could there was no way out.
For a moment he struggled frantically, and then finding he could make no headway he became frightened. What if he were caught there and couldn’t escape! He would starve to death in a few days, and no one would know anything about it until too late.
What a horrible prospect! With a little squeal of fear at the thought of it, he looked up at the sky and across the pond he had made. There was no one to help him. Now he recalled Bumper’s words. When he needed a friend there would be none to come to help him. Oh, how much he would give for a friend just now!
He struggled and struggled, but the two logs were embedded in the mud so he couldn’t budge them. He was caught so he couldn’t get at them with his sharp teeth to gnaw his way out. He was certainly a prisoner for life.
Suddenly there was a tap, tap over his head, and he looked up to see the White Rabbit gazing down at him. “I heard you squeal, Mr. Beaver,” Bumper said, “and I thought something had happened to you. Oh, I see you’re caught between the two logs!”
“Yes, Bumper, and I can’t get out. I’m afraid I’ll starve here unless you can find Buster the Bear and get him to move the logs. And even then he may eat me up.”
“I can do better than that,” said Bumper. “If you keep still I can gnaw away enough from this log so you can squeeze your way out.”
“Oh, if you could, Bumper!” exclaimed Mr. Beaver.
There were tears in Mr. Beaver’s eyes, for he was terribly frightened, and when Bumper began gnawing at the log he watched him anxiously.
It was a long, hard job, but Bumper finally gnawed away enough of the wood for Mr. Beaver to get out. When he finally stood on the top of the log, he was so shaken by the experience that his teeth chattered.
“Tell your people that they can cross my dam”
“Bumper, you were right,” he said. “Everybody needs friends, and the time to make them is before you’re in danger. I won’t be so selfish again. Tell your people that they can cross my dam, and when they come ask them to speak a friendly word to me. I want to be their friend.”
All of which delighted Bumper, and when he finally left Mr. Beaver his heart was singing for gladness.
In the next story there will be an account of how the Birds brought terrible news to the rabbits.