After leaving Mr. Beaver, Bumper hurried home, and when he hopped into the burrow he was greeted by Fuzzy Wuzz who had been anxiously waiting for him. Bumper had been away from home so much lately that he was as glad to get back as Fuzzy Wuzz was to see him.
“We’ve all missed you so much,” she said tenderly. “Old Blind Rabbit’s been asking about you every hour of the day.”
“Well, I have good news to tell you,” was the reply. Then he related his experience with Mr. Beaver and with Billy the Mink, concluding with the remark: “They’re both our friends now. In time of need they’d stand by us and help us. That’s something worth bragging about.”
“Indeed, it is, Bumper,” replied Old Blind Rabbit. “It is better to make a dozen friends than one enemy.”
Bumper was very much pleased with his work, and highly gratified at Old Blind Rabbit’s commendation of it. Now that he had set forth to make friends of all the birds and animals of the woods who would listen to him, he felt that he must leave no stone unturned to accomplish his end.
So after resting a while in the burrow, he got up to go forth once more to see if further adventures that he could turn to good account awaited him. “It’s astonishing,” he remarked to Fuzzy Wuzz, “how much good you can do in the world if you’re on the lookout for it. I’m just learning to keep my eyes open.”
Fuzzy Wuzz nodded and smiled at him. They were standing at the entrance to the burrow when suddenly Hermit the Thrush, who had been singing a sweet melody in the bushes, stopped.
“Go, on, Hermit, and finish the song,” Bumper called. “I like to hear such a jolly, blithe fellow sing.”
But Hermit flitted his wings and cocked his head sideways. “For some reason I don’t feel like singing, Bumper,” he said. “I can’t explain it, but I’ve simply lost my voice.”
Bumper laughed good-naturedly. “That’s funny,” he replied. “A moment ago you were singing so sweetly that I could hardly think for listening to you.”
“Yes, I know, but I can’t any more. Do you ever have a feeling that something’s going to happen? You can’t tell just what it is or when it’s coming, but you know it’s in the air. Well, that’s the way I felt all of a sudden, and my voice left me.”
“You shouldn’t give away to such feelings, Hermit,” laughed Bumper. “You know there’s nothing in such—”
Before he could finish, Black Cap the Chickadee flitted down from a high branch, and exclaimed breathlessly: “What’s the matter! Something’s going to happen! I feel it!”
“Yes,” replied Hermit gravely, “I was just telling Bumper I felt it, but he laughed at me.”
“Well, now, if two of you have the same feeling,” added Bumper more gravely, “maybe there is something in the air that disturbs you. Perhaps we’re going to have a storm.”
“No, it isn’t a storm,” said Black Cap, shaking his head. “I know that feeling, and this is different.”
Once more there was a flutter of wings among the branches, and Yellow Breast the Chat dropped down to the side of Hermit and Black Cap.
“I’m all in a flutter,” he said. “I can’t make it out. Something’s wrong. I just know it. I feel it in my bones. I just had to come down here for company until the strange feeling goes away.”
“Well, now,” exclaimed Bumper, sitting back on his haunches, “this is getting interesting, and also quite serious. When all three of you have that strange feeling, I must confess there must be something in it. Now how do you feel, Yellow Breast? Can’t you describe the feeling?”
“Why, it’s nothing I can put in words,” the Chat answered hesitatingly. “It’s just a restless feeling that makes me nervous. I feel all the time as if there was danger brooding in the air.”
“Don’t you think it’s all your imagination?” asked Bumper. “I wouldn’t let it bother me any more.”
The fact was the three birds sitting on the limb were a little ashamed of their nameless fear, and Bumper’s remarks added to their confusion. Still they could not deny, it was quite a coincidence that all three should have experienced the same strange feeling.
Fuzzy Wuzz was more in sympathy with them than Bumper, for she sometimes had attacks of the nerves which made her afraid of everything, even of her own shadow.
“I think, Bumper,” she interrupted, “that there’s something in the air that upsets them. Don’t you smell something queer?”
For a moment Bumper sniffed the air, holding his nose far up and trying hard to distinguish any unusual odor or fragrance in it. “No, I can’t say that I do,” he replied slowly after a while. “Yes, maybe there is a little peculiar odor, but not enough to account for all this disturbance.”
From out of the leaves almost at their feet Mrs. Oven-Bird, who had been sitting on her nest, crept forth, and overhearing the remarks sniffed the air, and then exclaimed:
“I don’t like the looks of the sun. See how red it is. Now what does that mean?”
“The sun is always red, but sometimes more so than at others,” replied Bumper. “Yes, it is very red, but I’ve seen it that way at sunset.”
“But this isn’t sunset,” replied Yellow Breast the Chat a little impatiently. “It’s early in the morning.”
There was a startled whirring of wings in the bushes, and every one ducked his head ready for flight, fearing that it might be Dasher the Hawk or even Baldy the Eagle; but it was only Whip-Poor-Will the Night hawk. He was so unused to flying around in the day time that he was half blinded, and nearly collided with the Chat.
“Ah, me!” he cried. “What’s going to happen! I can’t set on my nest! Tell me the worst! I can’t see to fly around. The sun hurts my eyes. But I must know what it is. I know it’s something terrible!”
“We don’t know of anything, Whip-Poor-Will,” said Bumper. “We were just discussing it when you interrupted. The sun is very red, but not redder than I’ve seen it before, and Fuzzy Wuzz says she smells something unusual in the air; but beyond that we know no more than you do.”
“Then go and find out,” said Poor Will impatiently. “I can’t go back to my nest in peace until I know.”
“But who can tell us?”
“Listen!” exclaimed Chat suddenly. “What’s that noise?”
And from sheer nervousness Yellow Breast the Chat crouched lower on the branch and shivered.
“Why,” laughed Bumper, “that’s nothing but Rusty the Blackbird calling! He’s always noisy and chattering. Listen to him!”
But Rusty was much noisier than usual. He was so excited that his voice was raised to a high pitch. He was calling to the other birds and making a great commotion. When he finally dropped down in front of the burrow he was all out of breath. It took him some time to tell his tale.
“The woods are on fire,” he said, “and it’s coming this way. I was up on Bald Mountain when it broke out, and I flew as fast as I could to warn everybody.”
“Bald Mountain!” exclaimed Bumper. “Why, Rusty, that’s miles and miles away from here. That isn’t anything to get excited about. I’m surprised that you should get frightened.”
Now Rusty liked to carry important news, especially exciting news, and he had felt very big in being the first to tell of the fire; but Bumper’s words made him think that he had exaggerated it, and he felt quite crest-fallen. However, in the next story you will read of how the fire spread and raced down Bald Mountain.