Old Rough the miser

Old Rough glanced fiercely in the direction of the speaker’s voice, and beheld, seated unconcernedly on a tree, the chimney-swallow, Swift.

“I intend to find her, sir,” answered old Rough, viciously, his nose moving about rapidly in his excitement. “I can assure you it is not so easy to escape me as you imagine.”

“How much will you bet that you find Bobtilla within a week?” asked the swallow.

“I will find her within three days,” replied old Rough, savagely; “and let me tell you that her friends who interest themselves in her welfare had better look out!” and old Rough went toward the dwelling lately inhabited by the little chipmunks. In vain the old water-rat peeped into the hole, and glanced sharply around him,—not a trace of the chipmunk family was to be found.

“You’ll have to leave your card; they’re evidently not at home,” said the swallow, coolly, as the old water-rat looked about him wrathfully.

“I’ll thank you to mind your own business, sir,” responded old Rough. “If I thought you were at the bottom of all this, I’d—” he stopped, with a vicious snap of his teeth.

“You’d what?” asked the swallow, calmly.

“I’d take care that you never repeated the trick,” said old Rough. “Now that I think of it, I believe you are the swallow that was flying about pretending to catch insects, when my friends and I were talking together. Eavesdropper!”

“Yes, I am the very one, just as you are the water-rat that was squatting down behind the big stone, you know, to overhear what the crows and Johnny the basso were talking about.”

“And you gave warning to Bobtilla, and advised her to move!” said old Rough, ignoring entirely the allusion to his own eavesdropping.

“Just so,” replied the swallow, calmly; “I not only advised Bobtilla and the squirrels to move, but I selected a spot for them where you’ll never find them if you hunt till you’re blind.”

“I shall find them before three days have passed,” asserted the water-rat. “I have influence sufficient to discover them if they are on the face of the earth, and I can assure you that my revenge will be all the sweeter for having to wait.”

“Yes, if time adds to the pleasure of revenge, yours will have a chance to grow considerably.”

“And I shall not forget the little favor you have done me in trying to frustrate my plans,” snarled the old rat.

“Don’t mention it; you are quite welcome,” responded the swallow, with great good-humor, as he rose into the air and soared out of sight.

Old Rough remained quite still for awhile, thinking over the best course to pursue to recover Bobtilla, and he concluded he could not do it without some help. To whom should he apply? Old Blinkeye was the first who came to his mind as the most likely to find them out; but he was out of the question, for if the fierce owl discovered Bobtilla and the squirrels, he would most surely keep them for himself, such tender morsels as they would make.

Next the two young crows came into the water-rat’s mind; but how could he trust such unreliable fellows? To be sure, it would take cleverer young fellows than they to dupe the wary old water-rat, but still he didn’t dare trust them.

How about old Caw? Old as he was, his one eye could see farther than any other pair, and the old thief would do anything that paid well. The longer the miser considered the matter, the more convinced he became that old Caw was the one to do the business for him.

All the while the water-rat had been forming this plan, if little Bobtilla or the squirrels had seen him, they might well have trembled for their safety, for a most unpleasant spectacle he presented, as he sat on his haunches, his small sharp eyes gleaming with malice, and his long nose moving incessantly.

Having come to the conclusion that old Caw was the one to help him out of his difficulty, the old water-rat lost no time in seeking him. The old crow was at home; indeed he seldom ventured away from it, except in search of food, and then he usually made solitary expeditions into the woods, where he detected appetizing morsels that the younger crows had not discovered. Favorite haunts he frequented, where he unearthed the delicate tidbits he had secreted, and many a sumptuous repast he made on some particularly dainty bit his young grandsons had buried for their own especial food.

To-day, however, the old crow was at home, and sitting on his favorite perch, his one eye closed, and his head sunk between his high shoulders. He was apparently unaware of the water-rat’s approach, and old Rough contemplated him for awhile in silence.

“The old thief is as wide awake as I am,” said old Rough to himself, as he watched the slumbering crow. “He is looking at me out of one corner of his sharp old eye, and pretends to be asleep.—Hallo, friend Caw!” he called out, when he had grown tired of waiting.

The old crow languidly opened his one eye half way, and glanced about in a direction opposite from where the water-rat was stationed; then he drowsily closed it again, and continued his nap.

“Hallo, old Caw, I say!” called out the water-rat again, somewhat louder.

“What say?” slowly demanded old Caw, again opening his eye, and inclining one ear toward his visitor.

“Something new for the old fellow to be deaf,” muttered the old miser to himself. “Hallo! I said,” he shouted, as the old crow showed symptoms of relapsing into another nap. “Can’t you keep awake long enough to hear what I have to say? I’ll make it for your interest.”

At these words, the old crow’s drowsiness and deafness disappeared together, and he assumed an attentive attitude, while the old water-rat began his story.

“I came to ask you to discover the hiding-places of a certain field-mouse, one Bobtilla by name, and a pair of chipmunks who have gone off with her. If you’ll find out where they are, I’ll pay you well for it.”

“What’ll you give?” asked the old crow, shrewdly, with his head on one side, and his half-closed eye on the rat.

“I’ll put you in the way of getting a fine sheep’s pluck,” replied old Rough.

“Yes, I know farmer Smith has just killed a sheep,” answered old Caw, quietly.

“But you don’t know where the best part of the pluck is, the tender liver, that melts in your mouth,” added the water-rat.

The old crow in answer gave a short caw expressive of indifference, and then began to show symptoms of a return to the drowsy condition in which the old rat had found him.

“Will you trade, or not?” asked old Rough.

“That depends upon how much you’re willing to give. I can’t say I’m hankering after the job,” answered old Caw.

“I’ve just told you what I’ll give,” said old Rough, impatiently,—“a rich sheep’s liver, that when it’s been buried a couple of weeks will fairly make your mouth water.”

“Not half enough,” replied Caw, calmly. “On the whole, I don’t think I care to undertake the job.”

“What job?” called out a voice; “if it’s a paying one, I’m your crow,” and the two young crows alighted on the tree beside their grandfather.

Having failed with the old crow, the water-rat found there was nothing to be done but to avail himself of the assistance of the younger crows; and after much haggling on both sides, the young crows decided to undertake the job, provided the old miser would give them the sheep’s liver and a fine piece of pork-rind which they knew him to possess. Having thus concluded the bargain, the old water-rat departed, well-satisfied with his morning’s work, and confident that he would shortly have Bobtilla and the chipmunks in his power.

When he was well out of sight and hearing, old Caw addressed his grandsons thus,—

“What induced you to undertake this thing?”

“Why, the sheep’s liver and pork-rind, of course,” they replied.

“When do you expect to get possession of them?” asked old Caw.

“When we’ve found out where the field-mouse and squirrels are, of course,” replied his elder grandson.

“There’s no of course about it,” quietly answered old Caw. “Don’t you know the miser never pays his debts?”

The young crows looked rather sheepish at this, but assured their grandfather that they would find a way to be even with the old miser if he didn’t pay up.

“I advise you to be cautious how you play any tricks on the old fellow,” said old Caw, “for he’s sharper than you are. Don’t you suppose I’d have undertaken the job if I had thought it would pay?”

“What would you advise us to do about it?” asked the younger grandson.

“Well, since it’s in the family, I don’t mind giving you some advice,” replied the old crow. “Pretend you have found the places he wants, and then when he has gone there, go and help yourselves to the sheep’s liver and pork-rind. That’s the surest way I know of.”

Having imparted this valuable information, old Caw was soon asleep in earnest, and his two grandsons sat whispering over their plans. Whatever conclusion they arrived at was evidently very satisfactory, for they chuckled gleefully over it.

All this time, the objects of this wicked plotting were safe in their new homes, enjoying the pure air of the forest, and sporting among the trees and over the soft turf, never dreaming but that this state of security would last forever. Occasionally a bird passed over the tree at whose foot they were hidden, or stopped to rest on one of its branches, but no one offered to molest them.

One day, Bobtilla was out in search of food for her family, and the squirrels were absent on the same errand. Their young families were left at home by themselves, with instructions not to leave their homes.

The day was fine, and all was so quiet in the woods that it was hard for these active young creatures to remain cramped in their small quarters. One of Bobtilla’s children ventured timidly to the door, and peeped cautiously out. At the same moment he appeared at the opening, his bright little eyes fell on one of the squirrel’s children, who was likewise tempted to obtain a breath of fresh air.

After a short conversation, they were joined by their brothers and sisters. A consultation ensued, in which they agreed that it was positively injurious to the health of all to remain longer in such close quarters, and that a little exercise in the pure air would be to their advantage, and the very thing their parents would desire for them under the circumstances.

Having arrived at this wise conclusion, the little field-mice and their squirrel neighbors ventured out of their dark homes, and were soon frisking about in the liveliest manner,—the squirrels racing over the trees and stumps, and the little mice running about below. So intent were they on their sport, that they did not perceive two young crows, who perched on the very tree at whose roots they lived.

“Hallo!” called out the crows, and at the sudden sound they all scampered into their holes.

“Perhaps we can find out something from them,” said the crows to each other; and they remained silently on the tree.

Before long one of the young squirrels, more venturesome than the rest, became emboldened to peep out of his house, and beheld the two young crows quietly seated on the tree.

“What’s the trouble, sonny?” asked one of the crows; “we will not hurt you. Come out, and finish your game.”

A whispered conversation followed inside the squirrel house, and at last they all ventured out again, and sat in a row on their little haunches, looking up curiously at their black visitors.

“We are alone, and our mother told us to stay in the house,” remarked the squirrel who had first ventured out.

“You mind well,” said the elder crow; “shows you’ve been well brought up.”

“You see we have not been out since we moved,” continued the squirrel, who became communicative as soon as he found the newcomers were kindly disposed; “and we were tired of staying in that dark hole. It’s awfully hard to be so cramped up, you know.”

“I should think so,” replied the crow. “Why don’t your friends come out again?” Then he added in a low tone to his brother, “He says they have moved,—you may be sure it’s the ones we’re looking for.”

“They are very timid,” replied the squirrel; “and Bobtilla told them if they went out, old Rough would be sure to catch them.”

“So they are Bobtilla’s children, are they?”

“Yes,” replied the squirrel.

“Well, go on with your play,” said the crows, and away they flew, having gained all the information they wanted, without the slightest effort on their part.

“Now for old Rough. We’ll find him and direct him to the right spot. Won’t he be surprised, though?” said the younger crow; and the thought of what they were about to do afforded them such delight that their loud laughter caused them to fly in a very disorderly manner, bumping against each other, and conducting themselves very riotously.