Old Rough the miser

The next day, the two young crows started out at an early hour, and continued their flight until they approached a large farm, situated far back from the road. The numerous barns and sheds, well stocked with horses and cattle, gave evidence of the prosperity of the owner. Casting their sharp eyes about, the two crows selected a large chestnut-tree that grew in the rear of the buildings, whose dense foliage promised a safe hiding-place whence they could see without being seen.

Among the topmost branches of this tree the crows perched, and their restless eyes wandered over the landscape in all directions. They did not lose sight, however, of everything that occurred on the farm. Evidently something of interest was about to take place, for the crows were very uneasy. For a short time they would sit looking about them in silence, when all at once one of them would give a sudden caw, which the other immediately answered, and then both cawed together excitedly.

A large hen-house stood near by, and toward this the attention of the restless crows was often directed. The hens, too, were collected in groups in the hen-yard, and incessantly cackling, the feathers about their necks bristling with excitement, as if some danger were impending. Whatever it was that gave them such uneasiness must in some way have been connected with the hen-house itself, for the disturbed hens cast frequent glances under the building, as if some enemy were concealed there.

The crows, too, looked frequently in the same direction, as if they expected something to occur in that quarter.

At last one of the crows, glancing across the field, gave a sudden caw, and his companion answered at once. Both evidently talked it over, then suddenly became silent, their eyes fixed intently on a dark object moving cautiously along the border of the stream. It was the same sluggish stream that flowed by the abode of old Rough, and the dark object approaching was no other than the old miser himself.

Old Rough proceeded very cautiously as he approached the farm building. Often he paused, and sitting on his haunches, looked anxiously about, as if he were in a locality with which he was not familiar, and where he must be on the alert. As he sat up to take these observations, his sharp eyes glanced suspiciously about, and his long nose twitched nervously. Satisfied that all was safe, he resumed his journey in the same cautious manner, taking care to keep on the edge of the stream, as if to take refuge there in case of a surprise.

When opposite the out-buildings of the farm, he left the stream, and proceeded in the same wary manner in the direction of the hen-house.

When the two young crows, who had watched the old water-rat’s movements with such interest, saw him approaching the hen-house, they quietly left their hiding-place, and flew off with as little noise as possible, as if to escape the old miser’s notice.

At first the two crows flew toward the woods, and were soon lost among the thick forest trees; but when out of sight of the farm, they struck out in the direction whence old Rough had appeared, and before long found themselves in the neighborhood of the old water-rat’s dwelling.

Evidently the plans of the young crows were arranged between them, for one of them alighted on the tall tree that grew near by, while the other at once proceeded to the old rat’s home. After delivering himself of several caws of derision, he recited the following verse:—

No sooner had the crow ended than his words had the desired effect of bringing Ruffina to the door, her long nose fairly quivering with excitement, and her eyes glaring angrily on the impudent young crow.

“Be off, you impertinent fellow!” squeaked Ruffina, angrily; “you shall pay for this when my husband returns!”

“Pray don’t tell him,” replied the crow, pretending to shake with fear; “he might hurt us, you know.”

“You deserve to have your neck wrung!” retorted Ruffina; “and if Rough doesn’t do it, I will.”

The only response from the crow was a burst of laughter, that, as he fully intended it should, exasperated the old rat more than anything he could have done.

At this fresh insult, Ruffina lost the small remnant of self-control she possessed, and charged on the crow, who walked rapidly off, pursued by the enraged water-rat.

No sooner had Ruffina left her dwelling than the crow who had remained on the tree flew quickly down and disappeared inside the old miser’s abode.

All this time Ruffina was pursuing the other crow, who walked and flew along the ground, allowing himself to be nearly caught, and then, with a few flaps of his strong wings, easily keeping out of the way.

It was an easy matter for the active young crow to elude the grasp of the old water-rat; and exceedingly exasperating for her was it to feel him at one moment within reach of her paw, and the next, to see him, with a single stroke of his wings, pass beyond her reach. This game was continued until the crow saw his brother emerge from the old miser’s dwelling, with a fine piece of pork-rind in his bill. As soon as he saw this, he flew upon a large stone, and flapping his wings triumphantly, cawed out,—

“Pray give our regards to the old gentleman, and tell him we thought we’d save him the trouble of bringing the pork-rind to us, so we came for it ourselves.” With these words he rejoined his brother, and both flew off to the woods, to enjoy in privacy the prize they had obtained so easily.

We will leave the young crows perched on a tree in the midst of the woods, quarrelling over their ill-gotten treasure, and follow the fortunes of old Rough.

We left the old miser at the moment when he had quitted the border of the stream, and had started in the direction of the farm-buildings. Directly toward the hen-house the water-rat made his way, stopping more frequently as he neared it, looking anxiously about him, and evidently prepared to run back at a moment’s notice.

As old Rough neared the building, the timid hens retreated to the extreme end of their yard, their necks stretched to their fullest extent, their feathers ruffled with excitement, and constantly uttering cries of terror.

When he reached the hen-house yard, the water-rat stood on his hind legs, and resting his forepaws on the ledge of the building, gazed at the terrified creatures within with a gratified expression on his wicked old features. At this horrible apparition, the poor hens became still more frightened, and gave vent to their alarm in loud and shrill screams.

“Not to-day, my friends,—I have another engagement; but I will visit you later,” said the old rat, with an unpleasant leer on his ugly features; and dropping to the ground, he proceeded to the hen-house itself, and paused before it.

“’Twas very fortunate for me that the crows, in their stupidity, told me where Bobtilla had moved, for I should never have thought of looking here for her. Stupid fellows, those crows! they don’t know old Rough very well, or they wouldn’t have expected to get the sheep’s pluck and pork-rind. Very shrewd in Bobtilla to choose this place. She never thought of it herself, that is certain; those smart squirrels must have put her up to it.”

The old miser peered cautiously about the foundation of the hen-house. It was built of large stones loosely fitted together, which served as a support for the wooden structure. After a careful survey, old Rough discovered what was evidently a mouse-hole, and he looked cautiously in. Nothing could he see or hear, and he scraped the earth away, in order to enlarge the opening. He found nothing inside, however, but a mouse-nest that had been long deserted; so he continued his search.

Nothing could the old rat discover that resembled the place the crows had described as Bobtilla’s new residence. At last, when he was becoming convinced that this must have been a trick of the mischievous crows to mislead him, he observed what seemed to be a rat-hole in one corner of the wall.

“Why didn’t I see that before?” said old Rough to himself; “they said she had taken possession of an empty rat-hole, and just like the shiftless creature, too, it is. However, she shall pay for keeping me waiting so long;” and very cautiously the old miser approached the entrance and looked in.

“I could probably squeeze myself in,” thought old Rough, “but it would be rather close quarters for one of my size to turn around in, so I’ll make her come out.—Bobtilla,” he called sternly, “I have something to say to you.”

No response came to his call, and he inclined his ear to the hole. He could distinctly hear somebody moving about inside, and he smiled at the thought of the treat in store for him.

“Bobtilla, I say!” called the old miser again; “will you come out, or do you prefer to have me come in?”

No reply came to this second call, except a slight rustling from within.

“I see you, madam,” called out the old rat, looking into the dark opening; “I advise you to come out at once, or I shall come and fetch you. It will be all the same to me, but perhaps not quite so agreeable to you.”

In reply, a shrill little voice was heard from within: “Come in! here I am.”

Enraged at this insolence, the old water-rat began to dig away the earth from the entrance to what he supposed was the field-mouse’s abode; but suddenly he stopped in his work, and gave a shrill squeal of terror; for instead of the timid little Bobtilla whom he intended to torture, a slender animal with long, brownish fur came wriggling fiercely toward him. It was the deadliest enemy of the rat tribe, the weasel, and never in all his life had old Rough found himself in such a dangerous situation.

Casting a terrified glance about him for a refuge, the old water-rat darted between the stones that formed the foundation of the hen-house, and found himself in the open space under the floor of the building.

As he glanced about him in hope of discovering some loop-hole for escape, old Rough saw the long, flexible body of the weasel wriggling through the same passage by which he had come, his sharp eyes following him with an expression of intense ferocity.

No greater terror could the wicked old water-rat have inspired in poor timid Bobtilla than that he now felt for the powerful weasel, and for one single instant old Rough stood irresolute; but the long lithe body of the weasel was wriggling nearer and nearer, and the water-rat made a desperate rush for a hole in one corner. He was through in an instant, and stood panting in a dark passage-way that was, or had once been, the home of some rat. Several smaller passageways led in different directions, and old Rough rushed into the one nearest him. Groping his way blindly, he soon found himself in a large apartment.

No living creatures were to be seen, but the dry leaves and rags and paper in one corner evidently had recently served as a bed for some one; and the old rat shuddered as he descried in one corner the lifeless body of a mouse, whose life-blood had evidently been recently drawn.

The old rat shook with terror as the horrible thought dawned on him that he had hit upon the abode of the ferocious creature from whom he was trying to escape. Cruel and contemptible as was the old miser’s character, he was not lacking in physical courage; and turning his face toward the various entrances that opened from the cavern, he resolved to make a bold stand for his life, and awaited breathlessly the appearance of his enemy, for he knew he would lose no time in following him.

Old Rough had not long to wait; but every moment seemed an age as his sharp eyes glanced from one to another of the several openings. Before long, his keen ears detected a slight noise, and he knew well what it meant. The weasel was approaching,—but by which entrance? With a fast-beating heart, old Rough waited until the gleaming teeth of his relentless enemy appeared, and then, with all speed, the desperate water-rat darted into another of the passages.

Could he have made a mistake, and chosen a passage that had no exit at the other end? Old Rough began to fear that such was the case, for it seemed to him, in his agony, as if the darkness grew more dense; and with horror he perceived that the passage grew more and more narrow, until he was forced, in places, to dig with all the desperation of despair a space large enough for his huge body to pass.

So slow had the old miser’s progress become that he lost much time, and he realized despairingly that his pursuer was steadily gaining on him; for the weasel, with his long and flexible body, could easily slip through crevices too small for the bulky form of the old water-rat.

Yes, the weasel was gaining on him! The old rat, panting from terror and prodigious exertions, felt that his enemy was close behind, and every minute expected to feel those sharp teeth fasten on his back; but the old miser was resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible, and making a gigantic effort he tore away a projection of earth that obstructed his path, and found, to his great relief, that the passage-way once more grew wide.