Old Rough the miser

While the battle was tumultuously raging, besides old Rough the miser there was another interested spectator, a very humble and timid one,—the little brown frog Brownella. Since the faithless tenor had departed, her life had been a lonely one, for she was deserted by her former friends, who so short a time before had professed such admiration for the distinguished foreigner; and worse than all, her former admirer, Johnny the basso, treated her with marked indifference.

In vain did Brownella sing her most melodious songs until her voice was hoarse, and use all her arts to please the recreant basso; but the admiration she once scorned was not to be regained at will, and her former friend treated her advances with stony indifference.

With the perverseness which is said by some to characterize her sex, what she had once despised, now that it was not to be had, became very desirable, and Brownella determined to win back the affections she had lost.

Very imposing and grand was the military appearance of General Johnny, as he prepared for the coming battle; and as Brownella watched the frog-forces gathering in the meadow on the eventful night, such a longing to witness the conflict seized her, that she resolved to follow them and secrete herself where she could overlook the battle-field, and indulge in a stolen view of the valiant frog-general.

Speeding toward the place of rendezvous, the little brown frog, passing the abode of the Widow O’Warty, found that personage seated, as was her custom, in her doorway, and watching with great interest the frog-soldiers hurrying by.

“And phere is it yourself is afther going?” asked the good-natured widow, as the little brown frog was passing.

“For a little stroll this fine warm night,” answered Brownella, evasively.

“It’s a sthroll in the direction av the bog, I suspicion,” replied the widow, slyly, “to view the military.”

“Well, and what if it is?” asked Brownella. “I don’t know as there is any law to prevent me from going there if I like.”

“It’s the law of dacency that should prevint ye,” answered the widow, in a reproving tone. “The scane of war an’ bloodshed is not intinded for a young cratur like yourself. It’s bould an’ forward ye would be accounted.”

“Oh, bother!” replied Brownella, impatiently; “who cares what it’s accounted! I’m going, and that settles the matter;” and off she started once more.

“Sthop!” cried the widow. “It’s meself that cannot see a young cratur laying herself open to cinsure in this way. Is it a stidy, sinsible fri’nd ye possess, who would be willing to accompany ye?”

The little brown frog reflected a moment. After all it would be pleasanter to have a friend with her; and who so desirable a chaperon as the good-natured widow, who would wish to see whatever was going on? So she replied that if the Widow O’Warty would go with her in that capacity, it would be very satisfactory.

“Sich was not me intintion,” replied the widow. “Bloodshed and war have no charms for meself; but since it’s detarmined to go ye are, I conc’ave it me juty to accompany ye, an’ it’s willin’ to make a sacrifice I am;” and casting a glance about to see that all was right in her home, the chaperon hopped willingly away with her young charge.

In fact, the widow was not making the sacrifice she pretended, but was secretly glad of an excuse to witness the battle, about which her curiosity was greatly excited.

In due time the two friends arrived on the scene of action, the widow somewhat out of breath and heated, but otherwise in good condition; and the pair chose a position midway between the knoll which was the headquarters of the frog-general and the bog where he had stationed his reinforcements.

With her little heart beating with pride and affection, Brownella watched the martial figure on the knoll giving his orders to his aids-de-camp, the fireflies; and she followed them with her eyes as the shining sparks flew back and forth on their commissions. Quite excited too did the widow become, as her eyes roamed about in all directions.

Then came the mouse party, moving silently in a solid phalanx from the outskirts of the wood, the steady lights of the glow-worms scintillating among the tall meadow grass and lighting up the dusky forms of the mouse-soldiers.

“He’s a foine gineral, is Squeako, an’ it’s an iligant appearance they presint,” exclaimed the widow, enthusiastically.

“They are not half so nice as our soldiers,” replied Brownella, warmly,—“great brown awkward things, with those tiresome glow-worms. Our fireflies are ever so much finer, flashing about like so many diamonds. The horrid things won’t stand a shadow of a chance against our well-trained soldiers.”

“Me sympathies are wid the frog-forces; but me judgemint tells me that the throops of Gineral Squeako are will conducted, an’ we’ll know whin the ind comes which side is the sthrongest,” replied the widow, majestically.

“We shall know long before then,” replied Brownella, impetuously. “Oh, the horrid, creeping things! how disgusting they are!”

In their eagerness not to lose sight of any of the events happening about them, the two spectators pressed eagerly forward, forgetting in their excitement the dangers attending a battle-field; and when the conflict was at its height, their prudence completely forsook them; and as the dying groans of the wounded fell on their ears, they pressed still nearer, to ascertain if any friends were among the slain or wounded.

At this moment, on came the frog-reinforcements from the bog, steadily and surely, like the well disciplined soldiers they were, right toward the spot where the little brown frog and her chaperon were anxiously scanning the features of the wounded heroes; when, all at once, came the order to charge, and on went the valiant frog-soldiers, their blood coursing hotly through their veins with the warlike spirit that was within them, and ferocity gleaming from every feature.

Not until late did Brownella and her chaperon perceive the solid force bearing down upon them; and Brownella, aided by her youth and agility, in a few dexterous leaps gained a place of safety, as the troops swept by.

Not so the chaperon. Too late did she become aware of the danger that threatened her, and seeing the ferocious expression of the thousands of eyes coming toward her, her presence of mind completely deserted her, and she sank on the spot, transfixed with terror. She opened her mouth to give vent to the pent-up anguish of her soul, but no sound escaped her; and even before the phalanx was upon her, the terrified chaperon rolled helplessly upon her back, where she lay convulsively kicking, while the feet of the charging soldiers passed over her ample form.

When the troops had passed, Brownella looked anxiously about for her missing chaperon, and soon discovered her lying on her back, the convulsive motions of her legs alone showing that life remained to her.

“Speak to me, dear Widow O’Warty,” cried Brownella, distractedly. “Tell me you are not injured!”

Renewed convulsions on the widow’s part was the only answer.

Placing her forepaws under the stout body of her chaperon, Brownella with great effort managed to roll her upon one side, where she lay kicking; but the widow was heavy and Brownella was slender, and with no amount of pushing could the little brown frog roll the solid mass any farther. The instant Brownella, from sheer exhaustion, removed the support of her slender paws, the chaperon rolled once more upon her broad back, where she lay convulsed as before.

“It’s all my fault! she came here against her will to please me,” groaned Brownella, with great self-reproach. “Oh, never in the world shall I forgive myself! Do speak, dearest Widow O’Warty, if only to reproach me with my thoughtlessness!”

“It’s kilt entirely I am!” moaned the widow, faintly. “Oh, me poor bones!”

“Where are you injured?” asked the distressed Brownella. “In what place do you feel the most pain?”

“It’s crushed from the crown of me h’id to the sowls of me f’ate I am,” groaned the widow, as she struggled to a sitting posture; “niver agin shall I be the cratur I was afore!”

“What’s the matter?” croaked a voice from behind, and an officer of the frog-army appeared.

As the officer spoke, the Widow O’Warty, who had been sitting erect, gave a loud croak, and rolled once more over upon her back, the convulsions returning with renewed energy.

“She’s dead, and I’ve killed her!” shrieked the weeping Brownella.

“Oh, if it was something to soostain me I had, if ’twas only a dhrop of wather!” moaned the widow.

“Is this the old toad we ran over just now?” asked the soldier.

“Yes, and you’ve killed her!” answered Brownella, distractedly.

“Don’t you believe it,” said the soldier, cheerfully. “She isn’t hurt; she’s overcome by fright, that’s all.”

“Fright is it?” exclaimed the widow, suddenly reviving and assuming a sitting posture. “Fright is it ye mane? Indade, an’ it’s a foine way to be talking to a body that’s kilt;” and her large eyes glared at the audacious new-comer with indignation.

“Oh, come, come, old lady, you’re not killed, that’s evident; but perhaps you are a little stunned.”

“Auld lady! stunned!” repeated the widow, hysterically. “It’s not so auld I am but that I know an auld fool whin I see him.”

The valiant officer, who had been through many a battle without flinching, quailed before the indignant countenance of the exasperated widow, and without casting a glance behind him, turned and actually fled!

As for the widow, her wounded pride tended to infuse energy into her listless frame; and under its reviving influence, she forgot her injuries, and betook herself homeward, giving expression at intervals to her indignation.

We will return to Ruffina, whom we left concealed from her enemy by the dark waters of her native stream. On she swam, until she reached a spot parallel with the den in which she had left her charge, little Fluff. Casting searching glances about her, to discover if her pursuer were in sight, and satisfying herself that all was safe, she left the water, and approached her abode.

Entering the den, the old water-rat looked about her, to assure herself that all was right; but the corner in which the little squirrel’s form usually lay at night was empty. Ruffina passed a paw over her eyes to clear her vision, and looked again. No, she was not mistaken, the corner was indeed empty.

With feverish haste Ruffina tore apart the dried leaves that had formed little Fluff’s bed, as if she expected to find concealed beneath them him whom she sought. In vain was her search, for at that very moment little Fluff was curled up by his mother’s side, fast asleep.

Not a nook or cranny did Ruffina fail to search, and at last gave up the attempt as useless. Emerging from the den, she stationed herself before the entrance, and gazed frantically around her for some trace of the missing Fluff; but not a sign of him did she discern. Almost crazed at the thought of the swift vengeance that would follow the old miser’s knowledge of the defeat of his plans for robbing the mice, and the disappearance of his prisoner, she tried to form some plan for her safety.

Ruffina well knew that her husband would vent on her the disappointment these losses would cause him, for such was his amiable custom. What could she say, and what could she do? As she sat trying to bring her bewildered thoughts into order, troops of returning mouse-soldiers passed her door on their way to their homes. They were eagerly discussing the events of the battle; and by degrees it dawned on her dull senses that the fate of the conflict was decided, and that the frogs were defeated. And Rough wanted them to beat!

This thought, on top of the two other misfortunes, was the last straw to poor Ruffina’s already heavy burden; and with a loud squeal of despair she rushed wildly away, intent only on escaping from the vengeance of the hard old miser; and never more was she heard from. Let us hope that she found a safe retreat, where, far from the old miser’s influence, she may lead a more useful and better life.

We will not dwell on such an unpleasant subject as the rage of old Rough when he discovered the true state of affairs. With his propensity for thinking the worst of everybody, he concluded that his wife had run off with the stores she had obtained from the mice, and was living on them in some safe retreat luxuriously and happily. For a time he searched for his missing wife; but as day after day passed and no Ruffina appeared, he gave up the search.

These bitter disappointments did not tend to sweeten the temper of the old water-rat. Harder than ever did he press upon the little field-mice, who he considered owed him a bounty for living on his premises; more than ever did he exact from them, and many were the depredations he committed upon his neighbors of the woods and meadow.

He seemed to feel that he must make these innocent creatures responsible for his losses, and he was more dreaded than ever before.