Old Rough the miser

On the same night that the weasel took possession of his new quarters under the stone wall, a very different scene was being enacted in the neighborhood of the basso’s dwelling. Ever since the Widow O’Warty had given her instructions how to win back the affection of her former devoted friend, Brownella had watched eagerly for a night dark enough to carry out her design.

Never, it seemed to the impulsive Brownella, did the moon night after night shine brighter and more persistently, and in her impatience she began to think that it would always be thus. After long waiting, however, to her great joy one night she perceived light clouds drifting across the sky, for a few moments obscuring the brilliant moon; but there she was again, shining brighter than ever, and it seemed to Brownella’s excited imagination as if her usually placid countenance wore a mocking expression, as if it would say, “I know you want me to keep out of sight, but I am determined not to,”—and then on she sailed again into the clearer sky, lighting up every corner and cranny of the meadow.

However, Brownella was not doomed to disappointment this time, for before long up came cloud after cloud; and as fast as the moon emerged from one, into another she went, until the whole heavens were suffused, and not even a star was visible.

Then did Brownella’s heart beat fast with joy, and also with some fear; for now that the moment for which she had so long waited had arrived, many doubts arose in her mind. What if the charm shouldn’t work? And what if she should neglect to follow in every respect the Widow O’Warty’s instructions?

Agitated by her hopes and fears, Brownella hopped rapidly in the direction of the basso’s dwelling. When within a short distance, she stopped and listened. All was still; the rich bass notes that were so musical to her ear were hushed; for the sensitive nature of the great singer sympathized with Mother Nature, and when her face was shrouded in darkness, his own spirits were affected likewise, and he remained at home silent and sad.

All the courage she possessed did Brownella summon to her aid, and carefully did she repeat to herself the lines on which her future happiness depended. When assured that she knew them accurately, Brownella turned her back upon the abode of the singer, and hopping backwards, repeated the following lines,—

These lines did Brownella keep repeating until she reached the brook that flowed in front of the basso’s dwelling, and where he was now sitting; then, approaching him, and standing on the big toe of her right hind foot, with the left fore foot she scraped up some of the mud and water from the stream, and threw it into the face of the astonished basso, saying,—

This verse was answered by a resounding “a-hung!” uttered in the deepest and tenderest tones of the basso-profundo’s voice, and Brownella knew that the charm had done its work, and that the singer’s heart was hers once more.

Leaving this happy pair, we will return to other scenes.

Old Rough grew more miserly and ill-natured day by day. Everybody avoided him, and he lived alone in his den, slinking around by himself, adding constantly to the stores he had collected, and tyrannizing over all with whom he came in contact. His countenance, never agreeable, became every day more repulsive; his eyes seemed to grow smaller and nearer together, and his nose longer and sharper, while his wrinkled lips receded from the long, sharp teeth.

Not a living creature approached the old miser, and he crouched in his den, gloating over the vast wealth he possessed, and concocting plans for gaining more. No longing for the companionship of his fellow creatures ever stole over him in his solitude, and still less a regret that he had done nothing to gain the respect and affection of any of his neighbors. Not even a desire that Ruffina, who had served him so faithfully, would return, did the sordid old fellow feel; his only wish in regard to her was that he might obtain possession of the provisions he supposed her to have carried off, and also to wreak vengeance on her for his various disappointments.

One night old Rough was out on one of his foraging expeditions, for he always chose darkness for his depredations. A raw east wind was blowing, and a drizzling rain was falling. Not a star was to be seen, and only a dark mass against the sky showed in which direction the woods lay. This was just the weather the old water-rat enjoyed, and he was in particularly good spirits, for he had the day before overheard a conversation between the two young crows, in which they spoke of some very rare morsels they had concealed under a certain stone in the woods. So accurately did they describe the spot that Rough could have gone to it blindfolded; and he chuckled to himself with satisfaction as he thought how shrewd he was, and how inexperienced the young crows were.

Shrewd as was the old water-rat, he little knew that the crows were acting under the advice of one much shrewder and slyer than he,—none other than the old crow Caw,—and that this conversation was merely a trap, into which he readily fell.

“The young thieves! I should like to watch their countenances when they find that the treasure they hid with such care has been discovered,” squeaked the old rat to himself, as he slid over the meadow toward the wood. “This will help pay for the trick they played me in leading me into that rascally weasel’s hole; but I’ve a nice little plan of my own, youngsters, to make us even on that score. You’ll find it out in due time.”

Thus communing with himself, old Rough proceeded on his way, often sitting upright and looking about him to see if all were safe, and frequently poking his long nose about, in hope of finding something that he could turn to account. In this manner he reached the wood, where the darkness was even denser than outside; but this was all the better for his purposes, and his spirits rose as he neared his destination.

On by the homes of the squirrels and Bobtilla, and of many other little inhabitants of the forest, did the old rat go, and at his approach many a mouse out in search of food ran trembling into its hole, hardly daring to breathe, until the dreadful figure had passed. Only the bats flitted fearlessly between the dense forest trees; but they had no terrors for him.

At last the old rat paused, and poked his long nose anxiously about. Had he lost his way,—he who knew every bit of woodland and meadow about? Or had those thievish young crows deceived him? This last thought was not an agreeable one, and made his small black eyes twinkle with malice, and his long teeth snap viciously together.

As he squatted on his haunches, glancing through the darkness for some landmark, a slight rustling of leaves attracted his attention. “Some hedge-hog returning from Farmer Smith’s poultry-yard, or a clumsy woodchuck,” muttered old Rough.

He was mistaken; it was neither of the two; he trembled with terror, and gave a shrill squeak of agony, as the long lithe body of his enemy the weasel came into view.

The next day there was great rejoicing in the meadow and woods. The crickets chirped their loudest; the katydids and locusts sang shriller than ever before; the little mice ran squeaking about fearlessly in the tall grass; the squirrels ran heedlessly over walls and trees, loudly chirruping their joy,—all small creatures were doing their best to express their delight that old Rough the miser would no longer persecute them,—for the weasel had at last vanquished the dreaded tyrant, and no more would they fear him. In the midst of this rejoicing, a flock of crows perched on the tree that grew behind old Rough’s former abode, and old Caw repeated with great solemnity,—

“Friends,” added old Caw, “the spell that has hung over the inhabitants of this meadow and wood for so long a time is now broken. The ‘body round and lithe and long’ has at last ‘vanquished body thick and strong,’ and no more need you dread the old miser’s power.”

That evening when the moon rose over the woodland, and shone down on the meadow, a gay throng came from bog and stream and wood. Choruses of frogs and crickets and locusts filled the air, while the little mice squeaked an accompaniment; hundreds of lively bats flitted in and out, and fireflies and glow-worms lighted up the gay scene; for old Rough the miser had disappeared forever, and the spell that had for so long hung over them was at last broken.

THE END.

THE WINDS, THE WOODS, AND THE WANDERER.

A FABLE FOR CHILDREN. By Lily F. Wesselhoeft, author of “Sparrow the Tramp,” and “Flipwing the Spy.” With Illustrations. 16mo. Cloth. Price, $1.25.

In the story of “The Winds, the Woods, and the Wanderer,” the author has endeavored to depict an artistic temperament that is misunderstood by the practical natures by which it is surrounded,—one that hears the voice of the “dear Lord God,” as the Germans have it, speaking through the rustling of the forest trees. This same artistic temperament the untutored Indian youth possessed; and the two natures were drawn together by the love of the beautiful that was implanted in the soul of each, and that interpreted to them the voices of Nature which to others are as a sealed book.

ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston.