Old Rough the miser

Old Caw led his flock of crows through the dense wood, and startled by the constant cawing that broke the stillness of the forest, many a smaller bird started up in terror from its leafy retreat, and occasionally a squirrel or rabbit scurried into its hole, to remain there with fast-beating hearts until the harsh noises had died away in the distance.

As they passed over a grove of pine-trees, they met another flock of crows flying in an opposite direction, and a discordant cawing arose from both parties, the elder members of each band trying, with the wisdom that age brings, to silence the younger ones; but in this attempt they were unsuccessful, and, with a few sharp words of reprimand, old Caw started his party again, with the exception of his two pugnacious grandsons, who remained behind to settle the dispute with two equally persistent members of the opposing party. Before long, however, they were seen rapidly flying to join their flock, in high spirits at having settled the matter to their satisfaction.

No other incident occurred to disturb the progress of old Caw’s little band, and soon they passed over cultivated fields and open meadows, the keen eye of the veteran leader taking in all the possibilities of the country.

At last Caw halted his band on the edge of a fine maple grove, and they beheld before them a fertile field in which were planted crops of various kinds. It was the very cornfield about which, years before, the quarrel had arisen between the crow and the water-rat.

A stone wall, with a row of maple-trees in front of it, separated the field from the road.

“Why not light on those maple-trees, where we can see something going on, instead of hiding here in this out of the way place?” asked one of the party.

“This is not Sunday,” replied old Caw, severely.

“What has that to do with it?” asked a youthful member of the flock, while the one who had made the proposition retired abashed to the rear.

“What has that to do with it?” repeated old Caw, harshly. “A good deal, I should say. It means that on Sunday we could sit in a row by the side of the road from morning till night, and not a soul would think of harming us; but on a week day there would be a dozen guns pointed at us before we had been there five minutes. I want to give you a little advice before we begin our work. Don’t caw so much. At the slightest provocation you set up such a noise that the whole neighborhood is down upon us, and as soon as they catch sight of us there will be an end to our fun. See if you can’t remember this, and make up your minds to do your talking when you get home. Now for business.

“Do you see those little mounds over there beyond the potato patch? Well, that is for a late crop of corn, and every one of those mounds is full. You, Blackwing,” continued old Caw, addressing the young crow who had asked the question a short time before, “remain on the top of this tree, and look all around you, particularly in the direction of the house and barn, and if you see any one coming, give one caw to warn us. And the rest of you, if you hear Blackwing caw, fly up at once, without a sound, taking care even not to flap your wings loudly, for if we succeed in escaping without being seen, we can return and finish our work.”

Blackwing at once flew to the topmost branch of the tree, and the other members of the flock followed old Caw into the field of newly planted corn. Proceeding to one of the little mounds, the leader, with two or three skilful movements, scratched it open, and eagerly devoured the yellow kernels he found there. The others followed his example, and soon all were busy, and making sad havoc in the cornfield. They remembered the admonitions of old Caw, and preserved a discreet silence, stalking about among the little hills in their most dignified manner.

Suddenly a loud and continued cawing was heard from the sentinel on top of the tree, and up flew the marauders, cawing excitedly and flapping their long wings noisily, not stopping to look around until they had all lighted on various branches of the maple-trees, when they all talked and scolded together.

Old Caw flew to a tall tree whence all could see him. “Stop!” he called out, as soon as he could be heard amid the din of excited voices; “don’t let me hear any more of this disgraceful proceeding. Stop this minute, I say!”

The discordant cawing gradually resolved into a confused murmur of voices, a few of the boldest still keeping up a low muttering of discontent; but so great was the excitement, that, as the last murmur died away, one persistent young crow (and we regret to have to acknowledge that it was one of old Caw’s own grandsons) started a fresh complaint, and in a second the excitable creatures were all cawing together louder than ever.

Old Caw was almost beside himself. His weak, cracked voice was drowned in the general tumult, and driven to desperation at the insubordination of his followers, he rushed fiercely at them and distributed some sharp pecks indiscriminately. This had the desired effect, and at last order was restored.

“I am astonished at such outrageous behavior!” he said sternly, when he had regained his breath lost by this unusual exertion. “No, no more of it,” he added quickly, as the persistent young crow who had once before started the commotion opened his beak to speak. “It is my business to settle this matter. In the first place, sir,” he continued, turning to Blackwing, “why did you not caw once, as I ordered you, instead of raising such a hubbub? And, indeed, why did you caw at all? For I see no human being in sight, and I had especial information that the men of the family were away from home.”

Blackwing’s countenance fell under this severe reproof of his leader, but he hastened to defend himself.

“I kept watch as you directed,” he began, “and saw nothing suspicious for awhile, until suddenly I beheld old Rough scurrying along as fast as he could come, and he stopped directly under the tree where I was watching. ‘This is a pretty state of things,’ he began, ‘stealing my corn, you pack of thieves! Be off, or I’ll know the reason why!’ I was naturally indignant, for I knew we had the best right to the cornfield, and I reminded him of it, whereupon he became vicious, and said the field belonged to him, and he didn’t care what the owl had decided, and that he intended to trade with the corn. He became so abusive that I lost my temper, and forgot orders and called out to you.”

“Where is the old miser now?” demanded old Caw, sternly.

“Oh, he slunk away as soon as I called out, and in all probability is hidden in some hole about here.”

“I should like to see him,” exclaimed old Caw, fiercely; “it would be some time before he meddled in my affairs again. His cornfield indeed! The old fellow carries things with too high a hand; and if I don’t find a way to stop him, my name isn’t old Caw.”

One of the flock proposed to visit the cornfield again, and others fell in with the proposition; but old Caw silenced them by reminding them that it would be impossible now, at their greatest speed, to reach home before sunset, so much time had been spent in useless conversation.

“What harm would there be in remaining out a few minutes after dark?” asked one of the number.

“Have you forgotten Blinkeye?” asked old Caw, gravely; and at these words they silently came into line, and followed their discreet leader without any more discussion.

As soon as the flock of crows had left, a grizzled, shaggy object crawled out of a hole at the root of a tree, and the sharp and unpleasant features of old Rough appeared, an ugly grin displaying his long yellow teeth.

“You’re very sharp, my friend Caw, I admit, but you are not so sharp as your humble servant. So you intend to stop me, do you, my fine fellow? Well, I’m ready for you. The first step toward it would be to stop the mouths of your followers, for thanks to their incessant jabbering I know all about their plans almost as soon as they do themselves. Now let me see what I’ll do. As I am in the neighborhood, I’ll take advantage of the opportunity to evict Bobtilla. Let’s see, which is the shortest way?” And, sitting on his haunches, the old water-rat cast his shrewd eyes about him. His keen sight at once showed him the right direction, and he started off with great speed.

Before long old Rough stopped before a stone wall and looked about him. “It should be here,” he said to himself. “I remember I took that large round stone as a landmark. Yes, here it is,” and he at once went to a small hole that led under the wall.

The opening was too small for old Rough’s large body, so in his sharp voice he called Bobtilla’s name.

“Here I am,” squeaked the little field-mouse, mildly; and in a moment she appeared before her dreaded landlord, and timidly asked the cause of his unexpected visit.

“I have come, madam,” he replied, eying her sharply, “to give you notice to quit these premises.”

“To quit these premises?” repeated Bobtilla, in astonishment.

“Yes, madam, I said to quit these premises,” replied the old miser, harshly.

“Oh! what have I done that you should be so hard with me?” asked the little field-mouse, imploringly. “I have never done you or any one any harm.”

“Have you kept your bargain, madam?” replied old Rough. “Where is the grain I expected to receive as rent for allowing you to remain on my premises?”

“I have been so unfortunate,” pleaded the little mouse, in a tearful voice. “The winter was a hard one, and our stock of provisions was eaten up long ago. If you will only trust me a little while longer, the crops will then be ripe, and I will pay you double what I owe you!”

“Don’t think to deceive me by your professions of poverty,” said the miser, in so loud and harsh a tone that little Bobtilla started back terrified. “You think to make me believe you are poor, do you? Then please to inform me how those chestnut shells came to be lying there, will you?” And he pointed to some shells that were scattered on the ground.

“Oh! those were given me for my sick child,” exclaimed Bobtilla, eagerly. “He has no appetite, and when you refused me the tender root I asked you for, some kind chipmunks who have recently moved here took pity on me and gave me a chestnut.”

“So, you have been complaining of me to your neighbors, have you? Very well, madam, since they take such an interest in you, they are welcome to the benefit of your society. Let me see this place vacated by to-morrow at this time.”

“Oh! have pity on me,” said the poor little field-mouse, imploringly. “I can’t move my sick child so soon. Do give me a little more time, at least.”

“Not an hour!” replied the old miser. “To-morrow at this time I shall return, and if I find you still here,”—he finished his sentence by a vicious snap of his long sharp teeth, that left Bobtilla in no uncertainty as to his intentions, and reduced her to a state of despair at the thought of the steps she should take to find a home for her little ones, and above all, for the sick one, whose condition gave her such anxiety.

As for old Rough, he went toward his home, happy in the thought of little Bobtilla’s misery, and smiling to himself with great satisfaction, as he recalled her tremulous tones and tearful face, for never was old Rough so happy as when he had made others miserable.

Crossing the meadow, he went in the direction of the brook or ditch that led to his habitation, for he preferred the slimy and muddy borders of the ditch to any other path; and when he reached it, the sun had been down for some time, and twilight was gradually deepening.

The ditch was quite full from recent rains, and the soft mud felt cool and moist to his dry feet after his long journey; and so comfortable was he, that he proceeded very slowly, and recalled as he went the pleasures of the afternoon,—his success in preventing the crows from eating all the corn they wanted, and the misery to which he had reduced poor little Bobtilla. Before he knew it, darkness was upon him; but that he did not mind, for his keen eyes could see in the darkness as well as in the light.

So on went old Rough, with a light heart, when suddenly a loud hoot sounded just above him, and with a sudden start, he saw the bold Blinkeye, who could see clearly in the dim light, rushing fiercely toward him.

Large as the old water-rat was, Blinkeye was larger and stronger, and the old miser shuddered as he thought of those strong talons that had borne off so many prizes; and he remembered, too, how often he had laughed as he had seen the poor victims struggling in that relentless grasp.

Nearer and nearer came the huge owl, his glittering eyes fastened on his prey; and old Rough, his quick eyes taking in every point of the situation, in a few long leaps reached a place where the ditch widened, and with a vigorous bound plunged into the dark and muddy water, diving under the surface as his pursuer darted down to seize him.

The water-rat was old, and not so vigorous as in his youth; but his long life had taught him many useful lessons, and his experience more than compensated for the loss of his activity.

Now began a race for life,—the old rat diving and swimming and dodging about in the turpid water, every inch of which he was familiar with, and the large owl pursuing him, and often pouncing down, only to find his prey had escaped him; and now came an opportunity for the old water-rat to display one of those strategic movements for which he was remarkable, and which completely deceived even the wise owl.

The home of the water-rat was situated on a bank of the ditch where the water was deepest, and the owl felt sure that when the old miser left the water for his dwelling, which he would be sure to do, he could quickly seize him, and bear him away. The owl, however, did not know the precise spot of his victim’s abode, and the wily rat passed it, and, turning unperceived in the deep water, swam back and entered his dwelling, while the discomfited owl was still hunting for him some distance down the stream.