Old Rough the miser

Very great was Bobtilla’s distress after she had received the notice of eviction from her hard-hearted landlord, and all night she lay awake, trying to form some plan for the future; but each one was abandoned almost as soon as it was formed, for the making of a new home is a matter for deep reflection, the happiness and welfare of a family depending so entirely upon it.

The spot where Bobtilla had hitherto resided, and which she was so cruelly compelled to leave, had many advantages of situation. It was so far removed from other dwellings that there was nothing to be feared from enemies, and as the little field-mouse was very particular about the society she chose for her children, she considered the seclusion a great advantage.

The longer Bobtilla pondered on the subject, the stronger became her conviction that her next move must be nearer the habitations of others, who would protect her in case old Rough should further persecute her. Having satisfied her mind on this point, she fell into a deep sleep, from which she did not awake until the day was well advanced. Then, perceiving the sun shining in through the small opening of her house, she started up hurriedly.

So deep had been the slumber of the little mouse, that during it all sense of the recollection of her trials had vanished, and for a moment she forgot the misery she had undergone before sleep came to her relief; but by degrees the feeling that all was not right stole over her, and gradually a full sense of her unfortunate situation returned.

Notwithstanding her natural timidity, Bobtilla was not entirely without energy, and she lost no time in useless repining; so hastily putting her house in order, and making her children comfortable, she set out with all speed to consult her new friends, the chipmunks.

The amiable couple heard with indignation how badly the field-mouse had been treated by the cruel miser, and they at once tried to think of a way to help her out of her difficulty.

“You had better come nearer to us,” said Squirrello, when the little mouse had ended her sad story. “You will be farther away from old Rough, for he has not ventured into this neighborhood.”

“Yes, and we can perhaps help you to a little food now and then,” added Squirrella.

“You are very good to me,” replied Bobtilla, gratefully. “I’m sure I don’t know what I should do without you.”

“Well, and why shouldn’t we be? What are we here for, if it is not to help one another?” asked Squirrella.

“If everybody were of your mind, how easily we could live,” sighed Bobtilla; “but as a general thing, the strong prey on the weak, and the rich on the poor.”

“Well, at all events that isn’t our way,” replied Squirrella, cheerfully; “so now we will decide on a new home for you. Let me see, there is a nice place under that large stone just behind you. I have often thought it would be a good building-spot for somebody. How does it strike you?”

“Capital!” exclaimed Bobtilla, joyfully. The kind reception she had met with raised her spirits wonderfully, for it meant a peaceful home, where old Rough would cease to persecute, and plenty of food for her children until she could succeed in accumulating another stock of provisions.

So Bobtilla set to work with a will, and soon had a convenient house made to her satisfaction. When all was ready, she collected dried leaves and soft bits of moss, and made a comfortable bed for her children, smiling with satisfaction as she contemplated the comfort she had succeeded in effecting.

The praise of the two chipmunks, who complimented her on her skill, was very satisfactory, and she hastened to return to her children, in order to remove them to their new abode. Before the time set by old Rough, the little field-mice were safely established in their new quarters, and eating a good supper provided by their thoughtful friends the chipmunks.

While these events, of so much importance to Bobtilla and her family, were taking place, the two young crows were idling away their time, on the constant lookout for something with which to amuse themselves; and as they had not succeeded in appropriating the property of any one else or in doing any especial mischief, they felt that the day had not been a success, and time hung heavily on their hands. Alighting on a tree in the meadow, they cast their shrewd eyes about in all directions for any chance that might occur, and occasionally gave a languid caw.

Sitting thus idly, the tones of a deep bass voice struck on their ears; and seated on the margin of the stream they beheld a large bull-frog gazing pensively into the water below, while in a melancholy voice, and with a strong French accent, he sang the following lines:—

As the bull-frog ceased he sighed profoundly, and large tears rolled down his cheeks and splashed into the sluggish stream. The two young crows, rejoiced at the prospect of a diversion, flew down from the tree, and seated themselves on the bank of the stream opposite the mournful singer.

“What’s up, Johnny?” they asked.

With a sigh that threatened to rend his capacious bosom, Johnny the basso replied,—

“She have deserted me. My sweetheart have left me for anozzer. I am in despair!”

“Who, the little green frog who lives down by the dam?”

“No!” replied the basso, indignantly; “it was no leetle green frog. My sweetheart is fine; she have one fine figure—Ah! qu’elle est charmante!”

“It was the little green one last week,” answered the younger crow, dryly.

The mourner took no notice, but continued his lamentations.

“She have left me for anozzer. She say, our voices they not blend well,—I, zee great basso-profundo! She prefer a tenor, she say. I ’ate a tenor, he squeal like one pig!”

“Who is he?” asked the elder crow.

“I know not how he call hisself, but I will find him!” exclaimed the bull-frog, fiercely. “I will cr-crush zat tenor! He sall know what it is to insult zee greatest basso-profundo on zee earth. I will make zat tenor to tremble!”

“After you have found him,” remarked the younger crow.

“But I will found him, I say!” exclaimed the excited basso. “I will hunt zee earth for zat tenor! My great talent, my vast wealth, they sall succeed in finding zat wr-r-etch who have deceived me,—me, zee greatest living basso-profundo on zee earth!”

“Why don’t you consult old Blinkeye?” asked the elder crow.

“What you say he call hisself,—Blinkeye? I have nevare heard from him.”

“Old Blinkeye is the wisest fellow about here,—knows all the laws of the woods by heart. Why, even my grandfather consults him, and my grandfather is no chicken, I can tell you.”

“How know old Blinkeye anysing about my sweetheart? How will he find zis miser-rable tenor?”

“If he doesn’t know now, he will find out. He flies about all night, and learns a good many secrets that way. Oh, he’s a wise old fellow, is Blinkeye, and fierce too. Nobody knows how old he is.”

“I sink he too old. Zee mind grow weak when old age come.”

“No, not a bit of it,” replied the elder crow. “Then he is so strong and fierce, the tenor had better look out when he catches sight of him.”

“I sink perhaps your fine Blinkeye eat me up. He say to hisself, ‘Great basso-profundo fat and tender,—he make nice dinner. Tenor thin,—more bones as fat. I sink rather I eat great basso.’”

“He is only fierce at night. In the daytime he is as blind as a bat, and sits and thinks. Then, when night comes, he flies about, and it is better to keep out of his way. Come, you’d better go and see him.”

“Well, I go wiz you,” answered the singer, after a moment’s reflection.

Accordingly off set the three, the bull-frog hopping, and the crows walking behind him; but the bull-frog with his long leaps made much greater headway than the crows with their short steps, and the latter, when the frog was nearly out of sight, would use their wings to reach him, and at last adopted a gait between walking and flying.

The bull-frog was not in the habit of taking such long trips, and was obliged to halt occasionally; and these rests were spent in conversation, during which the basso recounted many valiant exploits he had achieved.

“Zis place is not large enough for so great a singer as I,” said the bull-frog; “my talent is too great to rest in zis small place. One here has no taste; one knows not what is musique. When I lived in great meadow far away,—ah! there it was fine! every evening zey come, so many how zey could, to hear zee great basso.”

“Why didn’t you stay there, Johnny?” asked the younger crow.

“I was one fool,” replied the bull-frog. “I say, ‘Zese peoples zey make me tired wiz zere praise;’ so I say to myself, ‘My friend, you sing too much, your fine voice will ruin; better you move to some ozzer place, where zere are not so many peoples.’ So I move here.”

“And a very wise move it was,” replied the elder crow. “But here we are, and there sits old Blinkeye.”

They stopped before the owl, who sat silently on a tree, with his usual solemn expression. He slightly turned his head in the direction of his visitors, but it was evident he did not see them.

“How do you find yourself to-day, Father Blinkeye?” asked the elder crow. “We have brought a friend to consult you on a very important matter.”

“Who is he, and what does he want?” demanded the owl.

The bull-frog hastened to introduce himself thus: “I am zee greatest basso-profundo on zee earth. Doubtless you have heard mention my great talent. I sing so deep,—zere is no basso who so deep sings. My répertoire, ah! it is énorme.”

“What is your business with me?” inquired the owl, who remained unmoved by this announcement.

“My sweetheart she have left me,” replied the bull-frog. “She have left me, me, zee great artist, for one tenor! I wish to find zat tenor! I wish to have revenge!” and he scowled fiercely at the recollection of his wrongs.

“What do you expect me to do about it?” asked Blinkeye, coldly.

“I sought zat perhaps you would have zee goodness to find zat tenor for me, sair.”

“That isn’t in my line,” replied Blinkeye. “My business is to expound the laws of the woods.”

“Zen will you be so kind, sair, as to tell me zee law zat will find zat tenor?” asked the basso, eagerly.

“Let me see where that comes in,” said the owl, meditatively, and remained deep in thought, with one great yellow eye closed, and the other staring straight before him. This had such a solemn effect, that the basso felt sure such vast wisdom must procure for him the aid he desired.

“Aha!” exclaimed the owl, after awhile, and slowly unclosing his eye, “I have it. Now listen attentively, for I don’t take the trouble of repeating these laws. Such a strain on my mind tires it and makes it dangerous for me.

“Now leave me, that my mind may rest after such an effort,” added the owl.

“But I know not what it mean, sair,” exclaimed the basso, in bewilderment. “I know no more zan before, what I am to do. Will you have zee goodness to explain zat law to me.”

“No,” replied the owl, severely, “I will not. My business is to recite the law, and yours to understand it. If you don’t, that’s your loss. Now go.”

“But, sair,—” began the basso. He did not have time to finish his sentence, however, for the two crows pushed and dragged him out of the owl’s presence, promising to explain to him on the way home the meaning of the law of the woods recited by the owl.

“It’s as plain as can be,” said the elder crow, when they had succeeded in starting the basso toward home; “don’t you see? ‘Take the one and leave the other,’ why, of course you’ll take the one, and you’ll leave the other when you only want the one, won’t you?”

“But zat does not tell me where I sall find zee tenor,” persisted the basso.

that’s the tenor of course, with his high voice, and it tells you as plainly as possible that you’ll find him in the meadow,” explained the younger crow.

that’s you of course, with your deep bass. Now do you see your way clearly?”

This explanation appeared so very simple that the basso could but acknowledge it.

“Zee meadow is one large place,” he said.

“Oh, well! now we know he is there, we’ll find him for you, and the little brown frog will not be far off, you may be sure,” said the elder crow.

Thus reassured, the bull-frog hopped briskly home, accompanied by the crows, who walked and flew by his side.

“I sank you, Messieurs, for your kindness,” said the basso, when he stopped before his door, “and I sall know how to reward you. Au revoir, Messieurs,” and, gracefully saluting his young friends, Johnny the basso hopped into his hole.