Читать книгу Mystery in the Windflower Wood - Flora Klickmann - Страница 6

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“Queer about that holly bush, isn’t it!” said the rabbit with the silky ears to Bushey Tail, the squirrel, who happened to come past “Bunny’s Burrow,” a little later on that morning. Bushey Tail was searching for some nuts he had buried nearby the previous autumn. Nuts become scarce in the summer time, before the new ones are ripe on the hazels. “I don’t like the look of it at all,” Bunny continued, rather anxiously. “And it’s quite spoilt the view from my front door. Everybody can see right into my living-room now that tree’s gone.”

“Any idea who took it?” asked Bushey Tail.

“Poachers, of course,” Bunny replied, “only I wasn’t going to say so this morning. Old Crow is so disagreeable.”

“How do you know it was the poachers?”

“Well, who else would it be if it wasn’t them? And you can easily see what for--they wanted to get me for certain; only, luckily, I wasn’t at home that night. I’m awfully nervous now about staying in the house alone.”

“Oh, keep your whiskers cheerful!” said the squirrel. “I don’t believe it was the poachers. They never carry off a bush. When they cut down anything that’s in their way, they always throw it down and leave it there. Dreadfully untidy they are. And what could they want with it if they did carry it off?”

“Why, they’d eat it, of course.”

“Eat it! They aren’t rabbits. People don’t eat green leaves like we do!”

“Don’t they? What about those lettuces and broccoli and radishes I saw the gardener taking into the kitchen, up at the Flower-Patch House? Who’s going to eat all that, let me ask you. The cat? I don’t think!” And the rabbit snorted.

“Taking them into the kitchen, was he?” Bushey Tail suddenly became excited. “That means that the Lady-with-the-Crumbs is coming soon. And I shall have plenty to eat. Hurrah!”

“Who is the Lady-with-the-Crumbs?” Bunny asked.

“I forgot; you don’t know about her, as you haven’t lived long in this wood. She and the Gentleman belong to the Flower-Patch House just above the wood--where you went to the party last night. Sometimes they live in London, and are only here for holidays. When they come, the Lady puts out miles of crumbs, and nice bits and rolled oats for the birds, and nuts for ME in the nut boxes. We have a gorgeous time. And you told old Crow that the peas were netted, I remember--then she’s certain to be here soon, and the gardener’s hurrying up and getting it all ready for them. That reminds me--Mac, their dog, is sure to come too. You’ll like him. He’s a bit umptious, but a real sport.”

“Oh, dear! I’m not at all keen on dogs,” said the rabbit, who was looking very upset--what with one thing and the other. “They’re as worse as poachers and even badder! He’ll be in my home before I have time to get out. What a life I do lead!”

“Don’t worry your whiskers about him. He’s a very good sort. He caught a poacher once and saved his master’s life. He doesn’t love poachers any more than you do. I’ll tell him you’re a friend of mine. It will be all right, you’ll see.”

Bunny was opening his mouth to say that he wasn’t so sure that it would be all right--when he espied something white trotting down the Ferny Path that ran through the middle of the wood. And there came the little dog, Mac, himself, looking as important as ever.

And before Bushey Tail could say: “Why there he is!” Bunny had disappeared, and a whisper came from far back in the burrow under the big rock, “Don’t let him know I’m here.”

Mac wagged his tail in a pleased manner as he caught sight of the squirrel. They used to be saucy to each other once upon a time; but they were very friendly now. Business matters, however, were always first with Mac. He knew it was his duty to see that each stone and bush and tree and gate was exactly where it ought to be, and where he left it last time.

When he came to the place where the holly bush had been, but wasn’t there now, he stopped! Looked! Sniffed! Ceased to wag his tail! He was just going to ask what had become of the bush, when he sniffed again a little nearer “Bunny’s Burrow,” and that time he caught a delicious scent--rabbit! Yes, as he sniffed still nearer, he was sure it was rabbit.

Now Mac, like all other dogs, loved to chase rabbits, to dig for rabbits, and to get as far into their burrow as he could. Once, indeed, when he was new to the game, he got stuck, head first of course, in a burrow, and couldn’t get out again. And if his master hadn’t chanced to see two white hind legs and a white tail waving frantically on a bank he might have been there now!

But since that day he had been taught that he must not chase anything that lived in the Wind-Flower Wood. And being a very intelligent dog, he soon learnt his lesson. But, all the same, he still thought that the most delicious scent on earth was rabbit!

“Won’t your friend come out and speak to me?” he said to the squirrel. “I hope I haven’t interrupted you?”

(“Tell him I’m awfully ill, dying, in fact; can’t possibly move!” said a hoarse whisper from the burrow.)

“I’m afraid he can’t come out,” the squirrel replied:

“His old head aches,

His small tail shakes;

He’s really very wonkey!

He stayed out late,

And ate and ate;

Of course he’s ill! the donkey!”

Naturally, Bunny wasn’t pleased at hearing himself called names. But he dared not say a word. There was that dog to be considered.

“What sort of a chap is he?” Mac asked.

The Squirrel replied:

“His ears are wrong,

His nose too long;

He’s like a bag of bones!

He has to stay

And hide all day

Under that heap of stones!”

This was still more annoying to Bunny. For everyone in the wood knew that he was the plumpest young rabbit--with the loveliest ears too--for miles around. Of course he could see that the squirrel was jealous of him; that was quite plain. He was so proud of his bushey tail, and for ever dangling it, for all the parish to see, from the branches. But Bunny was sure his own tail was quite correct--as rabbits’ tails go. In any case he usually sat on it; so what matter if it were not quite so large as the squirrel’s. In fact he much preferred short, stumpy tails. Far more artistic, and so much easier to sit upon. And as to his ears being wrong, his ears! Why----!

But the squirrel was continuing, in a loud voice:

“He’s such a fright,

The merest sight

Would give you quite a shock!

We’ve never had

An uglier lad

Living beneath that rock!”

Really, this was too much! Dog or no dog, he wasn’t going to stay quiet and listen to such horrid things being said about him--and he the handsomest rabbit in the district!

Out he bounced (which was exactly what Bushey Tail meant him to do). He was just going to fight the squirrel, when that young gentleman skipped up a tree and said, with the politest bow:

“Mr. Mac, will you allow me to introduce our new neighbour, Mr. Bunny?” Then to the rabbit: “This is Mr. Mac. You’ve heard me speak of him.”

Mac gave a dignified wag; Bunny sat up on his hind legs and waved a paw. That being that, the three then settled down in the sun for a friendly chat.

Of course they began with the holly bush, giving Mac all the details. He listened attentively, but didn’t talk a great deal. Dogs are too wise to say much when anything important is on hand. They listen, not only with their ears, as we do, but with their eyes and paws and tail. Watch your own dog when he is listening attentively, and you’ll see what I mean.

Mac intended to ask a few questions when they had finished; but at that moment he heard his master’s whistle. He was a wonderful dog, and a clever dog. And he knew that no one could possibly be wonderful or clever who disobeyed when he ought to be obedient. Instantly he jumped up, saying: “Ta! ta! till next time. I’ll keep my weather eye open for that holly bush.” And he bounded up the path and was soon out of sight.

“A nice sort of friend you are,” the rabbit began in an aggrieved tone, “to say such dreadful things about me, behind my back.”

But Bushey Tail, who was up a tree by this time, sang out:

“I said them to your face!

And I’m sure it’s no disgrace

To say things which I know that you can hear.

If you call that gratitood!

When I tried to do you good!--

I’ll merely say ‘Good afternoon, old dear!’ ”