Mouser Cat's Story Part 4

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mr. Crocodile in Pain.]

"I had better repeat the poetry Mr. Crow wrote about it, for that tells the whole story, and without further delay Mrs. Mouser Cat recited the following:

Come, listen, and I'll sing awhile About a winsome crocodile, Who had a most engaging smile Whene'er he smole.

His basket with fresh fish to fill Each day he'd tramp o'er vale and hill, For he possessed quite wondrous skill With rod and pole.

But as he fished, one summer's day, A toothache chased his smiles away; No longer could he fish and play His favorite role.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Not a Tooth in His Head.]

He stamped and growled, the pain was vile, No more he grinned, Sir Crocodile, (And he'd a most engaging smile Whene'er he smole.)

So straight he to the dentist went, On stopping or extraction bent, His soul was with such anguish rent; He reached his goal.

"Come sit down in the chair awhile; Open your mouth, Sir Crocodile!"

(He had a most engaging smile Whene'er he smole.)

"Which is the tooth?" the dentist said; "Dear, dear! You must have suffered-- You've not a sound tooth in your head, Not one that's whole!"

He pulled them out; it took some while, And then that toothsome crocodile Had not quite such a pleasing smile Whene'er he smole.

"How do you suppose Mr. Crocodile felt when he was hungry, and wanted to eat something?" your Aunt Amy asked.

THE DISSATISFIED CAT.

"Most likely much the same as did old Mrs. p.u.s.s.y Cat up on the next farm."

"How was that?" your Aunt Amy asked.

"Well, you see, she was partly black and partly white, and not being a very neat cat, the white hair got dirty so often that she believed it would be a great thing if it was all black. So she got the idea into her head that if she should shave off the white hair, it would be the color she wanted when it grew out again.

"Well, now what do you suppose that poor foolish thing did? Why she went to the barber's, and had him shave all the white hair off of her body.

She actually frightened the ducks and the geese when she came home, she looked so queer; but you couldn't have made her believe it. She thought she was a perfect beauty, and when she came over to this farm that evening, Mr. Thomas Cat said to her:

"'Why you are a perfect sight, that's what you are, with those tufts of black hair all over you!'

"'That's all the style,' Mrs. p.u.s.s.y Cat said, and I think she really believed that she was as handsome as any cat you could find.

"Well, things went along all right while the weather was warm, but in the course of ten days we had a heavy frost, and dear me, dear me, how cold it grew all of a sudden! Poor Mrs. p.u.s.s.y Cat was almost frozen to death the first night of the cold snap, when she tried to stay with the rest of us to a concert, and went home moaning:

"'Oh, give me back my hair! Give me back my hair!'

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mrs. p.u.s.s.y Cat in Style.]

"Of course that couldn't be done, because she had to wait for it to grow again; but Mrs. Man on the next farm wrapped her up in an old shawl, and she had to stay in a basket until her hair grew, else she'd have frozen to death, for we had a terrible hard winter that season. When the hair did come out it was uneven, of course, and she was the worst looking cat you ever saw.

"Mr. Man was shaving the first morning Mrs. p.u.s.s.y Cat came out of the basket, and he hadn't seen her since she had been to the barber's.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mr. Man is Disturbed.]

"She jumped up on a chair by the side of him, thinking he would stroke her fur as he always used to do, when the poor man got one glimpse of her, and it nearly scared him into hysterics. I suppose he thought it was a ghost, or something like that, for she looked bad enough to be almost anything.

"He gave a yell, and jumped in the air. That scared Mrs. p.u.s.s.y Cat, and she screamed as she leaped out of the chair. Then Mr. Man went after her with that big razor in his hand.

"I don't know how far he chased her; but Mr. Towser said that Mrs. p.u.s.s.y Cat ran more than five miles before she stopped, and when she sneaked back home that night, I'm thinking she felt a good deal as Mr. Crow did when he tried to make folks believe peac.o.c.k feathers were growing in his tail."

MR. CROW'S DECEIT.

"I have heard a great many stories which Mr. Crow has told; but never one about him," your Aunt Amy interrupted. "If he tried to deceive the other birds, I surely would like to know about it."

"Well, he did," Mrs. Mouser Cat said emphatically, sitting bolt upright; "but of course he doesn't like to have the story told, so I had rather you wouldn't let him know I mentioned it.

"I don't know how he happened to get it into his head to do such a thing, for, as a rule, he spends the most of his time over in the big tree telling stories or making poetry; but he grew foolish once, and whenever anybody came where he was, he said he had strange growing feathers, and the doctor believed he was turning into a peac.o.c.k.

"Of course that made a good deal of excitement around here, among all of us, for it would be a strange thing for a crow to change in that way, and he had twice as many visitors as he ever had before, all wanting to know about the new feathers.

"Well, of course he couldn't keep saying that they were coming, and not show any signs of them, so one day he said he felt terribly sick and guessed he should go into the hospital. Then we didn't see anything of him for most a week, until little Redder Squirrel came around and said Mr. Crow was all right; that he had as many as six peac.o.c.k feathers growing right out of his tail.

"Well, now, you can believe we were astonished, and more excited over it than we had been since young Mr. Thomas Cat painted the canary yellow.

Of course we asked Redder Squirrel where we could see him, and he said Mr. Crow had agreed to come out on the hill, just under the tree, that afternoon.

"If we animals around here were anxious to see him, you can guess that the peac.o.c.ks were just about wild, and when the time came for Mr. Crow to show himself, all the peac.o.c.ks for as many as five miles around were gathered under the big tree. Mr. Crow didn't know anything about their coming, until he marched right out in the midst of them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mr. Crow showing his new feathers to the peac.o.c.ks.]

"Now Mr. Crow is really a wise bird, and how it happened that he was so foolish as to do what he did, beats me. Anybody with half an eye could see that he had simply stuck these feathers in his tail, and was trying to make us believe they had grown there. If he had stayed on the tree where we couldn't get very near him, there might have been some chance of deceiving us; but there he was right down where we could put our paws on him if we wanted to. And the peac.o.c.ks! Angry? Oh me, oh my, don't say a word!

"One big one reached over with his beak, and pulled a feather from Mr.

Crow's tail.

"'The next time you set yourself up for one of us, it would be a good idea to tie the feathers in, else they may drop out, as this one has,'

the peac.o.c.k said, and I expected to see Mr. Crow almost faint away with shame. But bless you, he never thought of doing anything of that kind.

He took the feather as bold as a lion, looked at the end of it, and then he said, careless-like:

"'Well, I declare! I guess I must be moulting,' and with that, off he flew. We didn't see him again for as much as two weeks, and then he agreed not to write any poetry about us if we wouldn't tell the story of the feathers; but young Mr. Thomas Cat couldn't hold in, and reported it far and near, till Mr. Crow paid him back in good shape."

WHEN YOUNG THOMAS CAT PAINTED A CANARY.