Tucker's Countryside (13 page)

Chester Cricket sighed and decided not even to
think
of words like “burglary” until tomorrow night.

“Well—back to work!” said Tucker. He started on the sign again—not chewing now, but nibbling at the wood where the letter
A
had been nailed. Before long, the impression of the
A
had been completely erased. Tucker spit out the bits of wood and took a deep breath. “Now for the most important part.” Very carefully he nibbled a bar that went straight up and down on the sign. Then, off that bar, he nibbled three shorter, parallel bars. The shape of a perfect capital letter
E
appeared.

“I get it!” said Bill. “They'll think the sign said
HEDLEY
, but the
E
dropped out!”

“Right!” said Tucker. “And now, just to make it look
really
old—” He chewed away the wood around the
L
, until the iron letter came loose. “I don't want this one to come off,” said the mouse. “Only be wobbly with age.” He stood back and squinted at the sign, like a painter appraising his masterpiece. “Hmm. Still something wrong. It's the sides.” Two elegant scroll-like curves were carved into the wood at the ends of the sign, the kind of detail that people in Connecticut like. “Too fancy for a pioneer. Bill, you take that side and I'll do this.” The squirrel and the mouse did a few minutes of vigorous chomping. And now the sign really did seem like the wrecked and weathered relic of a bygone age. “There!” said Tucker. “Finished! How's that for a ‘benign deception'?”

“Very good!” said Harry Cat. “As a forgery it's not bad either.”

A groan was heard from Chester Cricket.

The animals dragged the sign down the hill, dunked it in Simon's Pool to wash off the chips and also give it the feeling of having been out in the rain and the wet all those years, and then carried it up to the farmhouse cellar. The last of the exhausted sundries were just crawling home.

Tucker insisted on going down into the cellar to arrange the sign properly. First he tried it here, then there, then way over there, then back here—but he couldn't be satisfied. “For goodness' sake!” said Harry Cat. “You're not decorating a castle!”

“I know,” said Tucker. “I'm furnishing a ruin. But it has to be just right.” He finally decided that behind the rosebush was the proper place. That was near enough to the Bible so that they could be found together, but not too near to arouse suspicion. His last bit of nibbling, just as dawn was beginning to break, was to snip off neatly the last three letters of Joseph Henry's name. In the pale, growing light the mouse looked around him. “Well,” he asked, “does this look like the ruins of a pioneer's homestead—or doesn't it?”

“I don't know,” said Harry. “I've never been in one.”

“Anyway,” sighed Tucker Mouse, “after all the work I've done tonight, I feel like the ruins of a pioneer!”

TWELVE

Hedley Day

The weather on Sunday was clear and bright and a little brisk—not really summer weather at all, but one of those September days that drop in unexpectedly early, in August. It was a fine day for a picnic, however, and toward noon the families of the neighborhood began coming over into the meadow. Some had folding chairs and tables, and others, who wanted to feel the good ground beneath them, brought only comfortable blankets to sit on. One thing they all had, though, and that was bulging picnic baskets.

Tucker Mouse was sitting up in the hills, with the other animals, amid the trees of the old orchard. They were waiting to see who would be first to discover the ruins of what they now all solemnly spoke of as “the Joseph Hedley homestead.” But the sight of those picnic baskets drove every thought but one out of Tucker's mind. “Chester,” he said, “I was wondering—the humans being what they are, and wasting so much, there's bound to be a lot of food scattered around—and I was thinking, after they go home, maybe we could have a picnic ourselves—on what they leave.”

“If you want to,” said Chester. “But honestly, at a time like this I can't think about food.”

Tucker asked himself if there could ever be a time when
he
couldn't think about food. He decided it was simply out of the question, but in deference to Chester's feelings he kept quiet anyway.

By one o'clock all the families had arrived. From the hills where the animals were watching them, they made a pretty sight, scattered through the fields below. Everyone was wearing bright summer clothes, but most had brought sweaters because of the coolness in the air. With its members all gathered together, each separate family looked like a different cluster of flowers.

“I wish somebody would come up,” said Henry Chipmunk.

“So do I,” said Chester.

Tucker Mouse began to fidget. He had caught the smell of broiling meat and had about decided to creep down and see if he couldn't scrounge up a shred of coleslaw or something. But before he could leave, Harry Cat came strolling up. After they'd put the sign in the cellar, Harry had gone back to the Hadleys' house so he'd be there, just as usual, when the family woke up. “Nobody's discovered the homestead yet?” he asked.

“No,” said Chester nervously.

“What's that on your whiskers?” said Tucker.

Harry licked off his whiskers. “Ketchup. Mr. Hadley's cooking hamburgers. It's one of Ellen's favorites—”

“It's one of mine, too!” muttered Tucker.

“—and they want her to have a good time. She isn't, though. She's not hungry at all. She said she'd rather picket. But Mrs. Hadley told her that
everybody,
even pickets, have to have one day off.”

“So how many hamburgers did you have, Harry?” asked Tucker gloomily.

“Just the half that Ellen couldn't finish,” said Harry.

“You
do
think that somebody'll find the things, don't you, Harry?” said Chester.

“I don't see why not,” said Harry.

“You know—” Henry began to speak, but then stopped. “Well—I'm not saying it'll happen today—but sometimes the mothers tell the kids not to come up this far. They say it's all full of poison ivy and things. But I'm not saying that'll happen today.”

For several minutes no one spoke. Chester Cricket shifted his weight from one set of legs to the other. “How long
has
it been since anyone was up here?” he asked quietly.

“Well, I guess it's been—it's been almost—over a year,” Henry Chipmunk's voice trailed off.

Again there was stillness. In the distance the sound of the human beings laughing over their picnics could be heard. But the silence that gripped the animals was worse than worrying out loud. “Now let's not get ourselves riled up!” said Harry Cat. “They're all still eating. Just let's let them finish, and then see what happens.”

In an hour there could be no doubt: no one was going to come up to the old cellar. The picnics were over—except for Jaspar's second dessert; some of the big kids had already drifted off by themselves, and the grownups were sitting chatting over their coffee. From the edge of the orchard the animals stared down, helpless and hopeless.

“And all that work we did,” said Henry sadly.

“Not only are those humans stupid—they're lazy!” said Tucker Mouse. “They should get around more—go exploring!”

Harry Cat had been watching Jaspar and his family. He stood up and gave his tail a snap. “Only one thing left.”

“There's nothing left,” said Chester.

“Oh yes, there is,” said Harry. “Now when I come back here, I'm going to be running. So everybody get out of my way!”

“Harry,” said Chester anxiously, “what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to pick a fight with Fido.”

Before anyone even knew what he meant, the big cat had darted out from the last row of trees and was speeding down the hill. Jaspar's family had come across the log to have their picnic on this side of the brook. They were all sitting on blankets, including Ruff, who was looking at Jaspar expectantly, hoping to get the last of his ice cream. Harry dashed toward them, leaped over a pile of paper plates, and as the Saint Bernard simply stared in amazement—no one had ever picked a fight with
him
before—the cat reared up on his hind legs and took a hefty claw at the dog's tender nose. Then, for good measure, he jumped up in the air, over Ruff's head, and landed, with all claws extended, on his rump. That is what you call adding insult to injury, and Ruff reacted as any self-respecting Saint Bernard would. He let loose a roar of rage and whirled around, scattering paper plates and human beings in every direction. Harry flew off his back and began a mad race toward the orchard. He ran faster than he had ever run in his life—faster even than he thought he could—because he knew that if Ruff ever caught him, there was going to be one cat less in Hedley, Connecticut.

In amazement the animals clustered at the edge of the trees watched all that was happening. It took place so quickly—a minute at most—that they barely had time to tumble aside before Harry flashed past, with Ruff thundering after him. The cat streaked between the two great oak trees—and then pulled his trick. On the very brink of the cellar he swerved aside and darted down the ledge that led to Henry's house. But Ruff knew of no such secret path. He had been up to the ruins of the farm house a few times, sniffing around, but in his present fury he'd forgotten about the great hole that suddenly yawned before him. He tried to brake himself, skidded forward, and then, with a howl of fear now, not anger, he toppled forward, into the cellar.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Tucker Mouse came scrambling breathlessly down the ledge.

“I'm all right,” panted Harry. “But you're right—I
am
out of shape. Whee-
oo!
What a chase!” He looked over the edge. “I hope Fido didn't hurt himself.” Ruff wasn't hurt. He had landed on a rather large thicket that broke his fall, and he now was searching for a way out of the cellar, yelping for help. “He doesn't sound quite so indignant now, does he?” Harry laughed.

Henry Chipmunk darted up, with Chester Cricket hopping behind him. As soon as they saw that Harry was safe, they joined him and Tucker peering over the ledge. “Let's just hope it takes a lot of people to get him out of there!” said the mouse.

Ruff tried to climb up the tumbled-down west bank of the cellar. But he couldn't make it. The earth there could support the weight of a flock of fieldmice and even a big cat like Harry, but not a Saint Bernard. He kept slipping backward, and his barking grew louder.

“Here they come,” whispered Chester.

On the south bank of the cellar Jaspar and his family appeared. They could tell from the note of fear in his barking that their dog was in trouble, and they followed the sound till they found him. Ellen was with them, but it was her kitty she was worried about. She saw him sitting on the ledge and called him. “I better go over to her,” whispered Harry. “Keep your claws crossed.” He padded around the rim of the cellar. Ellen picked him up, saw that he wasn't hurt, gave him a kiss on the head, and told him that he was a bad cat for quarreling with Saint Bernards.

“I'll go down and lift him up to you, Dad,” said David, Jaspar's brother.

“I'm goin' too!” said Jaspar. Before his mother could say no—which she certainly would have—he was sliding down into the cellar.

David pulled Ruff up the bank as far as he could. Then he grabbed the big dog around the middle and lifted him until his father could reach his front paws. The older man hauled away, managed to roll Ruff over the rim, and got a big sloppy kiss of gratitude. David was pulled up in much the same fashion.

“Jaspar, come out of there this instant!” his mother called.

“I'm comin',” said Jaspar. But he didn't come. He browsed leisurely through the cellar, just seeing what he could see.

“Look at that kid scrounge!” Tucker whispered to Chester with admiration. “I knew he was a great boy the first day I saw him. Come on, Jaspar! Don't let us down!”

And Jaspar did not let the animals down. He first discovered the Bible, and turned the cover over with interest. But since he was too young to have learned how to read, he didn't realize that it was the family Bible of Joseph He—. Then, on the other side of the rosebush, he saw something else that looked fascinating. With the glee of all great explorers, he held up the sign and called to his parents, “Look what I found!”

“What is it?” said David.

Jaspar crawled up the bank on his hands and knees and handed his brother the sign. “It's mine now!” he said proudly. “I found it.”

“Hey, Dad!” David said excitedly. “Look at this!”

David and Jaspar's father examined the sign. “Dear,” he called to his wife, “David found a sign down there—and it says Hedley. What do you think that means?”

“
I
found it!” shouted Jaspar. “
I
found it! It's mine.” He couldn't climb over the brink of the bank. “Get me outta here!” David pulled him up, and the little boy immediately began whacking his big brother on the chest. “
I
found it!”

“All right,
you
found it!” said David, warding off the blows. “Just stop pounding on me!”

“David,” said his father, “run down and tell the others what's happened. This may be important.” The boy trotted off through the orchard.

And over in Henry's house a feeling of joy grew thicker and thicker. It lifted the breathless animals up and held them suspended as if in the air. “Well,” said Chester Cricket finally, “it's begun!”

Within half an hour the cellar of the old farm house was full of grownups and children, all prowling around discovering things. Many curious old objects were unearthed, and several cases of poison ivy were caught. The grownups all agreed that the Town Council should be notified right away—about the discoveries, not the poison ivy. None of them knew personally any members of the Council, but Nancy's father had a friend who knew the chairman. He took the sign and drove off in his car. An hour later he was back, and with him was the chairman of the Town Council himself.