the great woodchuck—fur charm against owls
nibble rabbit and doctor muskrat sat among the bulrushes on the frozen pond and laughed and chuckled over the joke they were planning on the old woodchuck in nibble’s hole. he had everybody believing that he came out of his hole on the day we call groundhog day (though the woodsfolk never use a rude nickname like that even for a woodchuck) and predicted the weather. that is, everybody believed it except nibble rabbit and doctor muskrat.
this was their plan. they would get every fieldmouse in the woods and fields looking for the woodchuck on that particular day. then if he did wake up the joke would be on the fieldmice. and if he didn’t—well, you just listen!
nibble hopped all about, from the frozen pond to the little cornstalk tents in the broad field, looking for field-mice. and every time he found one he’d say, “what’s this story that’s going around? i hear that woodchuck fur plucked the day after the first february moon is a sure charm against owls. just the littlest tuft woven into a nest will keep the young mice from being caught. is there any truth in it?”
the mouse wouldn’t let on that any one knew more about mouse secrets than he did, so he’d say “oh, that used to be an old mouse custom, but of late years it’s been hard to find a woodchuck.” and then he’d scuttle off to the holes and tunnels where the mice live and fuss and gossip and chatter about it.
then they all ended up at the great hollow stump, where great-grandfather mouse has lived for so very many years that his ears are all crinkled, and set that agog. and poor old great-grandfather mouse got so bewildered that he dragged himself down to the frozen pond to talk with doctor muskrat. which was exactly what doctor muskrat had been hoping for.
the doctor was very polite and pleased to see him. “certainly,” he said, “i’ve heard the story. fact is, i might have heard it from you yourself when we were both very young. but, dear, dear, my memory isn’t very good any more. only i’m perfectly sure it was the day after the first february moon!” he didn’t want any mistake about that.
“yes, yes,” agreed great-grandfather mouse, “i remember. i remember it all, now you call it to mind. but where could i find a woodchuck?”
“well, seeing we’re such old friends,” whispered doctor muskrat, “i’ll let you know. but it’s a secret. he’s down in nibble rabbit’s hole. i expect that sly young bunny means to be married in the spring, and won’t his hole be nicely lined with woodchuck fur, just won’t it?”
“great grass seeds!” exploded great-grandfather mouse. “it’s a mouse charm. no rabbit has anything to do with it.” so he stumped off home, dragging his fat old tail and wagging his crinkled ears, and in half an hour more people knew about doctor muskrat’s secret than if chatter squirrel had shouted it from the treetops. they knew where the woodchuck was and they meant to get some fur off him, too.
and nibble rabbit was all but turning somersaults on his little paddy feet out behind the bulrushes because he was so amused over it.
the great day came at last—groundhog day—the day when the woodchuck ought to come out to foretell the weather for spring. and nibble rabbit and doctor muskrat weren’t the only ones who were watching for him.
for all the snow around the mouth of nibble’s hole was tunnelled by the mice, and they were scuffling and squeaking beneath it; so it’s a wonderful thing silvertip the fox didn’t hear them. and nibble thought what a wonderful joke it would be if that woodchuck did come walking out of the hole. so he shook him and jounced him and pulled his round, mousy ears and his long spiky whiskers. but, no! that woodchuck just wouldn’t wake up. so finally nibble gave it up and crawled out of doors. and there at the mouth of the hole he met old great-grandfather fieldmouse, who was too fat and clumsy for any tunnel.
“good morning,” said nibble. “i see you’ve come to greet my friend mr. woodchuck when he comes out to foretell the weather.”
“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” said great-grandfather fieldmouse very severely. “this is the day we come for our regular charm of woodchuck fur to keep our young safe from owls.” he spoke as solemnly as though he had done it every year of his life. “it’s strictly a mouse charm,” he went on, “and no rabbit is going to keep us from it!” he said that because doctor muskrat had given him the idea that nibble meant to keep it all for himself. and doctor muskrat gave him that idea because he didn’t want great-grandfather mouse to suspect that nibble had invented the whole story about the charm. doctor muskrat knew they’d never bother about coming after the woodchuck fur unless they thought that someone else wanted it as much as they did.
“very well,” nibble answered meekly; “but please leave a little for me.”
“we’ll see if there’s enough to go round,” replied the mouse. and with that he laid back his ears—he’s so old that they’re all crinkled—and marched down into nibble’s own hole. and out he came with a mouthful of fur. and every fieldmouse from all the woods and fields solemnly marched in and did the very same thing as if they’d done it every year of their lives, too.
and maybe you think nibble rabbit and doctor muskrat didn’t laugh until their sides were fit to split—maybe you think they didn’t. because they knew they were going to be able to prove to every one of the woodsfolk just where mr. woodchuck was and what he was doing on the next day after the first february moon.
after the last mouse had left his hole, nibble went in to see what they had done. he came out again in a hurry. “whew!” he said to doctor muskrat. “i’ll have to sleep in the pickery things to-night. it’s all mousy in there. but they’ve plucked that sleepy old woodchuck as bare as an egg.”
and doctor muskrat chuckled. “just you wait until he wakes up in the spring!”
that wasn’t till a long way after st. patrick’s day, when the little gray pussies hung on all the willows. and he took three whole days to wake up in. for the first day he just grunted and groaned and made the noise that the woodsfolk take his name from. “snoof, snoof!” he’d go as though he were trying to sneeze, but was too lazy to do it. and the minute he did that, nibble hurried down to doctor muskrat in the marsh and told him about it.
“very good,” said doctor muskrat. “tell me how he behaves to-morrow.”
on the second day snoof woodchuck had turned over in the hole with his feet in the air and was acting as a dog does when he has a dream. nibble told doctor muskrat.
“very well,” said the doctor. “he’ll stand on them to-morrow, and we’ll all be there to greet him.” then he waddled off to the hollow stump where great-grandfather fieldmouse lives. and great-grandfather fieldmouse poked his head out.
“well, well?” he demanded in his crotchety voice, because he’s very old— so old that his ears are all crinkled. “what do you want now?”
“i just wanted to let you know that to-morrow morning snoof woodchuck will take the air an hour after sun-up,” said doctor muskrat very politely.
“well, what’s that got to do with me?” demanded great-grandfather fieldmouse.
“i let you know because we’re such old friends,” said doctor muskrat. “surely you remember that as long as the mice kept up the good old custom of gathering to thank the woodchuck, the woodchuck stayed here and you always had your charm.”
“i suppose so, i suppose so,” grunted great-grandfather fieldmouse.
so on the third day, when snoof woodchuck climbed out into the air, all the fieldmice were assembled. he was very much complimented. he bowed pompously, this way and that—and oh, how funny he looked, as though the moths had been at him! “hmm, hmm!” he began importantly. “as i told you when i predicted the weather on the next day after the first february moon——”
but he never got any further. for the mice simply squealed in surprise, “why, that was the day we came for our charms of woodchuck fur. you were fast asleep!”
“you old bluffer,” jeered doctor muskrat, “we caught you napping this time!”
“look at yourself!” squealed nibble rabbit, standing on his tallest toes to hop about. “see if you’re not mouse-eaten! you’re as naked as you were born—yah! i’m ashamed to look at you!” and the mice all echoed him.
and that woodchuck scuttled back into the very bottom of the hole and hid there until midnight. and then he went so far away that no one ever saw him again or even heard of him.
