XII MRS. WHITE-SPOT AND HER KITTENS

TIMMY lived in the red farmhouse at the foot of the mountain. Up the lonely mountain road, just above, runs a merry brook which crosses the road occasionally, and at such places it flows beneath a little plank bridge.

Over this road Timmy often traveled on his way to and from the cow pasture. It was a very quiet, lonely road, thickly hedged upon each side with bushes and overhanging white birches upon which Timmy loved to swing, and on the dark green spruces he found lumps of amber gum; so, altogether, he thought it a most attractive road. Just before the brook decides to cross the road, in one very secluded spot, it spreads itself out and makes quite a fine deep pool, which forms a splendid swimming hole. Not many of the boys knew about it, but all the little wild dwellers of fur and feathers, who lived near by in the forest, knew all about that pool, and often came there to drink and bathe.

One evening in late spring, before the maples were out, almost before the ice had gone from the brook, along came Mrs. White-Spot and her four kittens wandering down the trail. She crept warily around the bend of the brook, pushing her black snout cautiously through the dried ferns to make sure no hidden foe lay in ambush; then she marshaled her family behind her, uttering a series of reassuring squeaks, and they followed her down to the deep pool.

Mrs. White-Spot took up her position upon a large flat stone, just at the edge of the pool, and then went about teaching the little skunks how to take a bath. First she urged them all to venture out upon the flat stone, then, as one after another of the little skunk children followed her, she suddenly pushed each one of them with her snout off into the deep water of the pool.

At first they did not care for the wetting, and began to set up little protesting squeaks of terror, trying to scramble back again to the stone. But no sooner did they emerge from the water than, firmly, but gently, their mother pushed each one back into the pool again. Head over heels they went with a splash and a squeak. But finally when they had become quite accustomed to the water, they began to enjoy

Mrs. White-Spot Teaching the Little Skunks How to Take a Bath

themselves, and splashed about like happy children, nosing and jostling each other in high glee.

Now Mrs. White-Spot was very proud of her little family, for they were as fine and handsome a litter of baby skunks as one might wish to see. They resembled their mother very much, and she was a beautiful creature, just about the size of the large family cat, with fur soft and fine, jet black, and so long that when the wind blew across her back it waved and undulated like a field of grain, with every motion of her body; and straight from the tip of her dainty, pointed nose, right across her back, ran a patch of pure, snow-white fur, ending at the tip of her tail, which looked precisely like a great soft black plume.

Mrs. White-Spot was so very much taken up giving her children a proper bath that she did not see that some one was eagerly watching her from behind a screen of alders. But there right on the edge of the plank bridge stood the farmer’s boy; he had come padding down the mountain road with his bare feet, on his way from the sheep pasture, and his step had been so light the mother skunk had not heard him. The boy was very glad that the yellow dog had decided to stay behind and dig out the woodchuck hole up the road. At first, when the boy had heard the queer little squeaking cries of the skunk family, he thought it must be the call of a muskrat, swimming down stream, but just then he happened to catch a glimpse of flashing black and white forms in the water, and the boy instantly halted. Very fortunate for him that he did so, or Mrs. White-Spot would have spied him, and then his curiosity about the skunk family would have been satisfied for all time. The boy had not forgotten the occasion when his brother’s clothes had had to be buried for a whole week once, just because he had unsuspectingly crossed the track of a prowling skunk, and now the boy, who had caught sight of Mrs. White-Spot and recognized her, almost held his breath and feared to move even a toe, lest she espy him.

Fortunately, the anxious little mother skunk kept right on bathing the babies, and at last, when she considered that they had been properly washed, she began to give little sharp, persuading squeaks, trying to call them to follow her out of the water. She left the flat stone and climbed out on the bank, and three of the little skunk children followed her, but the smallest one of all, evidently the “runt” of the litter, and a weakling, failed to follow the others, vainly clawing with his little black feet at the edge of the stone, and falling back each time he tried to climb out, uttering little helpless, protesting cries of terror.

Mrs. White-Spot halted, waiting patiently for the little one to climb out, but finally, when he failed to appear, she left the others and went back to the pool. Out onto the flat stone she scrambled, and then reaching into the water, she caught the little weakling by the nape of its neck, just as an old cat lifts its kittens, and placed him upon the flat stone. Just as she was turning away, the little skunk gave a sudden, helpless cry, and losing its footing upon the stone, over it went head first into the pool again. With infinite patience Mrs. White-Spot again turned back and went to his aid, lifting him out of the water once more, at the same time uttering little soft cries of encouragement; then she nosed the little one up the bank, urging him to follow after.

The boy had watched Mrs. White-Spot’s performance with keen joy, not so much because he was greatly impressed by the charming little domestic scene which he had witnessed, as by the fact that he had been so lucky as to discover a whole family of skunks upon the farm, and because he meant to trap them, for skunk pelts are very valuable to a farmer boy. The boy was wishing and hoping to get money enough ahead to buy a certain “Flexible Flyer” he had in mind, and which he longed to own before the first snow came. If he could only sell five good skunk pelts, then he could buy his sled. So the boy made up his mind to track the skunk family and discover just where they made their home. Accordingly, he carefully climbed over a rail fence into the pasture where the brook ran, taking good care to keep out of sight and scent of Mrs. White-Spot, but meantime, hidden behind the bushes, he watched them at a safe distance. The little family were having the funniest frolic together, rolling over their mother and cuffing each other, like kittens at play, while old Mrs. White-Spot tried her best to seem dignified, but in spite of herself had to join in the fun occasionally, and would toss the little ones over with her snout.

Skunks dearly love to make their homes under some old building, and the boy felt almost certain that they were heading for an old sugar house further up the brook; so creeping stealthily along he traced them, and sure enough when they reached the old shanty, they all disappeared beneath its sunken floor. Before the boy went to bed that night, he had set five traps, baited in tempting fashion, close to the chicken house, and then with happy visions of the new Flexible Flyer dancing in his dreams he slept until morning. But when he went to inspect his traps, although he discovered that one of them had been sprung by some night prowler, not a skunk did he find, although several plump hens had disappeared.

The yellow dog bustled about importantly that day with his nose to the ground, uttering little baffled whines; evidently he had struck the trail of something, but he came back, finally, giving up the scent in half-hearted fashion, just as he usually did.

The following week, when the moon, big and yellow, came peeping out over Mansfield Mountain, down the little lonely mountain road, following the brook from the old sugar house, wandered Mrs. White-Spot and her small family, their piebald coats flashing in and out among the tall, dew-drenched grasses and ferns; the little ones following their mother closely giving squeaks of delight, for all skunks dearly love to be abroad upon moonlight nights.

Straight and sure, on went Mrs. White-Spot, and led her children right to the farmer’s barn-yard, just about a mile below the bathing pool. Evidently she mistrusted that the boy had forgotten to shut up the hens that night, and that some of the foolish birds were roosting low outside the coops. In spite of much encouragement, the little weakling lagged behind the rest of her family; occasionally its mother waited for it to catch up with the others, when she would rub noses with him affectionately. But Mrs. White-Spot happened to feel very hungry, for as she drew near the farmyard she suddenly caught the game scent, and then she hurried on, eager for the great feast ahead.

Four foolish, sleepy hens, with muffled, terrified squawks, were quickly caught, and a stillness settled over the farmyard, broken only by the sound of little satisfied grunts; the chicken feast had begun. Then something happened, and a series of terrified squeaking cries came to Mrs. White-Spot’s ears; it was the little weakling; he must be in danger. Instantly the mother skunk forgot her hunger and went to investigate. Sure enough, the little skunk was in trouble; he had accidentally got caught in one of the boy’s traps, which had been temptingly baited with a chicken head. Fortunately he had been caught by just the end of one toe, and Mrs. White-Spot set about at once to free him. First she tried to pull the little one from the trap, then, finding she could not, she began with her little sharp teeth to try to gnaw the toe from the trap, trying to quiet the little skunk’s cries of fear and pain by uttering comforting squeaks, and much nose rubbing.

It was just at this critical moment that the yellow dog, who had been fast asleep in the barn all the time, awoke and, suddenly becoming brave, scenting adventures, out in the moonlight, he bounded, overbold and ferocious, baying wildly, from the stable window, and in an instant had sighted the skunk family.

Then Mrs. White-Spot in great fear and sudden desperation gave a tug with her sharp teeth. The little weakling was free of the trap and the yellow dog, not knowing what was in store for him, bounded confidently right into the midst of the little family group. The next instant, to the great surprise of the dog, who had expected them all to run when they caught sight of him, Mrs. White-Spot turned and bravely faced her enemy. Poor foolish yellow hound, he knew nothing about skunks, and so he did not turn about and run. Why should he? What could such small black and white creatures ever do to bother him?

But the next instant the yellow dog found out his mistake, for with blinded eyes, smarting as though they had been filled with red pepper, staggering back in dismay, groveling and whining, and frantically trying to rub his head and yellow hide free of the sickening skunk scent which covered him he ran about in circles blindly digging up the earth wildly with his claws. All in vain; at last, in sheer desperation, fearing he knew not what, he managed to get away and crawl far out of sight beneath the barn. Mrs. White-Spot was revenged.

Calling her little family together, calmly they went back to their interrupted feast, and afterward lifting the little weakling in her teeth by its neck, and calling the rest to follow her, the skunk family all went back together over the moonlit road together, and finally reached the home nest and went to sleep, well content with their adventure.

Strangely enough the yellow dog can never be persuaded to follow the trail of a skunk; he will never forget his terrible experiences with Mrs. White-Spot and her family; furthermore, he had to be banished from society for days, and could barely be tolerated in the wood-shed, and so cowardly did the yellow dog become that even a sudden glimpse of the black and white cat and her kittens sends him bolting like a shot beneath the barn with whines and trembling body.

As for Mrs. White-Spot, she remained in her snug home beneath the sugar house for a long time, until all the little ones had grown up and were old enough to look after themselves, and the farmer’s boy did not get the skunk pelts after all, but trapped muskrats instead, and in time sold enough to buy the longed-for Flexible Flyer.