STORY XXXI

TOODLE AND THE SINGING BIRD

"Children," said Mrs. Flat-tail, the beaver lady, to Toodle, Noodle and their little sister, Crackie, one morning as they were starting for school, "I think you had better take your lunch, and not come home to dinner this noon; I am going to be very busy, canning sweet-flag root, and birch bark, so we will have something to eat this winter. I really wouldn't have time to get you anything to eat."

"Oh, it will be much more fun to take our lunch!" cried Crackie, as she accidentally dropped her pencil and cracked the point. That was why she was called Crackie—she so often dropped things. Once she dropped an egg—but there, I'll tell you about that later.

"Yes, I think it'll be real jolly to take our lunch," spoke Toodle, as he strapped his school books together so he could carry them in one paw.

"And we can go out in the woods, back of the hollow stump school, to eat it," added Noodle, who was busy finishing the last of the red-apple pancakes his mother had made for breakfast.

Then the school bell rang: "Ding-dong!" and also "Dong-ding!" and Grandpa Whackum, the oldest beaver gentleman in the pond, called out from where he was reading the morning paper near the fireplace:

"Come, children, hurry off, or you'll be late!"

So Mrs. Flat-tail, the beaver lady, put up a nice lunch for each of her children, wrapping birch bark sandwiches and hickory nut cake in clean leaves for them to take to school. Off they started, as three happy little beavers as you would meet if you walked a mile, or maybe a mile and a half, for all I know.

On the way they met Peetie and Jackie Bow Wow, the puppy dog boys.

"We're not going home to dinner today," said Toodle to Peetie.

"Why not? Isn't there anything to eat at your house?" asked Peetie.

"If there isn't," went on Jackie, very kindly, "you may come to our house. We have lots of things, and I'll give you a piece of my puppy-cake."

"Oh, that's not the reason," spoke Noodle quickly. "Thank you just the same. Our mamma is going to be so busy that she gave us our lunch to take to school."

Then Noodle and Toodle and Crackie showed their little bundles of lunch and Peetie and Jackie said:

"Oh, dear! We wish we could bring our lunch. We'll do it tomorrow!"

"Then we'll all have a regular picnic!" exclaimed Crackie.

So on the beaver children went to the hollow-stump school, and along the way they met more of their friends, all of whom thought it was just the finest idea in the world to carry a lunch, and they all said—from Sammie and Susie Littletail, the rabbits, down to Jollie and Jillie Longtail, the mousie boy and girl—they all said that, the next day, they were going to do as Toodle and Noodle and Crackie had done, and bring something to eat for the noon recess.

"Ding-dong!" went the last bell, and all the animal children scampered into the hollow stump and took their seats, while Miss Lady Bug, the teacher played on the tin-pan piano so they could sing the morning song.

Then Professor Rat heard the lessons, and some of the pupils went up head, and some went down foot, for there was not room at the head of the class for all of them, you see.

Well, when noon time came all the animal children, except Toodle and Noodle and Crackie hurried home to get their dinners. But the little beavers took their packages of lunch and went out in a small grove of trees back of the hollow stump school. There, sitting on their broad, flat tails, which were like stools to them, with the brown leaves rustling all around, and a sweet, spicy smell coming up from the earth, they ate the lunches their mamma had put up for them.

And oh! How good everything tasted! Really twice as good as if they had gone home and had sat down to the table to eat.

Pretty soon Noodle said: "I'm going off in the woods a little way and see if I can find any chestnut trees. If I can, I'll tell Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the squirrels, and after school they can climb up and get the nuts. Come on, Toodle."

"Oh, I don't want to," spoke the other little beaver boy. "I haven't quite finished my lunch yet."

"I'll go with you," said Crackie to Noodle. "I've finished eating and I'd like to look for chestnut trees."

"All right, come on, little sister," said Noodle, and taking Crackie's paw in his, so she wouldn't fall and break her nose, off they started. Mind, I'm not saying for sure that Crackie would have fallen and broken her nose, but it might have happened, mightn't it?

That left Toodle all alone eating his lunch there in the grove of trees. He was taking his time about it, and thinking that pretty soon he would be through, and could go off and meet his sister and brother, when, all at once, he heard a bird singing in the tree over his head.

And it was such a sad song which the bird sang that Toodle felt the tears coming into his eyes, though he did not quite know why. The bird sang about how summer had gone, and all the pretty leaves were falling off the trees, and how soon it would be cold and icy, and nearly everyone would freeze. Brr-r-r-r!

"And I shall have to fly far, far away from here," sang the bird, most sadly.

"Oh, dear me!" cried Toodle. "I wonder why I feel so badly?"

Then the bird, looking down, and seeing how sad Toodle was, chirped once or twice and said:

"Oh, excuse me, Toodle, I did not mean to make you feel so badly. Wait, I will sing a different kind of song."

Then the bird sang about how nice it is in winter, with no mosquitoes to bite you, and how lovely the snow looks as it sifts down, and what jolly fun it is to go sleigh riding and skating, and how much fun it is to make snow men, and then how, in the middle of the night, Santa Claus comes riding over the housetops with his reindeer and their jingling bells—and all that, until Toodle cried out:

"Oh, winter is the jolliest time of all! I'm glad winter is coming. And anyhow, Singing Bird, you can come back here in the spring!"

"Yes, I suppose I can," said the bird. And then she suddenly cried out: "Oh, dear! I dropped it!"

"Dropped what?" asked Toodle, as he heard something fall.

"My pocketbook," answered the singing bird. "It had all my money in it, and my airship ticket to go down South. I had it in my claw, but I dropped it and it fell into that pond of water, and now I can't go away and I'll freeze to death. Oh, dear! My lost pocketbook!"

"Ha! So your pocketbook fell into the water, did it?" asked Toodle, looking at a little pond that was near where he had eaten his lunch. "Well, don't worry," he went on to the bird. "I am a good swimmer, and I just love to go into the water. I'll get your pocketbook back for you!"

With that into the pond he dived, and, reaching down under water with his front paws, Toodle brought up the singing bird's pocketbook.

Then Toodle swam with it out on dry land, and the money was all safe and so was the airship ticket to go down South, and the bird was so thankful that she sang another song for Toodle.

And, just as it was about finished, what should happen but that out of the woods came a bad old wolf, sneaking along to get Toodle, who was so interested in the bird's song that he never noticed the bad creature.

Nearer and nearer came the wolf, and then the bird saw him, and she knew he was after Toodle, and the bird cried out:

"Come, friends! Come, all you birds! Help save Toodle from the wolf!"

Then about a thousand birds that were going South to spend the winter where it was warm and sunny, came flying along, and they fluttered all about that wolf, and they pricked him and nipped him all over, from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, so that the wolf was glad enough to run back to his den and let Toodle alone.

Then the beaver boy thanked the birds very kindly, and they sang him a little good-by song, and away they flew to be gone until spring. Then Noodle and Crackie came back, having found a chestnut tree, and the noon recess was over, and all the animal children had to go back in school.

But they had lots of fun there, for Professor Water Rat told them some jolly stories, and Miss Lady Bug, the teacher, sang a little song, so that Toodle and Noodle Flat-tail, the beavers, were quite happy.

And so we will say good-by to them while they are having such a good time. For we have come to the end of this book. There is no more room in it for any more stories.

But I am going to make another book next year, and in that I am going to put some stories of little sheep, who had the most jolly times you can think of in the green meadow by the sparkling brook.

The new book will be called: "Bedtime Stories, Dottie and Willie Lambkin," and I hope you will like it. So, until I can get that book ready, I will say just what you said to Toodle and Noodle Flat-tail—and that is—"Good-bye!"

The End