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SLEEPY-TIME
THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
ILLUSTRATED BY HARRY L. SMITH
1916
[Illustration: Sandy Was So Startled That He Dropped the Eggs]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I SANDY'S NAME
II SOMETHING IN THE SKY
III THE BROKEN EGG
IV BUILDING A HOUSE
V MRS. CHIPMUNK IS GLAD
VI SAMPLES OF WHEAT
VII UNCLE SAMMY'S STORE
VIII THE BASKET OF CORN
IX WORKING FOR MR. CROW
X MR. CROW SCOLDS SANDY
XI THE MAIL-BOX
XII SANDY GETS A LETTER
XIII A RIDE TO THE MILLER'S
XIV A LUCKY ACCIDENT
XV THE ROWDY OF THE WOODS
XVI ROWDY RUNS AWAY
XVII CORN-PLANTING TIME
XVIII SANDY LIKES MILK
XIX WHAT THE OLD COW DID
ILLUSTRATIONS
SANDY WAS SO STARTLED THAT HE DROPPED THE EGGS
MRS. CHIPMUNK WENT TO THE DOOR WITH SANDY
HE DROPPED THE GRAIN IN FRONT OF UNCLE SAMMY
UNCLE SAMMY SEARCHED HIS SHELVES CAREFULLY
"HERE'S A LETTER FOR ME!" SAID SANDY CHIPMUNK
FARMER GREEN'S CAT LEAPED OUT OF THE DOORWAY
THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK
I
SANDY'S NAME
In the first place, no doubt you will want to learn why he was known as Sandy. Many others, before you, have wondered how Sandy Chipmunk came by his name.
Whenever any one asked Sandy himself why he was so called, he always said that he was in too great a hurry to stop to explain. And it is a fact that of all the four-footed folk in Pleasant Valley—and on Blue Mountain as well—he was one of the busiest. He was a great worker. And when he played—as he sometimes did—he played just as hard as he worked.
In spite of his being so busy, there may have been another reason why he never would tell any one why he was named Sandy. Jimmy Rabbit was the first to suggest that perhaps Sandy Chipmunk didn't know.
Jimmy and some of his neighbors were sunning themselves in Farmer Green's pasture one day. And while they were idling away the afternoon Sandy Chipmunk scurried past on top of the stone wall, with his cheek-pouches full of nuts.
"There goes Sandy Chipmunk!" Jimmy Rabbit exclaimed. He called to Sandy. But Sandy did not stop. He made no answer, either, beyond a flick of his tail. You see, his mouth was so full that he couldn't say a word.
"I was going to ask him about his name," Jimmy Rabbit remarked. "I've almost made up my mind that he doesn't know any more about it than anybody else."
"Probably he doesn't," Fatty Coon agreed. "But it's easy to see why he's called Sandy. He likes to dig in the sandy soil in this pasture."
"I don't agree with you," Billy Woodchuck said. "I think he was named
Sandy on account of his yellowish, reddish, brownish color."
Some of the others thought that Billy might have guessed the right answer. But Frisky Squirrel told them that that wasn't the reason at all.
"It's because he's plucky," he declared. "You know, gritty is the same as plucky. And sandy is the same as gritty. That's the reason," Frisky said. "It's plain as the nose on your face." He was looking straight at Tommy Fox as he said that.
Now, Tommy Fox had a very long nose. And he became angry at once. His face would have grown red, probably, if it hadn't been that color always.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" he snapped.
Old Mr. Crow, who sat in a tree nearby, nodded his head.
"You're all wrong," he told them. "The reason for calling that young
Chipmunk boy Sandy is because his real name is Alexander. And everybody
who knows anything at all knows that Sandy is just a short way of saying
Alexander."
When they heard that, Fatty Coon and Billy Woodchuck and Frisky Squirrel looked foolish. People thought Mr. Crow was a wise old gentleman. And when he said a thing was so, that usually settled it.
"Here he comes again!" Mr. Crow said.
They all looked around. And sure enough! there was Sandy Chipmunk, hurrying along the top of the wall, to get more nuts to store away for the winter.
"Wait a moment!" Mr. Crow called to him. "I want to tell you something."
Sandy Chipmunk came to a halt and sat up on top of a stone, with his tail curled over his back.
"Talk fast, please!" he said. "I'm in a great hurry. Winter will be here before you know it. And I want to store away a great many nuts before somebody else gathers them all."
"I won't keep you long," Mr. Crow told him. "It's about your name—"
"I've no time to stop to explain," Sandy Chipmunk interrupted. "As I said, I'm very busy to-day." And he started to scamper along the wall again.
Once more Mr. Crow stopped him.
"You don't understand," he said. "I don't want to ask you anything. I want to tell you something."
"Oh!" said Sandy. "That's different. What is it?"
"It's quite a joke," Mr. Crow said. And he laughed loudly. "These young fellows here have been trying to tell one another why you're called Sandy. One of 'em says it's because you like to dig in the sandy soil; and another says it's because of your color; and still another claims it's because you're plucky. But I tell 'em it's because your real name is Alexander. And of course I'm right," said old Mr. Crow.
Sandy Chipmunk smiled. And then he started off again. And again Mr. Crow stopped him.
"Quite a joke on these youngsters—isn't it?" he inquired.
"You told me you didn't want to ask me anything," Sandy Chipmunk reminded him. "But I will say this—though I am in a great hurry: So far as I know, you are all of you right. And that's a joke on you, Mr. Crow."
Then Sandy Chipmunk scampered off. And everybody laughed—except Mr.
Crow.
"Alexander Chipmunk is a very pert young man," he grumbled.
II
SOMETHING IN THE SKY
When Sandy Chipmunk was just a little chap his mother began to teach him to take care of himself. She told him that among other enemies he must always watch out for foxes and minks and weasels—especially weasels.
"They are very dangerous," Mrs. Chipmunk said.
"Well, I'll always be safe if I climb a tree—won't I?" Sandy asked her.
"Goodness, no!" his mother replied. "There are many big birds—such as hawks and owls and eagles—that would catch you if they could…. But I'll tell you about them some other time, Sandy."
Well, Sandy Chipmunk went out to play. But he didn't have what you would call a good time, because he couldn't help thinking of his mother's warning. He kept looking all around to see whether a weasel or a mink or a fox might be trying to steal up behind him. And he kept looking up to make sure that no big bird was ready to swoop down upon him.
But nothing of the sort happened—at least, not until the middle of the afternoon. Sandy had begun to believe that his mother was too timid. He did not think there was anything in Farmer Green's pasture to be afraid of. There were the cows—nothing seemed to worry them. They ate grass, or chewed their cuds, and never once looked behind them.
Sandy Chipmunk wandered further and further from home. For a long time he had not taken the trouble to look at the sky. But at last he glanced up. And to his great alarm he saw, hovering in the air far above him, an enormous creature. He had never seen its like before. It seemed all head and tail. Two great eyes stared at Sandy Chipmunk and sent a chill of fear over him. The monster's wide mouth grinned at him cruelly. And its long tail lashed back and forth as if its owner were very angry. Even as Sandy looked at the creature it gave a horrid scream.
Sandy Chipmunk did not wait for anything else. He turned and ran home. And a few of his friends who happened to see him remarked that he seemed to be in a greater hurry than ever.
Sandy felt better when he found himself safe in his mother's house. And he told Mrs. Chipmunk what he had seen.
"It may be an owl," he said, "because it has big, round eyes. But its tail was not like any owl's tail that I ever saw. It was like six catamounts' tails, all tied in knots."
"That's queer!" his mother remarked. "I never knew of a bird with a tail like that."
"Maybe it's a beast that has learned to fly," Sandy suggested.
"Beasts can't fly," Mrs. Chipmunk said.
But Sandy knew better than that.
"There's the Flying-Squirrel family," he reminded her.
"They can only fly from one tree to another," his mother told him. "I think I'll peep out and see for myself what this strange creature looks like."
He begged her not to. But Mrs. Chipmunk said she would be careful. And she went out and looked up at the sky.
Sandy was surprised when she came back laughing.
"What is it, Mother?" he asked. "Is it a bird or a beast?"
"Neither!" Mrs. Chipmunk answered with a smile.
"Then it must be a fish!" Sandy exclaimed.
"No! It's not a fish, either," his mother said. "It's nothing but a kite that Johnnie Green has made. He has painted eyes and a mouth on it. And I must say that if I didn't know a kite when I saw one it might have frightened me."
"But what makes it lash its tail that way?" Sandy asked her.
"The wind is blowing it," Mrs. Chipmunk explained.
"What made it scream?" Sandy inquired.
"It didn't," his mother replied.
[Illustration: Mrs. Chipmunk Went to the Door with Sandy]
Now, Sandy Chipmunk knew better than to contradict his mother. So all he said was this:
"Let's go outside and listen!"
Still smiling, Mrs. Chipmunk went to the door again with Sandy. And pretty soon they heard a long, far-off wail.
"There!" he cried. "That's it! Don't you hear it, Mother?"
"That—" Mrs. Chipmunk said—"that is nothing but the whistle of an engine, way down at the other end of Pleasant Valley."
III
THE BROKEN EGG
Nuts and grains were what Sandy Chipmunk ate more than anything else. But sometimes when he could not find enough of those, or when he wanted a change of food, he would eat almost any sort of berry, and apples and pears as well. Tomatoes, too, he liked once in a while. And he was very fond of sunflower seeds. He would not refuse a fat insect, either, if it flew his way. But these were not the only dainties that Sandy thought good. There was something else—something to be found in trees—for which Sandy sometimes hunted. And before he came home, after finding what he was looking for, he always wiped his mouth with great care.
If you had ever seen him wiping his mouth like that, you might have guessed that Sandy Chipmunk had been eating birds' eggs. And the reason he was so careful to remove all signs of his feast was because he did not want his mother to know what he had been doing.
Now you have heard the worst there is to know about Sandy Chipmunk.
To you it may seem odd that Mrs. Chipmunk did not think it wrong to rob birds' nests. And now you know the worst about her.
Sandy's mother liked eggs just as much as he did. But her son was such a little fellow that she was afraid he might get hurt climbing trees and looking for eggs. She told him that some day some bird might surprise him when he was enjoying a meal of her eggs, and peck out one or two of his eyes.
"Keep away from the nests!" Mrs. Chipmunk said.
But Sandy had had too many tastes of birds' eggs. He simply couldn't resist eating a few eggs now and then. Of course, when he did that he disobeyed his mother. And of course, if she had known it she would have punished him.
As the spring days sped past, the birds that lived in Farmer Green's pasture grew very angry with Sandy Chipmunk. You see, it was not long before they discovered who it was that was robbing their nests now and then.
"You'd better leave birds' eggs alone!" Mr. Crow warned him one day. "A number of my friends have told me what they're going to do to you, if they catch you near their nests."
But Sandy told Mr. Crow to keep his advice to himself.
"What about Farmer Green's corn?" Sandy asked the old gentleman. "I've heard that Farmer Green is looking for you with a gun."
Mr. Crow didn't even answer him. He just flew away. There were some things he didn't like to talk about.
That very afternoon Sandy Chipmunk spied a robin's nest in a tree not far from where he lived. And in less time than it takes to tell it, he had climbed the tree and run out on the limb where the nest rested.
Sandy Chipmunk smiled as he peered into the robin's nest. The four greenish-blue eggs that he saw there looked very good to him. And he smacked his lips—though his mother had often told him not to. He was just picking the eggs out of the nest when he heard a rustle in the leaves over his head. And Sandy Chipmunk looked up quickly.
It seemed to him, at first, that the air was full of monstrous birds. Actually, there were only three of them—Mr. and Mrs. Robin and a neighbor of theirs. But to Sandy they looked six times as big as they really were. That was because they had caught him robbing the nest.
He was so startled that he dropped the eggs. They fell back into the nest—all except one, which broke upon the ground beneath the tree.
"Robber!" Mrs. Robin screamed.
"Thief!" Mr. Robin roared.
"Villain!" their neighbor cried.
It is a wonder they didn't fly straight at Sandy and knock him off the limb.
At first he was too frightened to say a word. But when he saw that he wasn't hurt, Sandy looked down at the broken egg and said:
"What a pity!" He meant it, too. For he thought it was a shame to waste a perfectly good egg like that, when he might have eaten it.
"You don't mean you're sorry, do you?" Mrs. Robin asked him.
"Certainly I am!" Sandy told her. "I was just counting your eggs. And when you startled me, I dropped that one. I thought it must be a hawk, you all made such a noise."
"You're sure you weren't going to eat our eggs?" Mr. Robin inquired.
"Eat them!" Sandy exclaimed. "Why, my mother has often told me not to eat birds' eggs."
When he heard that, Mr. Robin whispered something to his wife. And then he said to Sandy Chipmunk:
"You go home! And don't let me catch you around this tree again!"
Sandy was glad to escape so easily as that. And though he was sorry to have missed a good meal, there was one thing that made him almost happy: He didn't have to bother to wipe his mouth before he let his mother see him.
IV
BUILDING A HOUSE
There came a day when Sandy Chipmunk decided that he was old enough and big enough to make a house of his own. He was not the sort of person to think and think about a thing and put off the doing of it from one day to another. So the moment the idea of a house popped into his head Sandy Chipmunk began hunting for a good place to dig.
It was not long before he found a bit of ground that seemed to him the very best spot for a home that any one could want.
The place where he intended to make his front door was in the middle of a smooth plot among some beech trees. Farmer Green's cows had clipped the grass short all around. And Sandy knew that he could have a neat dooryard without being obliged to go to the trouble of cutting the grass himself. But what he liked most of all about the place was that as he stood there he could look all around in every direction. That was just what he wanted, because whenever he wished to leave his new house he would be able to peep out and see whether anybody was waiting to catch him.
So Sandy Chipmunk took off his little, short coat, folded it carefully, and laid it down upon the grass. Then he pulled off his necktie and unbuttoned his collar. Just because he was going to dig in the ground there was no reason why he should get his clothes dirty.
After that Sandy Chipmunk set to work. And you should have seen how he made the earth fly. When night came and he had to stop working there was a big heap of dirt beneath the beech trees, to show how busy Sandy had been. There was a big hole in the pasture, too. But it was nothing at all, compared with the hole Sandy had dug by the time he had finished his house.
Every morning Sandy Chipmunk came back to the grove of beech trees to work upon his new house. And it was not many days before his burrow was so deep that when winter came the ground about his chamber would not freeze. It was what Farmer Green would have called "below frost-line."
You must not think it was an easy matter for Sandy Chipmunk to dig a home. You must remember that somehow he had to bring the dirt out of his tunnel to the top of the ground. And he did that by pushing it ahead of him with his nose.
You may laugh when you hear that. But for Sandy Chipmunk it was no laughing matter. If he had laughed, just as likely as not he would have found his mouth full of dirt. And you can understand that that wouldn't have been very pleasant.
As it was, his face was very dirty. But he never went back to his mother's house until he had washed it carefully, just as a cat washes her face.
Sometimes Sandy found stones in his way, down there beneath the pasture. And those he had to push up, too. Sometimes a stone was too big to crowd through the opening into the world outside. And then Sandy had to make the opening bigger. After he had done that, and pushed the stone out upon his dirt-pile, he would make his doorway smaller again by packing earth firmly into it.
You must not suppose that when Sandy brought the loose dirt and stones up through his doorway he left them there. Not at all! He pushed all the litter some distance away. And whenever he turned, to scamper down into his burrow again, he would kick behind him, as hard as he could, to scatter the dirt still further from his new house.
After Sandy had made himself a chamber where he could sleep, and where he could store enough food to last him throughout the winter, any one would naturally imagine that his house was finished. But Sandy Chipmunk was not yet satisfied with his new home. There was still something else that he wanted to do to it.
V
MRS. CHIPMUNK IS GLAD
After Sandy Chipmunk had dug his chamber underneath Farmer Green's pasture, he liked the inside of his house quite well. But the looks of the outside did not please him at all. He wanted a neat dooryard. And how could he have that, with that yawning hole through which he had pushed earth and stones, which still littered the grass a little distance away?
Luckily, Sandy knew exactly what to do. So he set to work to close the big work-hole. It was no easy task—as you can believe. But at last he managed to pack the hole full of dirt.
Then he had no door at all. And there he was in the dark, inside the hall that led to his chamber and storeroom. But that did not worry Sandy. You see, he knew just what he was about. And before long he had dug a new doorway—a small, neat, round hole, which you would probably have walked right past, without noticing it, it was so hard to see in the grass that grew thickly about it.
You might think that at last Sandy's house was finished. But he was not satisfied with it until he had made still another doorway, in the same fashion. He knew that it was safer to have an extra door through which he could slip out when some enemy was entering by the other one. Then Sandy Chipmunk's house was finished. And he was greatly pleased with it.
But his work was not yet done. He had to furnish his chamber. So he began to hunt about for dry leaves, to make him a bed. These he stuffed into his cheek-pouches and carried into his house. But he didn't march proudly up to one of his two doors. Oh, no! He reached it by careful leaps and bounds. And when he left home again he was particular to go in the same manner in which he had come.
It made no difference which of his doors Sandy used. He always came and went like that, because he didn't want to wear a path to either of his two doors or tramp down the grass around them. If he had been so careless as to let people notice where he lived he would have been almost sure to have enemies prowling about his house. And if a weasel had happened to see one of Sandy's neat doorways he would have pushed right in, in the hope of finding Sandy inside his house.
In that case the weasel would probably have pushed out again, with Sandy inside him. So you can understand that Sandy Chipmunk had the best of reasons for being careful.
After he had made a soft, warm bed for himself, Sandy set to work to gather nuts and grain, to store in his house and eat during the winter. He was particular to choose only well cured (or dried) food, for he knew that that was the only sort that would keep through the long winter, down in his underground storeroom.
He gathered other food, too, besides nuts and grain. Near Farmer Green's house he found some plump sunflower seeds, which he added to his store. Then there were wild-cherry pits, too, which the birds had dropped upon the ground. All these, and many other kinds of food, found their way into Sandy Chipmunk's home.
Much as he liked such things to eat—and especially sunflower seeds—he never ate a single nut or grain or seed while he gathered them for his winter's food. And when you stop to remember that he had to carry everything home in his mouth, you can see that Sandy Chipmunk had what is called self-control.
His mother had always told him that he couldn't get through a winter without that. And so, when Sandy brought her to see his new home, after it was all finished, and his bed was neatly made, and his storeroom full of food, Mrs. Chipmunk was delighted.
"I'm glad to see—" she said—"I'm glad to see that all my talking has done some good."
VI
SAMPLES OF WHEAT
There was so much said about Sandy Chipmunk's store of nuts and grain that a few of the forest-people began to wish they had some of Sandy's winter food for themselves. Uncle Sammy Coon, an old scamp who lived over near the swamp, was one of those who began to plan to get Sandy's hoard away from him.
It was the grain that Uncle Sammy wanted. If he had spent in honest work one-half the time he used in planning some trickery he would have been much better off. But he hated work more than anything else in the world.
Uncle Sammy Coon scarcely slept at all for several days, he was so busy thinking about Sandy's grain. And since he always passed his nights in wandering through the woods, he became almost ill.
The trouble was, Uncle Sammy was far too big to crawl inside Sandy's house. And he knew that the only way he could get at the grain was to persuade somebody to bring it outside for him.
At last he thought of a fine scheme. And as soon as it came into his head
he hobbled over to Sandy Chipmunk's home. I say hobbled, because Uncle
Sammy had a lame knee. He always claimed that he was injured in battle.
But almost every one knew that he hurt his knee one time when Farmer
Green caught him stealing a hen.
When he reached the pasture Uncle Sammy found Sandy Chipmunk just starting away to hunt for nuts.
[Illustration: He Dropped the Grain in Front of Uncle Sammy]
"Good morning!" the old fellow said. He spoke very pleasantly, though he was so sleepy that he felt disagreeable enough. "I've come over to buy something from your store."
"My store!" Sandy Chipmunk exclaimed.
"Yes!" said Uncle Sammy Coon. "I've heard you have a store here with a heap of nuts and grain to sell."
Now, it had never occurred to Sandy Chipmunk to sell any of the food he had gathered for the winter. But when Uncle Sammy put the idea in his head Sandy rather liked it.
"I have a fine stock, to be sure," he said. "The nuts are specially good.
How many would you like to buy?"
But Uncle Sammy Coon told him he didn't want any nuts.
"I never eat them," he said. "It's grain that I want. And I'll buy as much as you care to sell…. Bring a sample of it up here," he urged. "I'd like to see if it's as good as people say."
So Sandy Chipmunk darted into his house. And soon he appeared again with his cheek-pouches crammed full of wheat kernels.
"There!" he cried, when he had dropped the grain in front of Uncle Sammy.
"Just try a little of it! You'll agree with me that it's very fine."
Uncle Sammy not only tried a little. He gobbled up every single kernel.
"It seems to me to have a queer taste," he said. "Bring up some more!"
And Sandy scurried down into his house again, to bob up in a few moments with another sample of his grain.
Once more Uncle Sammy ate it all.
"It's a bit damp," he remarked, as he smacked his lips. "I hope it's not moldy…. You'd better let me see another sample."
Uncle Sammy declared the next heap of kernels to be altogether too dry. And he kept ordering Sandy to fetch more for him to "taste," as he called it. Some of the wheat he considered too ripe, and some too green. Some of the kernels—so he said—were too little, and others too big. And finally he even told Sandy Chipmunk that he was afraid Sandy was trying to sell him last year's wheat.
Now, Sandy knew that his wheat was fresh—all of it. So he went down and brought up still another load.
Uncle Sammy ate that more slowly, for by this time he had had a good meal.
"How do you like it?" Sandy asked him.
"It's fair," Uncle Sammy replied. "But I believe it's next year's wheat. And of course I wouldn't think of buying that kind…. I guess I can't trade with you, after all." And he started to hobble away.
When Sandy heard that, and saw the old fellow leaving, he began to scold.
"Aren't you going to pay me for what you've eaten?" he asked.
"What! Pay you for the samples?" Uncle Sammy asked. "I guess, young man, you don't know much about keeping a store. Nobody ever pays for samples." And he went away muttering to himself.
Sandy Chipmunk felt very sad. Uncle Sammy had eaten half his winter's supply of wheat.
Sandy was angry, too. And for several days he was busier than ever, trying to think of some way in which he could make Uncle Sammy Coon pay him.
VII
UNCLE SAMMY'S STORE
Not long after Uncle Sammy Coon ate half of Sandy Chipmunk's wheat without paying for it he seemed to grow lamer than ever. And he walked less than ever, too. A good many of the forest-folk said that he really wasn't any lamer—but he was lazier.
However that may have been, he began to stay at home a good deal of the time. And finally Sandy Chipmunk heard that Uncle Sammy had opened a store, in which he kept all sorts of good things to eat.
When Sandy learned that he lost no time in going over to Uncle Sammy's house near the swamp.
Sure enough! There he found Uncle Sammy sitting behind a long table. And behind him were shelves loaded with apples, pears, corn, nuts and many other kinds of food.
"I'd like to buy some nuts," Sandy Chipmunk told the old gentleman.
"Nuts?" said Uncle Sammy. "I have some fine nuts."
"Let me see a sample," Sandy said.
But Uncle Sammy never stirred.
"There they are, right on the shelf!" he said. "Look at them all you want to."
"I'll eat one and see how I like it," said Sandy Chipmunk.
But Uncle Sammy shook his head.
"No!" he replied. "That's the old-fashioned way of keeping a store. I don't give away any samples."
When Sandy heard that he was angrier than ever. And he wished he had never given Uncle Sammy any samples of his wheat. But he knew there was no use of appearing angry. So he smiled and asked:
"What is the price of your beechnuts?"
"For one handful, you will have to pay me an ear of corn," Uncle
Sammy said.
"I'll take a handful," said Sandy.
Still the old fellow never stirred.
"Where's your ear of corn?" he inquired.
"Oh! I'll give you that the next time I pass this way," said Sandy. And he made up his mind that he would take good care to keep away from Uncle Sammy's house.
But Uncle Sammy Coon was too sharp.
"That won't do at all," he said. "I must have the corn before I give you the nuts."
So Sandy Chipmunk stepped to the door.
"I'll come back soon," he said. And he ran all the way to Farmer Green's cornfield, to get an ear of green corn. And then he ran all the way back to Uncle Sammy's house.
"There!" Sandy said. "There's your ear of corn!" He laid it upon the table. "Now give me a handful of beechnuts."
"Step right in and help yourself," Uncle Sammy answered.
"No!" said Sandy. "You give me the nuts." He knew that Uncle Sammy's hands were much bigger than his own and would hold more nuts.
"I should think you might get them," the old scamp grumbled. "I've a lame knee, you know."
"But I said a 'handful'—not a 'kneeful,'" Sandy answered. "Of course, if you don't want this juicy ear of corn, there are others that would like it." He started to pick the ear of corn off the table when Uncle Sammy rose quickly.
"All right!" he cried. "But it's the old-fashioned way; and I don't like it." Then he gave Sandy a small handful of beechnuts.
Sandy Chipmunk ate them right on the spot. And he began to feel very happy. He had noticed that Uncle Sammy tossed the ear of corn into a basket which stood beneath the table. And the basket was full of corn. Sandy could reach it just as easily from the front of the table as Uncle Sammy could from behind it.
And Sandy Chipmunk had thought all at once of a way to get a good many nuts away from Uncle Sammy, to pay for all the wheat Uncle Sammy had eaten.
VIII
THE BASKET OF CORN
"What are those nuts on the top shelf?" Sandy Chipmunk asked Uncle
Sammy Coon.
Now, Uncle Sammy had been keeping store so short a time that he didn't exactly know what was on every one of his shelves. So he wheeled around and looked up. And as soon as his back was turned, Sandy Chipmunk reached down under the table and pulled an ear of corn out of the big basket.
"They're butternuts," Uncle Sammy said. "And they're the same price as the beechnuts."
"Give me one handful," Sandy said.
"Give you a handful—" Uncle Sammy snapped.
But Sandy Chipmunk smiled at him.
"I mean, sell me a handful," he explained. "And here's your ear of corn." It really was Uncle Sammy's ear of corn, you know—just as Sandy said.
But Uncle Sammy didn't know that. He didn't know it had come out of his own basket. So he threw it into the basket and set a handful of butternuts before Sandy Chipmunk.
Sandy was longer eating those, for the shells were harder and thicker than the beechnut shells. But in a little while he was ready for more.
"How about your chestnuts?" he asked.
And Uncle Sammy turned his back again.
"I have a few," he said.
"I'll buy a handful," Sandy told him, as he pulled another ear of corn out of the basket.
And after that Sandy bought hickory nuts and hazelnuts and walnuts.
"How about peanuts?" he asked then. "I've never eaten any; but I've heard they are very good."
Uncle Sammy stood up and searched his shelves very carefully. And while he was searching, Sandy Chipmunk took six ears of green corn out of the big basket under the table.
"I don't seem to have any peanuts," Uncle Sammy Coon said at last.
"Well—have you any nutmegs?" Sandy inquired.
And while Uncle Sammy was looking for nutmegs, Sandy Chipmunk slyly took six more ears from the basket. He had more corn now than he could carry. So he quickly tossed it out through the doorway.
[Illustration: Uncle Sammy Searched His Shelves Carefully]
Uncle Sammy Coon had to admit at last that he had no nutmegs. But Sandy kept him busy hunting for almonds and Brazil nuts and pecans, though he knew well enough that nothing of the sort grew in those woods.
By the time Uncle Sammy stopped looking there was no more corn left in his basket. But there was a great pile of corn on the ground just outside his door, where Sandy Chipmunk had thrown it.
Then Sandy said he must be going. And long before Uncle Sammy stirred out of his house Sandy had carried the corn away and hid it in a good, safe place. He thought that if he left it to dry it would make just as good food for winter as the wheat Uncle Sammy had eaten. And that was just what happened.
That night, long after Sandy Chipmunk had left the store, Uncle Sammy Coon had a great surprise. When he went to the basket, to get some green corn for his supper, there was not a single ear there.
"That's queer!" Uncle Sammy Coon exclaimed. "It was full this afternoon. And now there's not an ear left. I don't remember eating it." He thought deeply for a long time. And after a while he said to himself: "I wonder if it could have been that Chipmunk boy?" But he decided that Sandy was too small to have carried away all those big ears under his very nose. "I must have eaten it," he told himself. "I'm getting terribly forgetful."
And since he thought he had already had his supper, Uncle Sammy Coon went to bed without any supper at all.
IX
WORKING FOR MR. CROW
Old Mr. Crow had decided that he would not fly south to spend the winter. He said he was getting almost too old for such a long journey. And he remembered, too, that he had heard the weather was going to be mild that winter.
"There's just one thing that worries me," he told Aunt Polly Woodchuck one day, when he was talking the matter over with her. "I don't know what I shall have to eat."
"Why, you can sleep until spring, just as I do," Aunt Polly said. "Then you won't want anything to eat."
But Mr. Crow said he was a light sleeper and that he could no more sleep the whole winter long than Aunt Polly could fly.
"Then why don't you store up some corn, the way the squirrels do?" she asked him. There was one thing about Aunt Polly—she always had a remedy for everything.
"That's a good idea!" Mr. Crow told her. "Maybe I can get somebody to help me, too."
And that very day he went to Sandy Chipmunk and asked him if he didn't want to gather some food for him.
"How much will you pay me?" Sandy asked him.
"I'll give you half what you gather for me," said Mr. Crow. "And that's certainly fair, I'm sure. It's often done. And it's called 'working at the halves.'"
It seemed fair to Sandy Chipmunk, too.
"That's a bargain," he said. "I'll begin right away. Where do you want me to hide the food for you, Mr. Crow?"
Old Mr. Crow told Sandy to put it in his house in the top of the tall elm tree.
"I don't like to climb so high," Sandy objected. "You know I'm not so good a climber as Frisky Squirrel. He wouldn't mind climbing up to your house. But it might make me dizzy."
"Well," said Mr. Crow, "why don't you bring the food to the foot of my tree and get Frisky Squirrel to carry it to the top?"
"I'll do it," said Sandy Chipmunk—"if Frisky is willing." So he went off to find Frisky Squirrel, who proved to be much interested in the plan.
"How much will you pay me?" he asked Sandy Chipmunk.
"I suppose you ought to have half the food," Sandy said. "That's what
Mr. Crow is paying me."
Frisky Squirrel said that that seemed fair. So they set to work at once. And every time Sandy brought a load of food to the foot of the tall elm, where Mr. Crow lived, he found Frisky Squirrel waiting for him.
"Let's see—" Frisky said, when Sandy brought the first load—"since I'm to get half, I'll take everything you bring in your left cheek-pouch. And you can take what you bring in the right one."
Sandy Chipmunk said that that seemed fair. So each time he came to the elm he left with Frisky only what he carried in his left cheek-pouch. And before gathering more food he scampered home to store away his own share.
So the day passed. And when evening came, and the sun was dropping out of sight in the west, Sandy and Frisky decided they had worked long enough for Mr. Crow.
"Don't you suppose he has enough food by this time?" Sandy asked. He looked up at Mr. Crow's house. "We mustn't fill his house too full," he said. "He has to have room for himself, you know."
"I don't think he'll have any trouble getting inside it," Frisky
Squirrel answered.
"Well—I'm glad you helped me," Sandy told him. "If it didn't make me dizzy to climb so high I'd like to take a look at Mr. Crow's food. I hope he'll be pleased."
"I hope he will," Frisky Squirrel agreed.
Sandy Chipmunk noticed that Frisky Squirrel was smiling. But he thought that it was only because he was thinking about Mr. Crow, and how happy he would be.
"Let's wait here till he comes home," Sandy suggested.
But Frisky Squirrel said that he was going to bed early that night, because he expected to have a race with the sun the next morning.
"I'm going to try to beat him," he explained. "I'm going to see if I can't get up before he does."
So Frisky said good-night and left Sandy to wait for Mr. Crow alone.
X
MR. CROW SCOLDS SANDY
When he finally reached home, after Sandy Chipmunk had been working for him all day, Mr. Crow was feeling very pleasant. You know, he thought that his winter's food must be in his house. And that alone is enough to make any one happy. But what Mr. Crow liked most about his bargain was the fact that he wouldn't have to pay Sandy for his work. He had said to Sandy: "I'll agree to give you half what you gather for me." And Sandy Chipmunk had never stopped to think that that was not any pay at all. For he might have gathered the food for himself, and had all, instead of only half of it. As it was, Sandy Chipmunk was paying himself for working for Mr. Crow. And Mr. Crow seemed to be the only one that was wise enough to know it.
Mr. Crow dropped down upon the ground beside Sandy Chipmunk.
"Well," he said, "have you finished?"
"Yes!" Sandy answered. "And I hope you'll like what I've done. I'll wait here until you fly up to your house and look at the food."
"All right!" Mr. Crow told him. He flapped his big, black wings. And soon he had risen to the top of the tall elm.
Sandy watched him as he looked inside his house. At first Mr. Crow only stared—and said nothing. And then—to Sandy's astonishment—he began to scold.
"What's the trouble?" Sandy Chipmunk called.
"Trouble?" Mr. Crow cried, as he flew down again. "There's trouble enough. Why, you haven't kept your bargain!"