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Tale of Frisky Squirrel

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<h2>XV</h2><h3>Helpful Mr. Crow</h3></div> Frisky Squirrel’s mother had often told him not to have anything to do with Mr. Crow. “He’s such a tricky old fellow!” she said. “He seems to have nothing to do but get folks into trouble. Don’t go near him, and don’t have anything to say to him.” Now, I’m sure Frisky Squirrel wanted to mind his mother. But he couldn’t help feeling that she was mistaken about Mr. Crow. He was so solemn, and he always looked so like a preacher—for he usually wore shiny, black clothes—that Frisky Squirrel thought him a very nice old[Pg 73] gentleman. And he told such interesting stories, too! Frisky could listen to him by the hour. So, in spite of his mother’s warnings, whenever he met Mr. Crow Frisky Squirrel would always stop and ask the old gentleman how his cold was. You see, Mr. Crow’s voice was never what you would call clear. You might say that there was a decided croak in it. And very often, even on hot summer days, he would have a muffler wound about his throat. It happened that one day when Frisky came across Mr. Crow in the woods, something reminded Mr. Crow that he knew where there were plenty of butternuts—just waiting to be eaten. “Is that so?” Frisky exclaimed. “Have you had some of them?” “No! I don’t care for butternuts,” Mr. Crow said, with a slight cough. “I’ve always[Pg 74] considered them bad for my throat. I’ve made it a rule never to eat them. You don’t happen to like them, do you?” Now, if there was one thing that Frisky Squirrel liked a little better than anything else, it was butternuts. And when he answered Mr. Crow’s question he was so excited that his voice shook just the least bit. “I’m very fond of them,” he said. “Well, well!” Mr. Crow exclaimed. “I’m glad I happened to mention the matter. They’re there—heaps of ’em—great brown piles of ’em—thousands of ’em!” “Where are they?” Frisky asked him eagerly. “Oh—I thought I told you,” Mr. Crow said. “Why—they’re in Farmer Green’s attic. His boy put them up there to dry. I saw them through the window, this very day.” Frisky Squirrel was disappointed.[Pg 75] “I mustn’t go to Farmer Green’s house,” he said. “Pooh! Why not?” asked Mr. Crow. “It isn’t safe. I went there once to get some cake, and I nearly lost my life in the kitchen.” “Ah! But this is different,” Mr. Crow explained. “You don’t have to go into the kitchen at all. All you have to do is to climb that big tree close by the house. And you can hop right through the attic window. There’s nobody upstairs in the daytime. In fact, I should call it one of the safest places to go that I know of.” When Mr. Crow said that, Frisky believed him. Mr. Crow was so old, and so wise, and so solemn, that Frisky thought that anything he said must be true. “I’m going past Farmer Green’s house right now,” Mr. Crow told Frisky. “I have a little matter to attend to over in the[Pg 76] cornfield. And if you want to come along with me I don’t mind stopping to show you where the butternuts are. But of course if you’re afraid—” Mr. Crow stopped to cough. He buttoned his coat closer around his throat. And then he looked sideways at Frisky Squirrel. “Afraid!” Frisky exclaimed. “I’m not afraid at all.” “Good!” said Mr. Crow. “Now, then, young fellow! You skip along over to Farmer Green’s and I’ll be waiting for you down the road a bit.” Old Mr. Crow flapped himself away then. And Frisky Squirrel hurried off in a straight line for the farmhouse. <div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> <ANTIMG src='images/illus-057.png' alt='300' title='' /> </div> <hr class='major' /> <div class='figcenter' style='width: 300px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> <ANTIMG src='images/illus-059.png' alt='300' title='' /> </div> <div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> [Pg 77] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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