mrs. muskrat owned a beautiful home of her own on the edge of the mill-pond. she had built the house years ago, and had kept it in the best of repair. it was cleverly concealed at a point where tufts of grass and overhanging bushes afforded protection, and at the same time it was well out in the pond, quite inaccessible to mrs. muskrat's enemies.
the roof rose like an inverted bowl over a circular wall of mud and sticks; and so neatly were the straws and sticks matted over the top that the house seemed at first glance to be but an accidental confusion of dried leaves and old branches. this was as it should be, for mrs. muskrat, like many persons of good taste, preferred to have a home of interior elegance and ease to one with merely a showy exterior.
it was autumn and mrs. muskrat was congratulating herself upon her well filled larder and the prospects of a comfortable winter.
"i am always glad," she would say to the neighbor that happened in, "i am always glad that i moved down here from that upper pond when i did. it was a poor place to live and one was in constant danger of the water's being drawn off. those farmers are so inconsiderate you can never tell when they will take it into their heads to drain the meadows, and then it is all up with us poor creatures."
she would then continue her narrative, after the manner of many people who take interest in no affairs but their own, and would probably burden her caller with the full account of how she had prevailed upon her husband, the young dr. muskrat, to leave the shallows of the upper home and set up for himself on the edges of the deep and permanent mill-pond.
"and," she would always conclude, "a mill-pond is so very much more aristocratic—not to mention a much better growth of provisions. personally, i love deep water, and the sound of the mill-wheel is dear to my heart. no; i shall never go back to the upper pond."
always the neighbors knew that mrs. muskrat, in alluding to the elegance of the mill-pond society, was, in point of fact, repudiating her poor relations, who had gone on living in the distant meadows. for, like many people who move to the town and prosper, waxing fat and successful, she was given to a feeling of pity that sounded a good deal like contempt for the poor relatives back in the country.
little did she realize what the winter was to bring forth as she swam in and out of her front door, crossing to the opposite shores and back, always bringing the tenderest roots and lily stalks for her winter provisions. she was very content with the world, although she regretted the departure of her best friend, mrs. thrush, whose nest was in the alders almost over her very head, and she was sorry that the turtles had found it necessary to retire into the deep mud for their winter's sleep.
the sun was bright, however, and cheerful sounds came from the fields where men were loading pumpkins into the farm wagon, and from the orchards came the laughter of merry boys gathering apples. this drew her attention to the old, neglected tree which grew on the bank of the pond. its fruit was bright, and there was much of it, but it hung high.
"if only there comes a good brisk wind to-night," she thought, "those apples will blow to the ground; and i can think of nothing more to my taste than a bit of fresh fruit."
hardly had she indulged these pleasant thoughts of good eating, when she was surprised to see a visitor approaching her house. it was none other than the leanest and poorest of her cousins from the upper pond. something in his presence told her of trouble to come. and her first question was not at all too polite.
"why, what on earth are you down here for?" exclaimed mrs. muskrat. "haven't you anything to do at home? i should think you would be busy putting in your own winter stores."
before she could get any further, her lanky cousin interrupted her.
"yes, yes; you would naturally think, cousin flattail, that we would be as busy as you are. but we have no longer any home to store things in, and we are at the edge of winter with starvation ahead of us. farmer jones drew the pond off yesterday. already the shores of our poor meadow are drained of every drop. our house is high and dry and we shall freeze to death if we stay in it."
with that they both looked up, for in the quiet society of the mill-pond a great confusion reigned.
all the poor relations were coming down from the upper meadows! cousins, uncles, aunts, and brothers-in-law. it was an invasion—muskrats big and muskrats little.
mrs. muskrat gave one look and then bobbed down into the water and rushed through her house to lock the back door, scuttling again to the front to secure her main entrance by seating herself directly across it.
"there now!" she chattered angrily. "i'll watch any of you get into this house!"
for in the confusion of things people are often more distracted than need be, and mrs. muskrat was behaving very ugly and selfish because she hadn't taken time to think. all her neighbors behaved in much the same way at first; but when they saw the poor little baby cousins and reflected upon what this misfortune meant to the children, their hearts softened, and one by one the doors were opened, and the families invited in different ways to make the best of it. they must all live through the winter somehow.
but what they thought was going to be the season of the greatest hardship turned out to be the most brilliant winter that the muskrats had ever known, and the cousins all concluded that they never before had really appreciated one another.
most exceptional, indeed, was mrs. flattail muskrat's good luck, for she chose to live with her the cleverest of her nephews, the lively little skinny muskrat, who proved to be a wonderful musician. every evening of the long winter they had delightful parties and dances in the snug quarters of their homes. all about them would be solid ice, and overhead, around the roofs, the driven, packed snow; but within, where all was warm and snug, there was the greatest merriment.
little skinny muskrat was in great demand. his aunt always went with him out to supper or to spend the evening. and it was surprising how much more she got out of her neighbors than ever she had enjoyed at their tables before the adoption of this charming nephew.
it was the usual thing to say after supper: "and now won't skinny give us some music? he plays so beautifully on his toe-nails!"
so the obliging skinny would blow through his nails and produce the scratchiest and most exciting dance tunes in the world.
so eagerly was his society sought, that mrs. muskrat at last hit upon the idea of inviting her neighbors in, but with the hint that they bring their suppers with them. this was the crowning achievement of her thrift, and she never ceased to congratulate herself upon having thought of it. for her house was full of food from top to bottom, and she became the most popular person in the happy group of muskrat society.
but winter melted very slowly into spring. and the provisions for everybody were growing low. day after day muskratdom peeped out into the cold world that was still black and gray. not a sign of anything green; not even a bluebird in the orchards. little by little the muskrats grew thinner and it was harder to be gay. at last, just as they were wondering why they had ever eaten so merrily, and ever been so prodigal with what they had, and several of the muskrat elders were up-braiding them roundly in an effort to put the blame on some one, what should they hear but a robin! and in a few days the cowslips began to show the green tips of their leaves. then at last the grass on the edge of the pond showed sweet and green where it had lived all winter under the heavy snows.
their hard times were over! and in all the general rejoicing, nothing gave them greater happiness than to think they had all weathered it together.
nor was mrs. muskrat sorry to hear of the immediate marriage of her nephew skinny with one of the prettiest little lady muskrats in the mill-pond. she was thereby able to congratulate herself again. this time as a matchmaker. and so long as mrs. muskrat could be thinking of how clever, or how thrifty, she was, her happiness was complete.
but you may judge of her neighbors' surprise when she left her snug house in the mill-pond and went back with skinny and his wife, and many of the relatives who moved to the meadows. something told her that the roots and the grasses and the tender bulbs would be engagingly delicious when the waters came back on the meadows; and she was a wise old muskrat, for those who went back lived a long summer on the fat of the land. here again she felt the wisdom of her course, and she ventured to be truly hospitable by urging her adopted relatives to return with her, upon the approach of winter, to the deep, warm pond.
that is why there is both a winter and a summer residence in the highest society the world over. it is a sad lot for the muskrats who have not both a pond and an upper meadow to enjoy suitably and in season, as the good earth intends it to be enjoyed. but this last remark is a bit of wisdom from the mouth of mr. owl, and we must credit him with it.
