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AND OTHER BEDTIME STDRIES

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Snow parlor, and otherbedtime stories

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PUBLIC LIBRARYFORT WAYNE AND ALLEN COUNTY, IND.

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and Other Bedtime Stories

niEmmaEd Other Bedtime Stories

By ELIZABETH COATSWORTHIllustrated by Charles Robinson

' A WW. NORTON BOOKPublished by

GROSSET& DUNLAP. INCNew York

Text Copyright® 1971 by Elizabeth Coalsworth

Illustrations Copyright® 1971 by Charles Robinson

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 74-153923

ISBN 0-448-21416-4 (Trade Ed.)

ISBN 0-448-26186-3 (Library Ed.)

Published Simultaneously in Canada

All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America

1629409

NTENTIThe Snow Parlor

The Other Side of the Hill

The Porcupine's Dance

The Toymaker's Housekeeper

The Journey

OTHER BOOKS BY HLIZABtTH COATSWORTH

They Walk in the Night

Lighthouse Island

Cricket and the Emperor's Son

Troll Weather

The Place

The Cat Who Went to Heaven

Ronnie and the Chief's Son

Alice-All-By-Herself

The Captain's Daughter

The Cat and the Captain

The Little Haymakers

Sword of the Wilderness

Bess and the Sphinx

A way Goes Sally

The Fair A merican

Five Bushel Farm

The Wishing Pear

Boston Bells

Old Whirlwind

The Sod House

The Sparrow Bush

Poems

Summer Green

American Adventures

FOREWhen our two daughters were little, my husband,

Henry Beston, often told them stories. He told them on

picnics, he told them on rainy days, but most often he

told them at bedtime. It never took him a minute to think

up a story, but if he had written one down it would have

taken him a long time, because he always wrote very,

very carefully.

So, because I loved the stories, I wrote them down,

quickly, just as I remembered them. And sometimes I

wrote stories of my own. In this book three of the stories

are ones my husband told, and two are mine. Can you

guess which are which?

1971 E.C.

THE SNOW PARLORAND OTHIi;i{ UEDTIME STOWES

XHERE was once a little boy who was very anxious to

learn where the snow came from. So he asked a fox. But

the fox said:

''Gracious, Tm too busy hunting to pay any attention

to such things.''

And then he asked a squirrel. But the squirrel said:

''Now, that question is just like a boy! Mind your

business, and the snow will mind its business!"

Then he asked a snowbird, and the snowbird twittered

gently and cocked its small head and looked at the boy

with a bright, round eye and said:

"The best way, my child, is to see for yourself. Take

your skis to the top of that hill over there. It slopes down

to the edge of the world, and there you'll find out. I'll go

with you."

So the boy climbed the hill with the snowbird flying

beside him. And on the other side he found a gentle,

endless slope covered with fine snow, perfect for skiing.

So he traveled for many hours, without effort and

without pause, until he came to the end of the world and

saw before him a great mountain covered with snow,

shaped like a volcano. But, instead of hot lava spouting

from it, there arose from time to time from its crater a

huge fountain of snowflakes, which w^re caught by the

winds and sent now in one direction and now in another.

The snowbird, which had been traveling on the boy's

shoulder while he skied, now flew about his head twitter-

ing, ''Go and see, go and see."

As the boy approached the mountain, he came upon an

enormous number of small bears hurrying in and out

through a great entrance in the side of a cliff. Each

carried an ice-colored portfolio under its right forepaw

and seemed in a great hurry.

The little boy and the snowbird followed the line of

young bears into a marble corridor leading into the heart

of the mountain. At last they came to a great, hollowed-

out room whose ceiling opened into a huge funnel

through which they could see the sky. Directly under this

was a table made of white marble; and around it, in white

marble chairs, were seated big bears with scissors in their

paws working as fast as they could, cutting out snow-

flakes from the pieces of cold, white paper that the little

bears brought as fast as the big bears could use them.

Running bears, snipping scissors! And the pile of snow-

flakes in the middle of the table grew higher and higher.

At last the chief bear stopped his work and exclaimed:

''One to get ready.

Two to go.

Three, hold your breaths.

And now bears, BLOW!"As he said "blow" all the big bears and all the little

bears, too, leaned over the table with their cheeks puffed

out and blew and blew and blew; and the cut-out

snowflakes in the middle of the table rose, hesitated, and

floated up and up and out of the crater of the mountain to

the waiting winds.

''Cut," said the chief bear, and all the big bears began

to cut out snowflakes again, and all the little bears

continued running in with portfolios full of clean paper

and running out with empty portfolios to refill them

again, and the pile in the middle of the table began once

more heaping up and up.

"Now I understand," said the little boy, "and thank

you very much for letting me watch."

The bears all nodded gravely without speaking or

stopping their snipping for a moment, but the chief bear

cut out one very large snowflake.

''Hold on to this, sonny," he said in his big, booming

voice. ''All ready? Then, blow, bears, blow!"

The little boy felt himself lifted into the air, up and up

and up through the crater of the mountain, out into open

air, and away, away over the snow-covered hills. The 5

snowbird still flew and twittered beside him, and then —behold, far below he saw his own house among its trees.

At that moment, the great flake began slowly to melt at

the edges and sink, until the little boy stood safe and

sound on the walk leading to his house, while the snow

still fell about him, and the snowbird still twittered

cheerfully at his side.

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rHE OTSER SI

F TSE HILL

1

HERE was once a sizable pine tree that stood a little by

itself in a hilly pasture. Its shade made a fine place for the

cows and sheep to rest when they grew tired of eating

grass in the sun, and its branches were well shaped for

building nests. The rabbits, too, stopped in its shelter on

their way to the farmer's garden; and the squirrels raced

up and down its trunk and flung themselves gaily from

branch to branch. Altogether, the pine tree had a good

deal of company and heard a good deal of talk.

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One day a rabbit came hop-hop-hopping and stopped

in its special corner between two roots.

''Where have you been, rabbit?'' asked the tree polite-

ly.

'Tve just been over the hill to the next farm/' said the

rabbit. ''It's wonderful. Their lettuces are much finer

than the ones on our farm. Their house is larger; their

weather vane is brighter. Everything's much nicer on the

other side of the hill."

"I've always thought ours was a very fine farm," said

the pine tree a little stiffly.

Soon after that a bird settled in its branches.

''Where do you come from, stranger?" asked the pine

tree with its usual politeness.

''I come from the north:

Southward I fly —Over the hill

And into the sky!

Over the hill

And far away

To a starrier night

And a brighter day!"

sang the bird, who, like other birds, always talked in

poetry.

"I think very well of our own climate," said the pine

tree uneasily.

Soon a sheep came to lie in the shade, staring out

straight before her with her eyes like marbles.

''What are you thinking about, sheep?'' asked the pine

tree.

'Tm thinking how good the grass looks on the other

side of the hill," said the sheep, ''and I'm wondering if

the fence is too tight for me to get through it."

''I do wish you could talk about something except the

other side of the hill!" cried the pine tree crossly. "Don't

you know that I can't even look over? It's mean for all

you creatures who have feet and wings to keep talking

about things I'll never see!"

''Hoity-toity!" said the sheep, rising. "What a temper

you're in, to be sure! You nearly made me swallow my

cud. I'll rest in some shade where I can have peace, thank

you."

And the sheep walked off offended.

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The tree wanted to apologize, but it didn't exactly

know what it had done that was so wrong. And, anyway,

the sheep was soon out of hearing. The pine tree was left

alone. Or was it alone?

A voice near by was remarking:

*'So you'd like to go to the other side of the hill, would

you?"

It wasn't the voice of bird, beast, insect, or creeping

thing. The pine tree looked about with surprise. Then it

saw who had spoken. It was a gnome sitting on a rock,

under a parasol made of glistening pine needles with

small cones at the end of the ribs. The gnome was eating

blueberries from a large leaf shaped like a bowl.

''So you'd like to go to the other side of the hill, would

you?" he repeated, taking another mouthful. "Well, why

don't you?"

''Because trees can't move," said the pine tree. *'I wish

you wouldn't make fun of me, gnome."

"You never know what you can do till you try," said

the gnome. "Try."

The pine tree tried.

Something among its roots seemed to stir and move;

something pushed against the earth; something lifted up

the pine tree; something carried it away from the spot

where it had spent all its life since it was a seed.

"Oh! Oh! Fm falling!'' the pine tree cried in terror.

"You're walking," said the gnome coolly. "Tve given

you legs. Now, try to keep your balance better. It takes

practice of course."

By the end of the afternoon the pine tree could walk

nicely.

The first place it went to was a pool in which to see

itself.

"I do look rather funny/' the pine tree giggled.

It did look rather funny.

Above was the sizable pine tree, with its trunk and

wide green branches — an unusually handsome tree.

Then came a fringe of roots, gathered up neatly like a

petticoat; and then came two sturdy brown legs that

looked ready to caper.

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The tree went back to the gnome, who was still perched

on the rock.

''Well, you're off!'' said the gnome. ''Have a good

time. I'll see you when you come back."

"I don't believe I'll ever come back," said the tree.

"We'll see," said the gnome and waved as the pine tree

started off to the top of the hill.

The first thing that the wandering tree met was a cow

grazing peacefully in the late afternoon light with a

jingle-jangle bell at her neck.

"Hello," said the pine politely.

The cow looked up, saw the pine tree moving toward

her on its stout brown legs, uttered a moo of wild terror,

flung up her tail, and bounded off down the pasture at a

speed that would curdle her milk for a week.

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The tree paid no attention to her but looked abroad

over the landscape. There was the big farm the rabbit had

told about, the bright weather vane, the green lettuces.

And beyond these there were distant villages, white

church spires, and farther hills with a road winding

across them.

*'Ah, I must see everything," thought the tree, turning

to seek the road. First it climbed a wall or two, with a

little trouble. Then, when it finally reached the road, it

felt so happy and eager to see things that it started to run.

It ran on and on, very well pleased with itself. A horse in

a near-by meadow looked up, gave a neigh of terror, and

galloped off along the wall. The pine tree put on speed

and beat the horse to the end of the pasture.

^A'-^:

"Of course," it said to the horse, who was panting, ''I

had better footing than you did. But I'd have beaten you

anyhow if we'd both been on the road, I think. Can't you

jump the wall, and we'll have a little race as far as the

railroad track?"

''I don't want to!" gasped the horse. ''I don't want to

come anywhere near you! Go away!"

"Oh, because I have legs, I suppose," said the pine tree

airily. "Well, you have four of them yourself, but I'm not

afraid oi you!'*

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Leaving the horse to think about this remark, the tree

continued on its way. It walked rather jauntily till it

heard a small, angry voice remark from the hole high up

in its trunk:

';Will you please stop jiggling my babies?"

It was the mother squirrel. The tree had quite for-

gotten about her. It had remembered that the birds' nests

were empty now, but it hadn't thought about squirrels.

'Tm sorry," it said, slowing down to a less jouncy

walk.

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'That's better/' remarked the squirrel. ''I have no

objection to travel if it's comfortable. My children have

reached an age when it should broaden their minds. But

no jouncing, // you please. And when you stop, see that

we're near an oak tree, so we can have a bite to eat."

The pine tree agreed politely. It wasn't sure whether it

was pleasant to have company or not. It decided it

wasn't. Those young squirrels were practically full grown

now. They didn't need a nest, the tree decided.

It stopped near an oak.

'There's your supper, squirrels," it called genially.

The squirrels clambered down its trunk and into the

oak, where they were soon merrily cracking acorns. The

tree looked hard at the oak. Sure enough, there was a

good hole in its trunk that didn't seem to be occupied.

The squirrels could use it, or they could walk home.

''So long!" called the pine, suddenly making off down

the road as fast as it could go.

It heard an angry scurry behind it but paid no

attention. It ran on for a mile or so and then stopped.

There was no further pursuit.

*'It's not an adventure if there are too many others

along/' thought the pine tree, settling down to a com-

fortable walk.

For days the pine tree traveled far and wide. It saw

many strange things and creatures, and astonished most

of those that it saw. But at last it began to long for home

and its own hillside and the creatures it had always

known.

Once the pine tree began to be homesick, it was very

homesick indeed.

One night, as it was resting with its feet in a little

brook, it woke up and suddenly thought, ''Why shouldn't

I start home this very minute?" And start home it did.

It ran all through the moon-dappled night. It ran all

through the rosy dawn. It ran all through the bright

morning. And just before noon it reached its own hillside,

climbed the two walls and with a contented sigh settled

itself to rest. But this time it took a position a little higher

up in the pasture, so that, any time it cared to, it might

look over the hill at the ijext-door farm and the road and

the villages beyond.

Everyone made a great fuss over the tree's return.

There were so many rabbits and birds and sheep about

that it seemed like a regular party.

The gnome came, still under his parasol, and said, "Soyou're back?" in a friendly way, and never added, ''I

thought you would be."

The cow came, too, and said, ''If you ever have the

notion to going off again, warn me first. I wasn't myself

for a week, but I dunno as I blame you for wanting to

go."

The squirrel came with her family and settled again in

the old hole.

"You were mean to go off without us!" she declared.

"We had to walk all the way home. But it's something to

be able to say that we live in the only tree that ever went

traveling, so I intend to forget what you did to us and say

no more about it."

From that day on the pine tree never left the pasture

again. It was quite content, for now it could see the other

side of the hill. And if the birds and animals talked about

their adventures, the tree had its own adventures to talk

about, much more interesting than any of theirs. Some-

times, when asked, it would sing for them its own song:

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"Oh, any bird can fly,

can fly,

And any sheep can run;

But it's only a tree, a

traveling tree.

That really can have fun!

For everything it sees,

it sees.

Is new as new can be;

And everyone shouts out,

very loud.

Hi! look at the traveling tree!''

THE POKCUPI

4&

I AM A FINE ANIMAL," Said the poFcupine. "Stop and

talk with me for a while/'

''You're always grumbling and squealing," said the

bear, and he walked on without stopping.

The porcupine's feelings were hurt.

"My ancestors' quills were dyed red and yellow and

were used to embroider Hiawatha's deerskin clothes," he

said to a passing deer. "Let me tell you about it." But the

deer didn't stop.

"You were rude to me last time we talked," the deer

murmured and slipped off through the underbrush.

''I am a warrior myself! I am armed with ten thousand

spears! Everyone is afraid of me!" boasted the porcu-

pine.

'Tm not," said the red fox. ''More than once Tve

eaten porcupine. But you disgust me, waddling along the

paths, unable to see ten feet ahead of your snub nose."

And off the fox slid, like a red shadow on black velvet

paws.

''You can't climb a tree! I can!" squealed the porcu-

pine after him, but the fox never turned his head.

The porcupine sat grumbling and scolding to himself.

"No one seems to realize what a fine creature I am,''

he said over and over. And finally he decided to give a

war dance and to sing a song all about himself and to

invite the animals to watch and listen to him.

"ril have to serve apples — some of the late ones are

left. And I can have a few baskets of beetles for those

who don't like apples," he thought. *The blue jay will

carry the news."

For the rest of the day, the porcupine was very busy

making a nice, flat place for his dance.

The blue jay carried the news. He loved to carry news,

good or bad. It didn't matter to the blue jay.

Loudly he called:

"Last chance!

Last chance!

Who wants to see

The porcupine dance?"

By early morning the porcupine, who had stayed up all

night, had the refreshments ready. It was a fine, crisp

autumn day. The woods were at their best with red and

yellow leaves bright among the dark green pines.

The dance was to begin at seven o'clock, and the

porcupine was very much excited. He had made up his

song. Now he had only to wait for the audience to arrive.

But minute after minute went by and nobody came.

"Then I'll dance for myself and sing for myself and eat

up all the refreshments by myself," grumbled the poor

porcupine. But he felt very sorry for himself.

Bravely he waddled to the stage that he had cleared,

and stood up on his hind legs, supported by his strong

tail. Then he began to dance, lifting up first one hind paw

and then the other.

"I am Chief Porcupine, whom everyone fears!

I am unafraid! I am armed with spears!"

he began, rocking from paw to paw, all by himself,

unnoticed in the middle of the woods.

But suddenly a drumming began near him, keeping

time to his dance.

A partridge, passing by, had seen the little war dance

and had taken pity on the porcupine. And, as the

partridge drummed with his wings, standing on a fallen

log, and the porcupine danced and sang, another sound

was added. A kind-hearted woodpecker was beating time

with his bill in the tree overhead. Then a squirrel got so

excited that he chirred, in perfect rhythm, sounding like

Indian rattles. The porcupine danced faster and faster,

singing at the top of his lungs.

"Who in the woods has a tail like mine?

Who matches the courage of Chief Porcupine?''

On and on sounded the drum, on and on went the

tapping and the rhythmic rattling, the dancing and the

singing.

The porcupine had never felt so proud and so im-

portant. He forgot that no one had come to watch him.

He was carried away by the music and the motion. On

and on he danced. Louder and louder grew his song.

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At last, exhausted, he dropped down on all paws, quite

out of breath. But what was that? Everywhere rose the

sound of applause! Looking about with his shortsighted

eyes, he saw that he stood in a circle of animals. The deer

were there, and even a moose! A bear had come, and a

wildcat who happened to be passing by. The woodchucks

had left their hole by the wall. The whole skunk family

had come, and one or two foxes, and on the other side of

the circle were the rabbits. Moles and wood mice were

too numerous to count, and the birds and chipmunks and

squirrels weighted down the twigs of the nearer trees.

They hadn't any of them intended to come, but somehow

the sound and the rhythm of the drumming and tapping

and chirring had got into their blood, and here they were.

Well, they all stayed and praised the porcupine's

dancing and sang the porcupine's song with him:

''I am Chief Porcupine, whom everyone fears!

I am unafraid! I am armed with spears!

Who in the woods has a tail like

mine?

Who matches the courage of

Chief Porcupine?

So stand to one side and don't act shy

When great Chief Porcupine goes by!" /All the animals laughed good-naturedly at the porcu-

pine's song, and then they ate up the refreshments, and

the party was a great success.

And from that day to this, the porcupine has been

much more friendly to everybody and is quite well liked

in the woods.

^S1B0^ m3qBZ|i3 Xq uanuM srm \jois siq_L

HE TOYMAKER lived all by himself in a white house on

the sunny side of a hill. There were grapevines in an arbor

over his door, and apple trees and pear trees^ along his

walk, and red chickens and white chickens in the chicken

yard. But in the cottage there was no one but the

toymaker and his toys.

His workroom was over the shed where the winter

firewood was stored. He went to it up a narrow stair. It

was a long room with a workbench under the windows,

and a skylight, and a big stove in the center. From all the

beams, newly painted toys were hanging in rows, drying.

There were rows of boats painted white and rows of little

red cars. In another part of the room sea gulls were

hanging by their tails. And from strings there dangled

starfish and scarlet lobster claws, clams and buoys.

Lighthouses stood on shelves next to bluebirds, and

black-and-white skunks, and little brown bears.

On the workbench were half-finished toys. There was

always one just being shaped out in the vise, and the floor

was deep with sweet-smelling pine shavings.

In this delightful spot the toymaker worked all day

long, for he loved to make toys. Sometimes he grew so

hungry that he had to go downstairs to the kitchen to get

himself something to eat. But he was not half so clever in

the kitchen as he was in his workshop.

One day he had forgotten to order bread; another day

he burned his chop; a third time he found nothing in the

house to eat but a small, wilted cabbage.

''Oh dear!" he thought. ''If only I could afford to hire

a housekeeper to look after the kitchen! I can't keep mymind on everything, it seems."

So the months went on, and the only sorrow of the

toymaker was that he could not work all the daylight

hours at his beloved work bench, but must tear himself

away to go to the stove or the refrigerator or the pantry.

He was very busy at this time trying to make a wooden

sea gull, finer and larger than any sea gull he had ever

made before. In the early morning he would walk down

to the great river at the foot of his hill to watch the gulls.

Then he would climb back to his shop and try to shape a

gull out of his memory.

At last he made a gull so fine that he knew he could

never make a better. When it was painted, he stood it

beneath his open skylight to admire it. Suddenly it turned

its head, gave a long cry, and, opening its wings, soared

through the skylight and away.

The toymaker gazed long at the empty spot where it

had stood.

''Well!'' he said finally. ''Well, I never!"

That day his dinner seemed to be more bothersome

than ever. As he ate the very poor pie he had just taken

out of the oven, a thought came to him.

If he could make a sea gull that could fly away, why

couldn't he make something even more important?

He went to a farmer who had been cutting wood in his

wood lot and bought several very fine timbers. Then he

set to work. Very slowly, very carefully, he shaped out a

figure, fastening the pieces of pine together strongly.

'T don't want her big," he thought. ''But she might be

rather round. And she must have a cheerful face."

He was carving a little housekeeper, about five feet

tall, trim, plump, and pleasant, wearing a big, full dress

and apron. He was very, very careful. When at last he

was finished with the carving, he painted her with the

greatest skill. His little housekeeper had white hair and

pink cheeks and blue eyes, a blue dress and a white

apron. Her shoes and stockings were brown.

It was a breathless moment when he lifted her down

from the beam where she had been hanging to dry after

the third coat of paint. Carefully he carried her down the

narrow stairs. Carefully he set her on her brown wooden

feet in the middle of the kitchen.

Was she good enough, or was all his work in vain?

He stood off, staring at her, with his heart beating fast.

Nothing happened.

Sadly he turned away.

''Land sakes," said a voice behind him. ''Guess I must

have left the screen door open. All the flies are coming

in!"

It was the toy housekeeper speaking; and as she spoke,

she walked briskly past him and closed the screen door.

From that moment life was very nearly perfect in the

toymaker's cottage. While he worked upstairs in his

room above the shed, the toy housekeeper cooked

delicious things in the kitchen. He had never to think of

dinner any more, except to imagine how good it would

taste. And it always did. He had made her look like a fine

cook, and a fine cook she was, and she kept the whole

house neat and shining.

And how little she asked in return! Only for a yellow

wooden cat to purr under the stove (he made six before

one was perfect enough to walk off on its own paws), and

now and then for a new bit of paint when her apron

chipped, or she stubbed the brown from the toe of a neat

shoe. She was the most perfect housekeeper in the world.

And if her footsteps sounded like the light tap of a

wooden mallet on wood, the toymaker never minded

that, for didn't he like wood and the sound of it, too?

w THEHEN MOTHER skunk went anywhere, the little

skunks followed behind her in single file. They were full

of curiosity and play, and their eyes were bright and

black as buttons. But there was one little skunk more

adventurous than the others. One day after a night of rain

the world seemed so beautiful and flowery and bright that

he decided he'd go exploring.

So off he went; and as no one else in the family felt like

going, off he went alone.

"Just remember what to do if you see trouble coming,"

his mother said. "You'll be all right."

And she closed her eyes again and went on with her

nap, while the other little skunks played hide and seek.

It was beautiful in the meadow. The sun was shining,

and every dewdrop sparkled with colors brighter than

rainbows. The grass was soft underfoot. The smells were

delicious. Birds were singing; bees were buzzing; an early

butterfly zigzagged past as if it weren't sure where it

wanted to go.

In the wettest part of the meadow, where the dewdrops

were brightest and the smells sweetest, the little skunk

suddenly had a great fright. Coming along through the

marshy hollow he saw a great somebody like a snake, but

thicker. He jumped out of its way and stood ready to run.

But it didn't try to chase him.. For a moment it lay still,

moving two round, fan-like fins a little.

''So far, so far to go," it said sadly in a low voice.

''What did you say, sir?" asked the little skunk,

moving closer.

"So far, so far to go," the creature repeated louder.

"Where are you going?" the skunk asked respectfully.

"To the Sargasso Sea!"

1629409

It was a fine name. The little skunk liked it.

"And where, sir, is the Sargasso Sea?"

The thing turned and looked at him with two small

eyes. The marsh water was flowing over its chin and

along its sides, but all the upper part of its body was in

the air.

'The Sargasso Sea is the most beautiful place in the

world," it answered dreamily. "Until recently I was

satisfied with my pond, but now I can think of nothing

but the Sargasso Sea where every eel in the world is

born."

''Oh, you're an eel! I've heard of eels!" said the little

skunk. But the eel paid no attention.

"It lies south of the equator. Thousands of miles from

here. There, no currents move; and the seaweeds hang in

great, green curtains; and the wrecks of old vessels lie in

the sun with empty decks. I must go there and meet again

the eels of all the world, or die in the attempt."

"But why are you here in the meadow, sir? Don't eels

live in water?"

"I can't go over the mill dam," explained the eel. "I

waited for the rain, and now I must thrash wearily down

through the meadow and into the river again. After that

my way is clear to the sea. But I am tired out. There are

lots of fallen branches across this rill of water. I thought

I'd never get through the last one. And there may be

worse ahead."

By now the eel had rested and it started off again,

twisting and turning and writhing; but always making its

way a little nearer to the river. The skunk followed along.

He couldn't help admiring the eel's courage.

When they came to where a lot of old reeds blocked the

way, the little skunk managed to pull them to one side,

and the eel thanked him.

"I must help you get to the Sargasso Sea,'' the skunk

said, and walked along with the eel. Every few yards he

pulled a branch or a fallen cattail out of the eel's path

until at last they came to the river's edge.

''You have probably saved my life," said the eel

gratefully.

'Think of me when you reach the Sargasso Sea!"

called the skunk, for by now the eel had moved into the

cool, swift current of the river and was swimming away,

with a final wave of its fins.

''What kind creatures one meets in a meadow," the eel

thought before it forgot everything else but the place to

which it was going.

And, as the little skunk walked slowly homeward, he

thought, "What strange, brave creatures one meets in the

meadow!" And he, too, was dreaming of the Sargasso

Sea, where the eels of all the world swim through green

curtains of hanging seaweed, rubbing their sides against

the hulls of lost ships.

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