Tucker's Countryside (8 page)

One by one the birds left the branch. And very slowly, steadily, the mouse and the cricket were lifted up, as if by a firm, sure hand, till they hung amid the branches of the willow tree. Beatrice Pheasant was the last one off. When her weight was gone, Chester and Tucker were able to transfer from their elevator branch to a larger one nearby—the one on which John Robin had his nest.

“Wheeoo!” groaned Tucker with relief. “Thanks for the help, Miss Pheasant.”

“
Mrs.
Pheasant!” said Beatrice proudly. She had a good heart, but she was very conscious of the position she and her husband occupied as the two least common birds in the meadow. “Jerome is back in the woods, minding the children.”

“Well, tell your husband I'm glad he's got such a—” Tucker was about to say “fat wife”—for Beatrice Pheasant was indeed a very large bird—but he stopped himself in time. “Plump helpmeet” was the only other thing he could think of, but that didn't sound right either.

“Just tell him thank you for letting you come over,” said Chester.

“We'd do anything for you, Chester,” said the pheasant. “Or for any friend of yours. Although, Mr. Mouse,” she went on reproachfully, “you don't seem to be having much luck in saving the meadow, do you?”

“Please, Mrs. Pheasant, you wouldn't rub it in. I'm doing the best I can. Right now I'd just like to stay alive for a while!”

Beatrice Pheasant spread her beautiful auburn wings, held them poised a moment—probably so Tucker could admire them—and then flew off over the brook toward the woods.

“Climb on back to the nest,” said John Robin. “You can stay with us till the flood goes down.”

Very carefully Tucker inched his way along the branch, mumbling to himself. “I go swimming—I climb trees—
oh!
” He caught a glimpse of the water swirling far beneath him, and hung on tighter. “And me with my fear of heights! This is no life for a mouse from New York.”

Near the willow's trunk John Robin had his nest. It was occupied by John's wife Dorothy and three young robins, who were very surprised to see a mouse come climbing into their home. “Move over,” said the mouse. “Your Uncle Tucker has come for a visit!”

Chester hopped in after him. “Now the first thing to do is for John to fly over and tell Harry that we're all right.”

“Let him wait,” said Tucker. “Let him worry awhile.” But Chester nodded to John, and the robin flickered off in the direction of the Hadleys' house. Tucker went on sulking, though. “He's probably over in that sun porch having a chocolate sundae right now!”

SEVEN

Indoors

And so, after having spent almost all his first week in Connecticut in Chester's stump, trapped by the flood, Tucker Mouse spent almost all his second week in a robin's nest, waiting for the waters to subside. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, however. The three young robins proved to be a very enthusiastic audience. Tucker told them stories of his life in New York—how he sometimes rode the shuttle from Times Square to Grand Central Station, just for the fun of it, and how exciting it was to scrounge for the small change that the human beings lost, especially during rush hour. The three youngsters were so thrilled that one morning they announced to their mother, Dorothy Robin, that when they grew up they were going to New York and live in the Times Square subway station. Dorothy was a sensible robin, and a very good mother too, so she didn't tell them that they could
not
go to New York. She just kept feeding them the worms that she plucked up from the lawns of the houses across the street, and told them she thought it would be best if they waited until they were grown up before they decided where they wanted to live.

Chester and Tucker didn't have to eat worms to survive. John Robin brought them nuts and seeds, and by the time their stay in the willow was over, Tucker had actually gotten to like them—although he still missed the human food he was used to. For diversion he also learned to climb around on the branches of the willow tree. “Who would have thought it?” he said to himself. “An underground mouse like me—and now I'm a champion tree climber and swimmer!”

The flood gradually receded, and a day came at last when dry land appeared in the meadow. Chester and Tucker thanked the robins for their hospitality, promised to come back for a visit very soon, and scrambled down, branch by branch, to the earth beneath the willow tree.

“Doesn't it feel wonderful to be on solid ground again?” said Chester.

“I'll say!” Tucker answered. The first thing they did was to examine Chester's stump, which still was dampish, but drying out nicely, and the second was—“Harry Cat!” said Tucker. “Let's go!”

They found him waiting for them at the sun-porch door. “I knew you'd be coming over,” said Harry. “I've been watching the flood from Mrs. Hadley's bedroom window, and I saw you could make it today.”

“Hmm!” sniffed Tucker. “From a safe bedroom window he watches the scene of our peril! Is there anything to eat?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “I saved something for you.” He unlatched the door. “Come on in. It's safe—Mrs. Hadley and Ellen have gone over to Jaspar's house for lunch.”

Chester and Tucker crept in, and Harry ushered the mouse over to a saucer placed in one corner of the sun porch. “Cat food!” exclaimed Tucker when he saw what was in the dish. “That's not what I want!”

“I'm sorry, Tucker,” said Harry. “I wish it was sirloin steak—but they put me on cat food the day after I saw you last. Try it. It's tuna fish. You'll like it.”

Tucker took a suspicious sniff at the tuna, then a less suspicious bite, and in a minute he was munching happily. “Not bad,” he said. “Tastes sort of like the tuna-fish salad sandwiches they make at the lunch counters back home.” He took an appraising glance at Harry and then said to Chester, “The kitty here has put on weight.”

“You would have too, if you'd been eating the way I have,” said Harry.

Tucker drew himself up proudly. “I, on the other hand, have
lost
weight. Did you notice what good shape I'm in, Harry? That comes from leading the outdoor life. See this muscle here? I got that from swimming. And this one here I got from climbing trees.”

“And that muscle in your jaw you got from talking too much,” said Harry. “Why don't you use it to eat for a while?”

Tucker took one more look at his friend and shook his head sadly. “Pity to see a vigorous alley cat go flabby.” Then he resumed his gobbling.

“I'm glad the Hadleys are treating you so well, Harry,” said Chester.

“Oh, they treat me beautifully!” said the cat. “They're crazy about me—even Mr. Hadley. The only trouble is, they don't know my name is Harry, and they can't decide what to call me.”

“I could think of a couple of names,” said Tucker through a mouthful of tuna fish.

“Have you heard anything more about the meadow?” asked the cricket.

“No new plans yet,” said Harry. “But Ellen told her mother that the flood did a lot of damage down where the brook flows out of the meadow—where we met you the first night. It almost washed away the bridge that the road goes over.”

Chester shook his head. “That's bad. The human beings hate it worst of all when something interferes with their cars. I wish they liked meadows as much as they do roads.”

“What's for dessert?” said Tucker, licking the last of the tuna fish off his whiskers.

“Nice to see that
you
still know what's important!” said Harry.

“I know it's important to save the meadow,” said Tucker. “But to someone who has just spent two weeks in a stump and in a willow tree, surrounded by raging flood waters, dessert is also important!”

Harry sighed helplessly. “Come on,” he said, and led the mouse and the cricket out of the sun porch, through the living room, and into the Hadleys' kitchen. The only sweet thing he could find, in one bottom cupboard, was a jar of preserves with its top screwed on loosely. So for dessert Tucker had two mouthfuls of strawberry jam.

When Tucker was full, and feeling much better, he took a long look around the kitchen. “You know, this is the first time I've ever been in a human being's house,” he said. “I could do some very lovely scrounging here. Could we have a tour, Harry?”

Harry said he guessed it would be all right and took them both on an excursion through the Hadleys' home. First they crept down the cellar stairs, Chester Cricket hopping along behind the other two. And Tucker liked the basement very much. There were boxes piled everywhere, most of them empty, wood was stacked against the wall, Mrs. Hadley's freezer was purring in one corner, and in another there was a battered, old suitcase lying open. In it was a collection of the toys that Ellen had had when she was a little kid. Tucker pulled out a clawful of stuffing from a ripped Teddy bear, examined it closely, and pronounced, “Excellent for nesting!”

After the cellar, the first and second floor were a disappointment. “Too neat,” said Tucker. When Harry offered him a Kleenex from a box in Mrs. Hadley's bedroom, he declined, and told the cat that he didn't need to blow his nose any more. His hay fever had completely vanished when he became an athlete.

The climax of the trip was the attic. Tucker's eyes sparkled at what he saw: a welter of everything—books, bottles, old boxes—all lying around haphazard and helter-skelter. “Wow!” he exclaimed with admiration. “And I thought
my
house was a mess!” He began to pick his way lovingly through the debris. “This place is a rodent's paradise! I could spend the rest of my life here! What's this?” He stopped before a piece of wood that had iron letters nailed to it. They spelled H-A-D-L-E-Y.

Chester Cricket jumped over. “That's a sign the Hadleys used to have in their front yard, before the post it was on got broken. Lots of families in Connecticut have them—so people will know who lives where.”

“Maybe I could have one outside the drain pipe in the subway station,” said Tucker. “In beautiful gold letters: M-O-U-S-E!” He continued browsing happily among all the things that the Hadleys didn't need any more but couldn't bear to throw away: the treasure of attics everywhere.

Chester and Harry did some exploring too. Harry came across two old-fashioned pewter pots that he thought were very pretty and deserved a better fate than to be discarded and forgotten, and Chester found a box full of baby clothes. He guessed that they had once been worn by Ellen, or perhaps even her mother—they were so old that the colors had begun to fade and change.

It was a very happy time for the three of them. In fact, it was so happy that they forgot how long they'd been there.

Suddenly Harry Cat lifted his head. He'd been rummaging through Mr. Hadley's sports equipment—a tennis racket with loose strings, a broken golf club, things like that—and was about to suggest that Tucker Mouse, the great athlete, might find a use for some of them, but now he whispered urgently, “Shh!” A murmur of voices came from the floor below. “It's Ellen and her mother,” said Harry. “They're back from lunch.” He listened again. “They're in Mrs. Hadley's bedroom. Come on—I'll sneak you through the hall and downstairs.”

Very quietly the animals tiptoed down the attic stairs. Harry peeked out: the hall was clear. They were just about to begin creeping down beside the banister of the staircase to the first floor when Mrs. Hadley said, “Oh dear—there it is!”

“There's what?” said Ellen.

The afternoon newspaper had been delivered while Ellen and her mother were out to lunch, and Mrs. Hadley was glancing over the front page. “It says here that the Town Council
has
decided to build apartment houses on the site of the Old Meadow.”

“Oh,
no!
” said Ellen. She didn't know it, but out in the hall a cricket echoed her forlorn groan.