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                     THE TALE OF
                    TIMOTHY TURTLE



                  _SLEEPY-TIME TALES_
                 (Trademark Registered)

                          BY
                  ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY

                      AUTHOR OF
                   _TUCK-ME-IN TALES_
                 (Trademark Registered)

               THE TALE OF CUFFY BEAR
               THE TALE OF FRISKY SQUIRREL
               THE TALE OF TOMMY FOX
               THE TALE OF FATTY COON
               THE TALE OF BILLY WOODCHUCK
               THE TALE OF JIMMY RABBIT
               THE TALE OF PETER MINK
               THE TALE OF SANDY CHIPMUNK
               THE TALE OF BROWNIE BEAVER
               THE TALE OF PADDY MUSKRAT
               THE TALE OF FERDINAND FROG
               THE TALE OF DICKIE DEER MOUSE
               THE TALE OF TIMOTHY TURTLE
               THE TALE OF MAJOR MONKEY
               THE TALE OF BENNY BADGER

[Illustration: Timothy was going through the queerest motions.]

                  _SLEEPY-TIME TALES_
                 (Trademark Registered)

                      THE TALE OF
                        TIMOTHY
                        TURTLE

                          BY
                  ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
                       Author of
                  "_TUCK-ME-IN TALES_"
                 (Trademark Registered)

                    ILLUSTRATED BY
                    HARRY L. SMITH


                       NEW YORK
                   GROSSET & DUNLAP
                      PUBLISHERS

            Made in the United States of America

                   COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY
                    GROSSET & DUNLAP

 CONTENTS


 CHAPTER

    I     A FAMOUS BITER
   II     AN OLD-TIMER
  III     TIMOTHY'S GRUDGE
   IV     A TIGHT SQUEEZE
    V     MR. TURTLE'S MISTAKE
   VI     MR. CROW'S KIND OFFER
  VII     LEARNING TO FLY
 VIII     TURNING TURTLE
   IX     A PLEASURE TRIP
    X     A WARNING
   XI     ON THE BEAVER DAM
  XII     KIND TIMOTHY TURTLE
 XIII     THE PLOT
  XIV     CAUGHT!
   XV     THE REDSKINS' WAY
  XVI     JOHNNIE GREEN'S INITIALS
 XVII     TIMOTHY NEEDS HELP
XVIII     PETER MINK'S PLAN
  XIX     CAREFUL MR. FROG
   XX     THE ALMANAC
  XXI     A QUEER WISH
 XXII     THE UNWELCOME GUEST
XXIII     A MERRY SONG


 Illustrations

Timothy was going through the queerest motions.
                                        Frontispiece

"Let Me In!" said Timothy to Mr. Frog.

Timothy began to climb the steep bluff.

"Let me go!" Fatty Coon shrieked.




THE TALE OF TIMOTHY TURTLE

I

A FAMOUS BITER


That black rascal, Mr. Crow, was not the oldest dweller in Pleasant
Valley. There was another elderly gentleman who had spent more
summers--and a great many more winters--under the shadow of Blue
Mountain than he.

All the wild folk knew this person by the name of Timothy Turtle. And if
they didn't see him so often as Mr. Crow it was because he spent much of
his time on the muddy bottom of Black Creek. Besides, he never flapped
his way through the air to Farmer Green's cornfield, in plain sight of
everyone who happened to look up at the sky.

On the contrary, Mr. Timothy Turtle seldom wandered far from the banks
of the creek--for the best of reasons. He was anything but a fast
walker. In fact, one might say that he waddled, or even crawled, rather
than walked. But in the water he was quite a different creature. By
means of his webbed feet he could swim as easily as Mr. Crow could fly.
And he could stay at the bottom of Black Creek a surprisingly long time
before he came up for a breath of air. Indeed, Mr. Crow sometimes
remarked that _he_ would be just as well pleased if Timothy Turtle
buried himself in the mud beneath the water _and never_ came up again!

Such a speech was enough to show that Mr. Crow was not fond of Timothy
Turtle. Perhaps Mr. Crow disliked to have a neighbor who was older than
he. But Mr. Crow himself always laughed at such a suggestion.

"The trouble is----" he would say--"the trouble is, Timothy Turtle is
_too grumpy_. Now, _I'm_ old. But I claim that that's no reason why I
shouldn't be pleasant." And then he would laugh--somewhat harshly--just
to show that he knew how.

There was a good deal of truth in what Mr. Crow said. Timothy Turtle was
grumpy. But it was not old age that made him so. He had been like that
all his life. There never was a time when he Wasn't snappish, when he
wouldn't rather bite a body than not.

And that was the reason why he had not more friends. To be sure, many
people knew him. But usually they took good care not to get too near
him.

For Timothy Turtle had a most unpleasant way of shooting out his long
neck from under his shell and seizing a person in his powerful jaws. In
spite of his great age he was quick as a flash. And one had to step
lively to escape him.

If Timothy had bitten you just for an instant, and then stopped, this
trick of his wouldn't have been so disagreeable. But he was not content
with a mere nip. When he had hold of you he never wanted to let you go.
And it was no joke getting away, once you found yourself caught by him.

As for Timothy Turtle, he never could understand why his neighbors
objected to this little trick of his. He always said that it was more
fun than almost anything else he could think of. And it is true that he
never seemed so happy as he did when he had caught some careless person
and was biting him without mercy.

"Anybody that wants to may bite _me,"_ Timothy used to declare. But
perhaps he never stopped to think that one might almost as well bite a
rock as his hard shell. And anybody might better chew a piece of leather
than try to take a mouthful out of his legs, or his neck, or his head.

So no one paid any heed to Timothy Turtle's kind offer. Even Peter Mink,
who was himself overfond of biting people, wisely let Mr. Turtle alone.

There is no doubt that it was the safer way.




II

AN OLD-TIMER


It was pleasant for Timothy Turtle that he lived in Black Creek, for he
was very fond of fishing. If he had happened to make his home among the
rocks on the top of Blue Mountain he would have had to travel a long way
to find even a trout stream. But in Black Creek there were fish right in
his dooryard, one may say.

It was lucky for him, too, that he liked fish to eat. And whenever he
wanted a change of food the creek was a good place in which to find a
frog, or perhaps a foolish duckling who had not learned to be careful.

It was no wonder that all the mother birds in the neighborhood used to
warn their children to beware of Timothy Turtle. Did not Long Bill Wren,
who lived among the reeds on the bank of Black Creek, have a narrow
escape when he was only a few weeks old?

He had just learned to fly. And although his mother had told him not to
leave the bank, he disobeyed her. When she was not watching him he
sailed over the water for the first time in his life and alighted on a
flat object on top of a rock.

Bill supposed it was a stone that he was sitting on. And he felt so
proud of what he had done that he cried, "Look! Oh, look!"

His poor mother was dreadfully frightened when she saw him.

"Come back!" she shrieked. "You're in great danger!"

So Bill flew back to the bank as fast as he could go.

"What have I told you about Timothy Turtle?" his mother asked him
sharply.

"You've said to keep away from him, or he might eat me," young Bill
faltered.

"Exactly!" his mother cried. "And the moment I glance away, here you go
and sit right on his back! It's a wonder you're alive."

Her son hung his head. And never again did he pick out a perch until he
was sure it wasn't old Mr. Turtle.

When he was older, and had children of his own, Long Bill often remarked
that it was too bad Mr. Turtle didn't live in some other place. "He
makes my wife so nervous!" he used to exclaim. "With a new brood of at
least a half-dozen youngsters to take care of every summer one has to
watch sharp for Mr. Turtle whenever the children play near the water."
And Long Bill always took pains to tell his children of his own
adventure with Timothy Turtle and warn them not to make such a mistake.

"Luckily I sat exactly in the center of Mr. Turtle's shell, so he
couldn't reach me," Long Bill was explaining to his family one day. "But
if I had happened to perch on his head I certainly wouldn't be here
now."

"Oh, Mr. Turtle is too slow to catch me," one of the youngsters boasted.
"I saw him on the bank to-day; and he only _crawled_."

"Ah! You don't know him," Long Bill Wren replied. "When he wants to, he
can stand up on his hind legs as quick as a wink. And he can dart his
head out just like a snake."

"Ugh!" Long Bill's small son shivered as he spoke. "I wish Mr. Turtle
would go away from our creek."

"_He_ thinks it's _his_ creek," Long Bill Wren observed. "He has lived
in it years and years and years. We'll have to get on with him as best
we can, for there's no doubt that Timothy Turtle is here to stay."




III

TIMOTHY'S GRUDGE


Sometimes Fatty Coon liked a taste of fresh fish, just by way of a
change from Farmer Green's corn, and blackberries, wild grapes,
bugs--and all the other dainties on which he dined.

So it happened that one day he visited Black Creek, where he crouched
near the water with the hope that some silly fish would swim within
reach of his sharp claws.

For a long time he waited patiently. And at last, to his great joy, a
young pickerel nosed his way through the shallow water in front of him.

The newcomer was hunting flies. And he did not notice the eager
fisherman.

Fatty Coon waited until just the right moment. And then one of his paws
darted suddenly into the water.

But instead of Fatty Coon catching the pickerel, someone else caught
Fatty Coon.

His captor was no less a person than Timothy Turtle himself, who had
been buried all this time in the mud almost under Fatty Coon's nose.
That is, his body was buried. His head and neck he had left free, so
that he might strike at a fish when one came his way. But he had seen
something else that took his fancy. When Fatty's paw scooped into the
water Timothy Turtle just _had_ to grab it.

"Let me go!" Fatty Coon shrieked, for Mr. Turtle's cruel jaws hurt him
terribly.

"Why, this is fun!" Timothy Turtle muttered thickly, as he took a firmer
hold on Fatty's paw. "Besides, I've been wanting to talk with you for a
long time."

"Then you'd better let me go," Fatty groaned, "because you can't talk
well with your mouth full."

"I can say all I need to," Timothy Turtle grunted. "And I know that if I
dropped your paw you'd run off."

"Hurry, then!" Fatty Coon begged him piteously. "Hurry and tell me what
you have to say. And please talk fast!"

Timothy Turtle almost smiled.

"Am I hurting you?" he inquired.

"Yes, you are!" cried Fatty Coon.

"Good!" Mr. Turtle snorted. "I meant to, because I've a grudge against
you."

Fatty Coon couldn't think what he meant.

"I've never done a thing to you," he declared.

"Perhaps not!" Timothy Turtle admitted.

"But you stole Mrs. Turtle's eggs--twenty-seven of them--and you can't
deny it."

Now, it was true--what Timothy Turtle said. Hidden among the reeds one
day, Fatty Coon had watched Mrs. Turtle bury her eggs in the sand, to
hatch. And when she had gone he had crept out from his hiding-place, dug
up her precious, round, white treasures, and eaten them, every one.

Well, Fatty Coon dropped his head in front of Mr. Turtle. He was
somewhat ashamed, and frightened, too. And he did not like to look into
Timothy Turtle's blinking eyes. "How did you know?" he asked Mr. Turtle.

"Mrs. Turtle told me," said Timothy, shifting his hold slightly, for a
better one.

"How did the old lady know who took her eggs?" Fatty persisted.

"Mr. Crow saw everything that happened--and don't you call my wife an
old lady!" Timothy Turtle spluttered.

"Very well! She's a _young_ one, of course," Fatty said hastily. "But I
don't know how I've harmed you."

"You don't, eh?" Timothy Turtle snarled. "Then I'll explain. I meant to
have those eggs myself, young man!"




IV

A TIGHT SQUEEZE


Timothy Turtle's remark was most surprising. It almost took Fatty Coon's
breath away. And for a moment or two he even forgot the pain in his paw.

"Do you mean to say," he asked, "that you like turtles' eggs!"

"Do I?" said Timothy. "There's no better treat, in my opinion, than a
tender young egg, especially if it's well mixed with sand. And, of
course, twenty-seven of them are twenty-seven times as good."

"I'm sorry----" Fatty told him--"I'm sorry that I ever touched the
old--I mean the _young_--lady's eggs. And now that you've almost bitten
my paw in two, please--good Mr. Turtle--let me go!"

But good Mr. Turtle had no notion of freeing his prisoner.

"Not yet!" he snapped. "I'm going to bite you twenty-seven times as
long, and twenty-seven times as hard--if I can."

"But it was only a mistake!" Fatty Coon moaned. "I never knew you wanted
those eggs yourself."

"Take care----" said Timothy Turtle sternly--"take care that you never
make such a mistake again."

"Don't do that!" Fatty Coon suddenly cried.

"Don't do _what_?" was Mr. Turtle's testy reply.

"Don't pull on my leg!" Fatty Coon pleaded. "You'll have me in the water
in another moment, and I'll get wet, and my mother won't like it a
bit."

But Timothy Turtle paid no heed to Fatty Coon's objections.

"Certainly I'll pull you into the creek," he declared. "I'm going to
take you out where the water's deep, and drag you down, down, down to
the very bottom. We'll have lots of fun burying ourselves in the mud.
And I venture to say that you'll like it so well down there that you'll
never want to come up again."

If Fatty Coon was frightened before, now he was terrified almost out of
his wits. And he began to claw frantically at Timothy Turtle's head.

Luckily he had three free paws. And of these he made good use. In the
shallows near the bank he struggled with all his might and main. And
soon the water was churned into a muddy pool.

[Illustration: "Let Me In!" said Timothy to Mr. Frog.]

Fatty never knew exactly how he succeeded in breaking loose from Mr.
Turtle. Anyhow, he found himself free at last; and he lost no time in
scrambling up the bank to safety.

Afterward Timothy Turtle always complained that Fatty Coon didn't "fight
fair."

"He gouges," Timothy would explain. "He'd just as soon stick one of his
claws into your eye as not. And I claim that's something no real
gentleman will do."

Now, Fatty did not leave Black Creek at once, after his adventure with
Timothy Turtle. He paused for a time, to squat on the bank and nurse his
injured paw.

While he lingered there he happened to glance up. And whom should he
see, sitting motionless in a tree near-by, but that old rascal, Mr.
Crow!

"Oh! Naughty, naughty!" Mr. Crow cawed in a mocking voice. "You've been
fighting."

"It's all your fault," Fatty growled. "If you'd minded your own affairs
Timothy Turtle would never have known anything about those eggs."

"Bless your heart!" old Mr. Crow cried. "Timothy Turtle would have
seized you just the same, if you'd never touched his wife's eggs. You
don't know him as well as I do."

"Perhaps not!" Fatty Coon replied. "And what's more, I don't want to. I
never want to see Timothy Turtle again."

Old Mr. Crow laughed merrily at that speech. But Fatty Coon only turned
his back on him.

_He_ was in no mood for laughter.




V

MR. TURTLE'S MISTAKE


Mr. Crow was in no hurry to leave Black Creek. And after Fatty Coon had
limped away the old gentleman still sat in the tree which hung over the
water. He hoped that Timothy Turtle would crawl out upon the bank and
growl about Fatty.

The old black rascal was not disappointed. Fatty Coon had not been gone
long when Timothy Turtle dragged himself out of the creek and stretched
himself upon the sand in the warm sunshine.

"How's your eye?" Mr. Crow asked him hoarsely.

"It's feeling better; but it's a wonder that I can see with it at all,"
Timothy Turtle grumbled. "If I ever get hold of that fat young fellow
again I'll pull him under the water before he knows what's happened to
him. He doesn't fight _fair_."

Old Mr. Crow chuckled.

"You'll never have another chance to show him the right way," he
remarked. "He won't come near this creek, or my name's not--ahem--Mr.
Crow."

"What's your first name?" Timothy Turtle inquired, as he stared
unpleasantly at the speaker.

"Never mind!" said the other. "Mr. Crow will do, if you want to attract
my attention."

Timothy Turtle frowned.

"I don't want to," he retorted. "The fact is, I'd rather be alone. I
don't care to have strangers peeping down at me when I'm enjoying a
sun-bath."

"But I like to look at you," old Mr. Crow assured him solemnly. "You
make me think of somebody I've known for a good many years."

"Ah! An old friend!" Timothy exclaimed.

"Well--not a _friend_, exactly," Mr. Crow explained. "He lives in the
South, where I spend the winters. You look like him, in many ways."

"And his name?" Timothy Turtle said.

"Mr. Alligator!"

Timothy Turtle grunted.

"Humph!" he said. "I've never heard of him."

"That's not strange," old Mr. Crow told him. "He stays all the time in
the South and you stay all the time in the North. You couldn't very well
meet, you see."

"Your tail is a good deal like his," Mr. Crow continued. "And when you
walk you have a trick of raising yourself sometimes on your hind legs,
with your head and tail stretched out--a trick that reminds me of him."

For once Timothy seemed pleased.

"Anything else?" he demanded, with something that was almost like a
smile. Unfortunately, he had passed so many years with a constant frown
on his face that smiling actually hurt him.

"Why, yes! There is something else," old Mr. Crow went on. "You and he
have the same way of _snapping_ at things."

There was no doubt, now, that Timothy Turtle was gratified.

"He must be a fine bird--this Mr. Alligator!" he exclaimed.

Old Mr. Crow spluttered. And he had to hang on tight to save himself
from tumbling off his perch.

A bird! Timothy Turtle thought that Mr. Alligator was a bird!

The mistake was so amusing that Mr. Crow wanted to laugh. But he knew
that would never do--if he wanted any more fun with Timothy Turtle.

So he pretended to cough. And he wrapped his muffler more snugly about
his neck, remarking that there was a cold wind that day, even though the
sun _was_ warm.




VI

MR. CROW'S KIND OFFER


"I suppose----" Timothy Turtle said to his young friend, old Mr.
Crow--"I suppose Mr. Alligator is a fine flier."

"He's a very powerful fellow," old Mr. Crow replied with a sly smile.

"Did you ever try to follow him?" Timothy wanted to know.

Mr. Crow shook his head.

"No!" he answered. "I shouldn't want to do that, because one never could
tell when he might take a notion to jump into the water."

"Oh! Then he can swim, can he?"

"Certainly!" Mr. Crow assured him.

"Then that's another way in which he's like me!" Timothy Turtle cried.
"And if I could only fly, I'd be still more like him."

"Why don't you learn?" Mr. Crow suggested wickedly.

"I'm too old," Timothy sighed.

"Not at all!" Mr. Crow hastened to assure him. "One can never be too old
to _try_ a thing."

But Timothy Turtle replied that even if he was young enough to attempt
such a feat as flying, he hadn't the least idea of the way to go about
it.

Old Mr. Crow was most helpful.

"I'll tell you what you ought to do," he advised. "You swim down the
creek as far as the big bluff. And it will be a simple matter for you to
climb up to the top of the bluff and jump off the rock that hangs high
up over the water."

Timothy Turtle looked far from happy at that suggestion.

"I shouldn't care to do that," he said.

"Why not?" Mr. Crow asked him. "You know there's only one way of flying,
and that's through the air."

"I might fall," Timothy objected.

"What if you did?" said Mr. Crow glibly. "You'd only fall into the
water. And everybody agrees that you're a fine swimmer.... You aren't
afraid of getting your feet wet, are you?" And he laughed loudly at his
own joke.

For some reason Timothy lost his temper. Perhaps he thought Mr. Crow was
disrespectful to his elders.

"Look here, young man!" he snapped, glaring angrily at old Mr. Crow. "If
you're laughing at me, I'll invite you to drop down here and stand on
the end of my nose."

Old Mr. Crow grew sober at once. The mere thought of perching himself in
so dangerous a place was enough to put a quick end to his noisy
_haw-haws_.

"My dear sir!" he cried. "I wouldn't _dream_ of standing on the nose of
a fine old gentleman like you. No indeedy! My manners are too good for
that."

Timothy Turtle said bluntly that he had always been told that Mr. Crow
was the rudest person in all Pleasant Valley--unless it was Mr. Crow's
boisterous cousin, Jasper Jay.

When he heard that, Mr. Crow pretended to wipe a tear away from each of
his eyes.

"I've always been misunderstood," he declared mournfully. "I'm really a
kind-hearted soul. And just to prove to you that I want to be helpful,
I'll meet you at the bluff any time you say, and tell you exactly what
to do if you want to learn to fly."

Timothy Turtle seemed to think that the chance was too good a one to
lose.

"I accept your offer," he shouted. "And I'll start downstream this very
moment."




VII

LEARNING TO FLY


Timothy Turtle reached the overhanging bluff in a surprisingly short
time. But it must be remembered that he did not walk there on land, but
swam down Black Creek with the current. When he crawled out upon the
bank he was glad to see that old Mr. Crow was waiting for him, on a pine
stump that stood near the water.

He failed utterly to notice that Mr. Crow was not alone. Hidden in all
sorts of places were as many as a dozen of Mr. Crow's friends. For the
old gentleman had invited his cousin, Jasper Jay, to come to the bluff
"to enjoy the fun," as he expressed it.

"But don't let Timothy Turtle see you!" Mr. Crow had warned Jasper. "At
least, don't let him know you're there until after he has jumped off the
big rock."

Jasper Jay had given his solemn promise.

"And don't let him hear you, either," Mr. Crow had said. And Jasper had
agreed to that, too, although he said that it might be a hard thing to
do.

Well, Timothy Turtle crawled out upon the bank and took a long look at
the high bluff above him, from which the great rock hung over the water
of the creek.

"I believe----" he said to old Mr. Crow--"I believe I'd better wait till
to-morrow before I try to fly. I've just had a long swim, you know. And
I want to feel fresh when I take my first lesson."

"Nonsense!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "Everything's all ready. You're not too
tired, are you, to climb to the top of the bluff?"

"No," Timothy Turtle admitted.

"Then you've no reason for waiting," Mr. Crow assured him. "Coming down
will be much easier than going up."

"I dare say that's true," Timothy remarked. "But I don't quite like to
think about this business of flying."

"Then you certainly ought not to wait any longer," Mr. Crow urged him.
"For the longer you wait the more time you'll have to think."

That appeared to Timothy Turtle to be a good bit of advice. And yet he
still seemed uneasy.

"There's just one thing that troubles me," he confessed. "After I've
jumped from the rock I might find that I couldn't fly. And I'd get a
bad fall."

"But you'd land in the water," Mr. Crow reminded him. "And that would be
much better than falling on the land.... I don't need to tell you," he
added, "that water is soft. And you're a fine swimmer."

So Timothy Turtle yielded. And thereupon he began to drag himself up the
steep bluff.

It seemed to Mr. Crow that he had never known anybody to walk so slowly.
But then, of course, he was in a hurry to see the fun. And it couldn't
really begin until Mr. Turtle should reach the big rock and take the
leap that Mr. Crow had suggested to him.

Jasper Jay and the rowdies he had brought with him stirred impatiently.
And Jasper said aloud to one of them:

"What an old slow-poke he is!"

"What's that!" Timothy Turtle inquired, as he stopped and looked around
at Mr. Crow.

"I didn't speak," Mr. Crow told him.

Timothy glared at his teacher for a few moments. And Mr. Crow began to
think that Jasper Jay had spoiled the fun. But at last Timothy Turtle
plodded on. And when his back was turned old Mr. Crow flew over to the
place where Jasper Jay was hidden and whispered to him that he had
better keep still or there would be trouble for him.




VIII

TURNING TURTLE


So Timothy Turtle struggled up the steep face of the bluff. And as he
neared the top Mr. Crow began to hop up and down upon the old pine
stump. He was almost bursting with silent laughter. But he succeeded in
keeping quiet. And now and then he made threatening motions toward
Jasper Jay and his friends, who stuck their heads from behind limbs of
trees and hummocks and bushes, lest they miss any of the fun.

Once on top of the great rock that capped the bluff and hung out over
the creek, Timothy Turtle clung there and peered down at the gently
flowing water below.

"What a long way it is down there!" he called to Mr. Crow.

"Don't think about that!" Mr. Crow cautioned him.

"Is this the way Mr. Alligator learned to fly?" Timothy Turtle demanded.

"Don't think about him!" Mr. Crow shouted. "Just jump out as far as you
can!"

"I believe I don't care to fly to-day," Timothy Turtle faltered, drawing
back from the edge of the rock. "I----I'll wait till some other time.
You know, I'm older than you are."

"Tut, tut!" said Mr. Crow. "When I'm your age I shall still be flying as
well as I do now. It's nothing, when you know how. Nothing at all!"

Urged by Mr. Crow, Timothy Turtle once more crept to the very edge of
the cliff and stretched his neck out as far as he could, to gaze down at
the black water. And at last, after making several false starts and
drawing back to a place of safety, he stood up on his hind legs, shut
his eyes, and hopped off into space.

Now, the moment Timothy Turtle leaped from the top of the bluff a
deafening squawk broke the silence. Old Mr. Crow _cawed_ as loud as he
knew how. But the racket he made was as nothing compared with the uproar
of Jasper Jay and the noisy crew he had brought with him. They squalled
with delight as Timothy Turtle plunged through the air like a stone. And
when he landed upside down in the creek, striking the water with a great
splash, the whole company shrieked louder than ever.

"_Ha! ha! ha_!" Mr. Crow cried, holding his sides and rocking backwards
and forwards upon the old stump.

"_Jay_! _jay_! _jay_!" Jasper and his friends bawled, hopping up and
down and cutting capers in the air.

As for Timothy Turtle, he made no sound at all. And neither did he make
the slightest motion. The current of Black Creek caught him and bore him
away down the stream. But at last he managed to paddle ashore. And he
pulled himself slowly out of the water, and lay upon the sand and
groaned.

Mr. Crow and his cronies gathered quickly about him.

"What's the matter?" Mr. Crow inquired. "Don't you like flying?"

It was some time before Timothy could answer.

"I've had an awful fall," he moaned finally.

"Where are you hurt?" Mr. Crow asked him.

"Everywhere!" Timothy Turtle told him. "I thought you said that water
was soft to fall into."

"Well, isn't it?"

"It certainly is _not,_" Timothy Turtle declared. "I believe there's
nothing harder in the whole world.... I've heard, sir, that you are very
wise. But for once, anyhow, you've made a great mistake."

Old Mr. Crow coughed--and winked at his friends. "The trouble was"--he
explained--"the trouble was, you lost your balance and landed in the
creek upside down. And of course you couldn't fly in that position. It's
what's called 'turning turtle,'" he added, "and I might have known--if I
had stopped to think--that you'd be sure to do it."

"Well," said Timothy Turtle, drawing a long breath, "I'll tell you right
now that I'll never, _never_, turn turtle again."




IX

A PLEASURE TRIP


Almost always the wild folk in Pleasant Valley knew that if they wanted
to see Timothy Turtle they could find him somewhere in Black Creek. But
once in a great while he liked to go on what he called "an excursion."
By that he meant a pleasure trip to some spot not too far away--never
outside of Pleasant Valley.

Nobody meeting Timothy Turtle on one of those journeys would have
suspected that he was bent on pleasure. Or at least, nobody would have
supposed that Mr. Turtle had found what he was looking for. Certainly if
he was hunting for fun, he never looked as if he had discovered any.
For no smile showed itself upon his face. Instead, he met every one with
a frown. And if a body gave him a cheery "Good morning," just as likely
as not Timothy would answer with a grunt, and pass on.

Naturally, when Timothy Turtle arrived anywhere and told people that he
expected to spend a few days among them they did not feel any great joy
at the news. On the contrary, they were quite likely to say to one
another, "I hope he won't stop long," or "He looks more grumpy than
ever." And some would even remark that they wished Timothy Turtle would
go home and stay there.

So no one of the Beaver colony was glad when Timothy appeared in their
pond one day and explained that he intended to be in the neighborhood at
least a week. In the first place, the Beavers, as a whole, were a busy,
cheerful family, who did not like disagreeable folk for company. And in
the second place, they were spry workers; and they had little use for
anybody as slow as Timothy Turtle, who never did any work at all.

It is no wonder, then, that as soon as the news of Timothy's coming
spread up and down and across the pond, the busy Beavers stopped their
work and said things about the crusty outsider who had forced himself
upon them. And almost everybody went to call upon Grandaddy Beaver and
asked him what he thought ought to be done.

Now, Grandaddy was a good old soul. And he told the hot-headed younger
members of the colony to keep cool, which seems a simple thing for them
to have done, swimming about as they were in the icy water, which
flowed down from springs on the side of Blue Mountain.

"Timothy Turtle has been here before," Grandaddy Beaver announced. "I
can remember my great-grandfather's telling me about his passing two
whole weeks in our pond. And though everybody wished he would leave, he
never harmed anybody, because people kept out of his way."

"Well, he ought to work while he's here," said a brisk gentleman,
tugging at his moustache.

"Timothy Turtle will never lift his hand to do a single stroke of work,"
said old Grandaddy Beaver. "He has already spent a long life without
working. And he'll be lazy if he lives to be a hundred years old--or
even a hundred and fifty."

Now, a young chap called Brownie Beaver heard all this, as he stood in
Grandaddy's doorway and peeped inside the house. And he thought it was
a shame that _somebody_ couldn't make Timothy Turtle mend his ways. To
Brownie Bearer it seemed that Timothy Turtle was old enough to behave
himself.




X

A WARNING


Timothy Turtle's visit at the beaver pond was just like all of his
outings. Wherever he went he was so disagreeable and snappish that there
wasn't a single person in the whole village that didn't wish Timothy had
stayed away from that place.

He was forever grumbling, complaining that the fishing was poor in the
pond. And as for frogs, he declared that he hadn't seen even one.

"Why anybody wants to live here is more than I can understand." That was
what Timothy Turtle told everyone he met. And of course it was a poor
way of making himself welcome.

"Why do you come here, if you don't like our pond?" people asked him.

"It's a change for me," was Timothy's reply. "After I've spent a week
with you I'll be pretty glad to get back home again. And I won't want to
go on another excursion for a whole year--or maybe two.

"It's twenty years since I was here before. And I sha'n't care to come
again for forty, at least."

Now, such dreadfully rude remarks hurt the Beaver family's feelings. And
when Timothy Turtle seized a fat lady by the tail one day and wouldn't
let her go until sunset, her feelings were hurt most of all. She cried
that she had never been so insulted in all her life.

Timothy Turtle merely said that she ought not to object. He explained
that he had been _giving her a rest_--for of course she couldn't cut
down a tree, nor work upon the dam that held the water in the pond,
while he clung fast to her tail.

Well, this fat lady happened to be Brownie Beaver's mother. And after
her disagreeable experience with the stranger, Brownie made up his mind
that he _would make Timothy Turtle work_. That was the worst punishment
he could think of.

Whenever the members of the Beaver family were not sleeping, or eating,
either they were gathering food by cutting down trees, or they were
mending their dam.

The dam always had leaks here and there. And sooner or later every one
of them had to be stopped, before it grew so big that the water would
rush through it and tear a hole so great that the pond would be drained
dry.

During his stay among the Beavers Timothy Turtle often crawled on top
of the dam and stretched himself out and watched the Beavers at their
task. He said that if there was one thing that he liked to see more than
another it was "a gang of men working." But he complained that they
ought to work in the daytime, when the sun was shining, because then it
would have been "much pleasanter for him."

"Don't you want to help us?" asked the brisk fellow who had told
Grandaddy Beaver that he thought Timothy Turtle ought to go to work.

That question actually made Timothy snort.

"_Me work_?" he snapped scornfully, as he glared at the speaker.

Everybody knew what he meant. And everybody knew how Timothy felt, too,
when he edged along the dam and made a savage pass at the plump
gentleman who had spoken to him.

[Illustration: Timothy began to climb the steep bluff.]

Luckily the brisk Beaver jumped aside before Timothy Turtle's jaws
closed on him. And he did not say another word to the stranger during
the rest of his stay at the pond.

But Timothy Turtle became quite talkative. He stopped all he met--old
and young both--and warned them that nobody need try to get him to work,
for he never had worked, and he never intended to.




XI

ON THE BEAVER DAM


Timothy Turtle was so angry that he went about snapping at everybody and
everything. And since the whole Beaver family kept carefully out of his
way, he had to content himself with setting his jaws upon roots and
sticks.

Now, the Beavers' dam was made of sticks and mud. So Timothy found
plenty of chances to bite. And because he could not hurt the sticks, no
matter how much he tried, nobody cared.

Really he acted in a most silly, surly fashion.

Out of a corner of his eye Brownie Beaver watched Timothy Turtle
closely. Brownie had not forgotten how Timothy seized his mother by the
tail. And while he was helping his elders on the dam, at the same time
he was trying to think of some way to outwit Timothy Turtle.

It happened that just at that time the dam needed a great deal of
mending. There were so many holes to be filled that the Beavers worked
all night long. And in spite of all their efforts they saw that even
then a few leaks would have to go unmended. But they did not get
snappish nor lose their tempers. They were not like Timothy Turtle.
Though he slept a great part of the night, and waked up to watch the
workers early in the morning, his temper was worse than ever.

He was paddling through the water close to the dam when Brownie Beaver
called to him.

"You see that stick??" said Brownie, pointing to a stout piece of box
elder that stuck out of the dam.

"I'm not blind," Timothy Turtle snarled back at him.

"Well, please don't bite it, anyhow!" Brownie Beaver begged him.

That was enough for Timothy Turtle. The mere fact that he thought
somebody didn't want him to do a certain thing was sure to make him do
it. So without saying another word he seized that stick in his powerful
jaws. And bracing his feet against the inner side of the dam, half in
the water and half out, he pulled with all his strength.

Now and then he turned his beady eyes toward Brownie Beaver and frowned
at him, as if to say, "Don't give _me_ any orders, young fellow! I shall
do just as I please; and nobody can stop me."

Timothy noticed that Brownie went to a number of the other workers and
whispered to them. And when everyone to whom he spoke called to Timothy
and asked him if he wouldn't just as soon let go of that stick and grab
another one, that crusty old codger made up his mind that nobody should
move him from that spot. He took an even firmer hold and tugged as if he
meant to tear the whole dam down.

But the Beaver family knew that he couldn't do any damage. And as soon
as it was light enough they all went home to take a nap, leaving Timothy
Turtle to pull away to his heart's content.




XII

KIND TIMOTHY TURTLE


All day long Timothy Turtle stayed on the Beaver dam. And when the
Beavers returned in the evening, to resume their work, they found
Timothy still clinging to the box elder stick.

To Timothy Turtle's deep disgust the plump workers gathered round him
and laughed. He could never bear to hear people laugh--laughing was so
silly, he always said. And now Brownie Beaver laughed louder than all
the rest.

"Look!" Brownie cried, pointing straight at Timothy Turtle. "Isn't he
kind? He has stopped up that big hole for us all day.... And
now"--Brownie added, turning to Timothy Turtle--"now if you'll kindly
_stop working_ for us and move aside we'll fill that hole that's right
under you, with mud."

Timothy Turtle never felt more ashamed in all his long life. There he
had been working all day long, helping the Beaver family by plugging a
hole in their dam with his flat body--and he had never guessed what he
was doing!

He let go of the stick and sank hastily in the pond, where the water was
deepest, to bury himself in the soft bottom. And there he stayed and
sulked for the rest of the week, until his visit was done. If he stuck
his head out of the water now and then for a breath of air, he was
careful to let no one see him.

He did not even bid the Beaver family good-by at the end of his visit,
but left in the middle of the day, when everybody was sound asleep.

Grandaddy Beaver said it was no more than one could expect of a person
so rude as Timothy Turtle.

"He was just like that in my great-grandfather's time," the old
gentleman explained.

And all the rest of the villagers remarked that Timothy Turtle was old
enough to have better manners. Certainly, they said, the youngest Beaver
child knew better than to treat people in such a rude fashion.

Brownie Beaver's mother especially announced that she had never in all
her life met a gentleman who had treated her so disrespectfully as old
Mr. Turtle. And she grew red and pale by turns as she recalled how he
had seized her by the tail and held her fast for a whole day.

"I hope," she said, "that by the time he comes here again he will have
learned how to behave himself."

But Grandaddy Beaver shook his head.

"Timothy Turtle," he declared, "will be no different even if he lives to
be a thousand years old."

And everybody said that it was a great pity.




XIII

THE PLOT


Of all the creatures that walked or swam or flew, Timothy Turtle liked
boys the least of all. He said that if they ever did anything except
throw stones he had never caught them at it.

"It's a wonder"--he often remarked--"it's a wonder that there's a stone
left anywhere along this creek. I've lived here a good many years; and
no boy ever spied me sunning myself on a rock in the water without
trying to hit me."

Once in a great while some youngster was skillful enough to bounce a
stone off Mr. Turtle's back. And when the old scamp flopped into the
water he always heard a great whooping from the bank.

At such times as likely as not Timothy had been awakened from a sound
sleep. But when that jeering noise greeted his ears he knew at once what
had struck him.

It was a good thing for him that he had a hard back. Nevertheless it
always made him angry to be disturbed when he was taking a nap. And some
people said that if Timothy Turtle ever grabbed a boy by his great-toe,
when he was in swimming, that youngster would limp for many a day
thereafter.

But the boys went in swimming just the same. Black Creek would have had
to be alive with turtles to keep them out of it on a hot summer's day.
Indeed Farmer Green often said that he wished his son Johnnie would
spend half the time in the hayfield that he wasted around the creek.

When questioned by his father, Johnnie said that there was an old turtle
in Black Creek that he wanted to catch.

"What are you going to do with him--make soup of him?" Farmer Green
inquired solemnly.

Johnnie shook his head.

"I want to cut my initials on his shell and let him go," he explained.
"Then if I catch him again when I'm grown up I'll know him when I find
him.... I'll put the date under my initials, too," Johnnie added.

Farmer Green laughed.

"When you're grown up," he said, "you'll have something else to do
besides catching snapping turtles. This afternoon you may carve your
initials on the hay-rake and then take it over to the big meadow and
play with it."

For a few moments Johnnie Green couldn't help looking glum. He had
intended to visit the creek that very afternoon. But now he knew that
his father expected him to work--to _work_ on one of the finest days of
the whole summer!

"I'll let you off all day to-morrow," Farmer Green said. "And you know
there's that calf I told you I'd give you if you helped me with the
haying."

And then Johnnie actually smiled.

       *       *       *       *       *

Well, the next morning was just as fine as the afternoon before. And
Johnnie Green set off early for Black Creek, with his pockets stuffed
full of cherries, because he was afraid he might get hungry. He ate a
few of them on the way to the creek. But when he reached that delightful
place he found something that made him forget what he had in his
pockets. For there near the top of the bank, too far from the water to
escape him--there lay Timothy Turtle himself, taking a sun-bath on the
warm sand.




XIV

CAUGHT!


As soon as Johnnie Green saw Mr. Turtle he let out a loud whoop. And as
soon as Mr. Turtle saw Johnnie, _he_ scrambled up and made awkwardly for
the water as fast as he could go.

But Timothy's fastest, on land, was so slow that Johnnie Green stopped
him in two seconds.

Catching up a long stick, Johnnie thrust it in front of Timothy Turtle,
who promptly seized it in his hooked jaws.

Johnnie Green couldn't help laughing at him.

"You're a stupid old fellow!" he cried. "You could bite that stick all
day and not hurt me."

But Timothy Turtle said never a word. He wished, however, that he could
shift his grip to one of Johnnie's bare toes. He rather thought, if he
could have done that, that Johnnie Green would give such a yell as had
never before been heard in Pleasant Valley.

But Johnnie was careful. After catching Mr. Turtle he hardly knew what
to do with him. All summer long Johnnie had kept his jackknife sharp as
a razor, ready to carve his initials on Mr. Turtle's hard shell whenever
the chance came. The knife was in his pocket. There was Mr. Turtle
before him on the sand. And yet Johnnie was puzzled.

Close at hand his captive looked fiercer than he had appeared at a
distance, lying on a rock in the creek. And his jaws had closed upon
the stick in a vise-like hold. Johnnie winced when he tried to imagine
how he would feel with Mr. Turtle fastened firmly to a toe or a finger.

It was not a pleasant thought. But Johnnie Green soon had a happier one:
why not turn the old scamp over upon his back?

Johnnie had heard that a turtle was helpless when upset in that way. And
he had already made up his mind to flop this one over when he realized
that even with his captive upside down there was still a certain
difficulty.

To be sure, Mr. Turtle couldn't walk away. But he could bite just the
same. And how was a boy going to carve his initials on anybody's back,
when that person was lying on it?

Johnnie Green saw that that plan wouldn't do at all. But he turned
Timothy over, just for fun, upsetting him neatly by lifting him on the
stick--for Timothy had not sense enough to let go of it in time to save
himself.

Johnnie stayed there only long enough to make sure that Timothy Turtle
was unable to move. And he soon decided that the savage old rascal would
have to lie on his back until somebody came along and tipped him over.
Then Johnnie Green scampered away.

To be sure, Mr. Turtle wriggled his legs, and twisted his neck about.
But all his wiggling and twisting were of not the slightest help to him.

It was the first time in his long life that he had ever found himself in
that position on land. And he was both frightened and angry.

Old Mr. Crow, who had a way of knowing when there was anything unusual
going on, arrived in time to hear Timothy's remarks. And what he said
about boys--and especially about Johnnie Green--made Mr. Crow catch his
breath.




XV

THE REDSKINS' WAY


Of course Timothy Turtle was glad that Johnnie Green was gone. But he
was far from happy, lying helpless on his back on the bank of Black
Creek.

He told Mr. Crow that he hoped Johnnie would forget to come back
again--a remark which made old Mr. Crow laugh. Being very wise, he saw
at once that Timothy Turtle knew next to nothing about boys.

"I should think," Mr. Crow told Timothy, "you'd want Johnnie Green to
return."

"Why?" Timothy snapped out his question in an angry tone, as he lay
there upside down and stared at old Mr. Crow, who sat in a tree near-by.

"Well," Mr. Crow answered, "who'll set you on your feet again if he
doesn't?"

"Don't you worry about me!" Timothy Turtle sneered. "I'll right myself
as soon as there's a freshet. If there's a big enough rain the creek
will rise as high as I am now. And nobody could keep me on my back in
the water."

Old Mr. Crow actually snickered.

"You might have to wait till next spring for a freshet," he said
cheerfully. "And what would you eat meanwhile?"

Having had a hearty meal of fish just before leaving the creek, Timothy
Turtle hadn't once thought of _eating_. And naturally Mr. Crow's
question troubled him. So he frowned frightfully. And he snapped his
hooked jaws together, for he had to take something in his jaws and bite
it, if it was no more than the air.

"I suppose"--Mr. Crow remarked--"I suppose you would call that _taking
the air, eh_?" And there was a merry twinkle in his eye.

"Go away!" Timothy Turtle growled.

But his guest declined to leave.

"There's likely to be some fun here," he thought, "and I don't intend to
miss it."

       *       *       *       *       *

If Timothy Turtle was surprised, Mr. Crow certainly was not, when a
little later Johnnie Green and another boy whom he called "Red" (on
account of his hair) came hurrying up to the spot where Timothy Turtle
lay.

Upon the ground they dropped a number of things, such as pieces of rope,
an old grain-sack, and an axe.

"Goodness!" said Mr. Crow to himself, as he looked on. "I'm glad I'm not
Timothy Turtle. It appears to me that he's going to have a terrible
time."

And Timothy himself seemed to think the same. He made savage passes at
Johnnie and Red whenever they came near him. But they took good care to
keep beyond his reach.

On the whole their captive behaved in a most foolish manner. Instead of
drawing his head as far as he could into his shell, he thrust his neck
out as far as it would go.

And that was exactly what the boys wanted him to do. Before Timothy
Turtle--who was somewhat slow-witted--before he realized what their plan
was, Johnnie Green and his friend Red had slipped one noose around his
head and another around his body. And after turning their captive right
side up they staked him out upon the sand so that he could not move.

"There!" Johnnie Green cried when they had Timothy Turtle where they
wanted him. "That's the way the Redskins do with their enemies."

And his friend the red-haired boy danced something that might have been
an Indian war dance.

Anyhow, neither old Mr. Crow nor Timothy Turtle had ever seen anything
like it.




XVI

JOHNNIE GREEN'S INITIALS


Timothy Turtle found himself in a very uncomfortable position, staked
out as he was on the bank of Black Creek, with one rope about his body
and another about his neck.

And even then Johnnie Green was not satisfied. Though his friend Red
insisted that their captive could do them no harm (saying, "How can he
bite when he can't move his head?") Johnnie Green replied that he would
"fix him" so there couldn't possibly be any accident. And taking the old
grain-sack he had brought back with him, he wrapped it carefully around
Timothy's head, till he looked for all the world as if he had the
earache.

"There!" Johnnie Green said, when he had finished. "He'll have to bite
through that bag before he bites us; and I guess he'll find he has a
pretty big mouthful."

Then he pulled out his jackknife and felt its sharp edge with his thumb.

"Lemme do it for you!" Red begged him, holding out his hand for the
knife.

But Johnnie Green had no such idea.

"No!" he said firmly. "I've got to cut my initials myself."

"He might get loose and grab you," the red-haired boy remarked
hopefully.

But Johnnie Green told him that he would risk that.

"Which way are you going to cut them?" Red asked him.

"What do you mean?" Johnnie inquired.

"Are you going to make 'em read when he's going or coming?" Red
explained.

"I hadn't thought of that," Johnnie Green replied. "But I guess _going_
would be better. Then if he stands up you can read 'em just the same,
without any trouble."

So Johnnie kneeled down beside Timothy Turtle. It took him some time to
decide just where he would carve his initials on Timothy's shell. And he
had about decided that the best place to put his mark on Mr. Turtle's
back would be exactly in the middle of it, when he cried all at once,
"Look, Red! Look!"

"Whassamatter?" the red-haired boy wanted to know.

"This is the queerest thing I ever heard of!" Johnnie exclaimed. "Here
are my initials already cut!"

Red could not believe him, until he had peered at Timothy's shell
himself. And then he saw that what Johnnie had said was true.

"There's a date, too," Johnnie pointed out. And he read it aloud.
"That's more'n thirty years ago," he declared.

But the red-haired boy laughed boisterously.

"Shucks!" he jeered. "Somebody's been playin' a joke on you. Somebody
knew you were lookin' for this old turtle and put your initials and that
old date on him just to puzzle you."

Johnnie Green didn't know exactly what to think. But probably he was no
more upset than was Timothy Turtle, who was not having a good time at
all.

"I don't care if some one did catch this turtle first," Johnnie said at
last. "I'm going to carve my mark on him just the same."

So he began to cut "J. G." in the exact center of the back of Timothy
Turtle, much to that old fellow's rage.

And when Johnnie Green had finished the letters he cut the date below
them.

"What you goin' to do with him now?" Red asked Johnnie then.

"Turn him loose!" Johnnie replied.

"Aw--don't do that! Lemme have him!" Red coaxed.

Johnnie Green said that he was sorry--but he intended to set his captive
free, just as he had planned.

He soon found that turning Mr. Turtle loose was no easy matter. Strange
to say, Timothy Turtle did nothing to help. On the contrary, he made the
task as hard as he could for Johnnie Green, trying his best to bite that
young man.

In the end Johnnie had to cut the rope that held Timothy's head. And
when that furious old fellow at last found himself in Black Creek once
more he still wore a noose of rope, like a collar, around his neck.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Johnnie Green told his father about his adventure with Timothy
Turtle, he had a great surprise. Farmer Green said that when he was just
about Johnnie's age he had cut _his_ initials on a turtle, down by the
creek.

Now, since Johnnie was named for his father, their initials had to be
alike. So the J. G.--and the old date--that Johnnie had found must have
been carved by Farmer Green when he was a youngster.

Somehow, Johnnie found it very hard to imagine that his father had ever
been a boy like himself and had spent his time playing near the creek,
and carving his initials on the back of a turtle.

"How old do you suppose that turtle is?" he asked his father.

"Oh, he must be a regular old settler," Farmer Green declared. "He may
have been around here when your grandfather was a boy, for all I know."

"Do you really believe that?" Johnnie exclaimed.

"Well," his father answered, "there's only one way to find out."

"What's that?" Johnnie inquired eagerly.

"Ask Mr. Turtle himself," Farmer Green replied with a smile.




XVII

TIMOTHY NEEDS HELP


Everybody who lived near Black Creek noticed Timothy Turtle's new
collar. And almost every one, being curious, asked Mr. Turtle where he
got it, and why he was wearing it.

Now, Timothy Turtle would give such folk no answer at all. But old Mr.
Crow knew what had happened--of course. And he took pains to tell all
his friends how Johnnie Green had caught Timothy and tied a rope around
his neck, and cut something on Timothy's back, besides.

[Illustration: "Let me go!" Fatty Coon shrieked.]

So it was not long before Timothy Turtle's neighbors began to ask him
what was on his back.

"My shell's on my back!" he snapped, when any one put that question to
him.

"Yes--but what's on your shell?" everybody was sure to answer back.

Timothy Turtle couldn't have replied to that question, even if he had
wanted to. And though he always sneered when hearing it and turned his
head away, as if the matter was something he didn't care to talk about,
there was nobody who was any more eager to know the answer than he.

To be sure, by raising his head he could get a slanting view of the top
of his shell. But such a glimpse was not enough to tell him anything.

Under the constant inquiries of his neighbors Timothy's curiosity grew
every day. Soon he took to staring at his reflection in the surface of
the water, with the hope that he might be able to see his back in that
way.

But it was all in vain. Though Timothy twisted and turned and stretched
his long neck, he couldn't see his own back, no matter how much he
tried.

Now, there was an ill-mannered scamp named Peter Mink who happened to go
prowling up the creek one day. And as he quietly rounded a bend he came
upon an odd sight.

In front of him, and perched on a rock in the midst of the water,
Timothy Turtle was going through the queerest motions. He seemed to be
peering into the water at something, while wriggling about in a most
peculiar fashion.

He did not notice Peter Mink, who stood stock still and watched him for
some time without speaking.

At last Peter's prying ways got the better of him. He simply had to say
something.

"What on earth are you doing!" he called to Timothy.

Mr. Turtle gave a great start.

"I'm looking at myself--that's all," he said. He was so surprised that
for once he actually answered a question politely.

His reply amused Peter Mink. And that ill-bred rascal laughed right in
Timothy Turtle's face.

"Time must hang heavy on your hands, if you can't find anything
pleasanter to do than that," he remarked--for Peter Mink never cared how
rude he was. In fact he liked to make unkind remarks. "Aren't you
afraid," he added, "that you'll wear out the surface of the creek,
gazing into it? I shouldn't like that very well," said Peter Mink,
"because then it couldn't freeze in winter, and you know it's great
sport to hunt muskrats under the ice."

Well, Peter's speech alarmed Timothy Turtle. And yet he felt that he
could not rest until he knew what was on his back. So he asked Peter
Mink to meet him on the bank.

"I want you to help me," he said. "I have reason to believe that there's
something written on my back. And you must tell me what it is."




XVIII

PETER MINK'S PLAN


Now Peter Mink had never learned to read. In the first place, he had
never had a chance to learn. And in the second, he was such a
good-for-nothing rascal that he wouldn't have gone to school anyhow.

But he did not tell all this to Timothy Turtle. When he stepped behind
Timothy and gazed at his back, Peter Mink thought of a fine way to tease
the old fellow.

Of course, he had not the slightest idea what those marks on Mr.
Turtle's shell meant. But he looked down at them with a wise smile.

Mr. Turtle, watching Peter out of the corner of his eye, saw that smile;
and he did not like it in the least. In fact, it made him feel quite
peevish.

"Well, what do you see?" he asked Peter Mink impatiently.

"Ah!" Peter Mink replied with a shake of his small head. "I'm not going
to tell you, Mr. Turtle. I don't want to hurt your feelings. And if I
were to explain that your back says you're a disagreeable, mean old
scamp, you know you'd be very angry."

Peter Mink jumped out of the way just in time. For Timothy Turtle
wheeled with amazing swiftness and snapped at his tormentor.

"Don't do that!" Peter cried. "_I_ didn't say anything about you, Mr.
Turtle."

"You'd better not," Timothy warned him. "And if Johnnie Green carved
any such words as those on my shell I don't know what to do. I certainly
don't want to carry them about with me for the rest of my life." He
looked unhappy, to say the least. He knew that probably he would live a
great many years longer. And he was puzzled.

"Why don't you get a new shell?" Peter Mink inquired.

"I'd hate to do that," Timothy Turtle told him. "I've had this one a
long time; and it fits me perfectly."

"Then why don't you get the well-known tailor, Mr. Ferdinand Frog, to
make you a coat that will cover your back? If you did that, nobody could
see what's on your shell."

"A good idea!" Timothy Turtle exclaimed. "I'll see Mr. Frog at once. And
some day I'll do something handsome for you, because you've been a
great help to me."

"Why wait?" Peter Mink demanded. "Why don't you do it now?" Knowing that
Timothy was stingy, Peter thought that the old gentleman would soon
change his mind about "doing something handsome" for him.

"No!" Timothy Turtle declared. "I want to wait a while and think it
over."

"Well, then," Peter Mink urged him, "why don't you crawl under that
shelving rock and think it over right now?"

"You ask too many questions," Mr. Turtle told him. "And besides, I must
hurry away and find Ferdinand Frog. I want my new coat as soon as I can
get it. And the longer I stay here, the more time I shall lose." So in
spite of all Peter Mink could say, Timothy slipped into Black Creek and
swam away.




XIX

CAREFUL MR. FROG


Somebody had knocked. And with a wide smile upon his face Mr. Ferdinand
Frog, the tailor, went to his door and peeped out.

One look was enough. He shut the door again with great haste and barred
it. And he held one hand over his heart, as if he had just received a
terrible fright.

"Let me in!" somebody called. The tailor knew that it was Timothy
Turtle's voice, for he had seen that crusty old person standing upon his
doorstep.

"Go away!" Mr. Frog replied. "I'm not here."

He was an odd chap--this Ferdinand Frog. One never could tell what he
was going to do--or say.

"Yes, you are!" Timothy Turtle insisted. "I saw you only a moment ago."

The tailor then peered out of the window at his caller.

"There you are now!" Timothy shouted, as he caught sight of Mr. Frog. "I
say, let me in!"

"I can't," Mr. Frog answered. "I'm sick a-bed."

"Nonsense!" Timothy cried.

"Well, I expect I'll be ill if you don't go away," the tailor answered.
"I'm having a nervous chill this very moment."

He was afraid of Timothy Turtle. And it was no wonder. For Timothy had
tried, more than once to make a meal of the nimble Mr. Frog.

"I haven't come here to hurt you," Timothy Turtle explained, trying to
smile at the face in the window. "I want you to make me a new coat--a
big one that will cover my back all over."

To his great disappointment Mr. Frog shook his head with great force.

"I'm not interested," he announced.

"Do you mean"--Timothy Turtle faltered--"do you mean that you won't make
a coat for me?"

"Exactly!"

"Why?" Timothy pressed him.

"Too busy!" was Mr. Frog's answer.

"Who is?"

"You are!" said Mr. Frog. "Ever since I've known you, you've been trying
to catch me and my friends."

"Why--er--I was only joking," Timothy Turtle told him. "You mustn't mind
my playful ways. Just make me a coat and I'll do something handsome for
you."

It was now the tailor's turn to ask questions.

"What"--he inquired--"what will you do?"

"I couldn't just say at this moment," Timothy replied.

"Why not?"

"Oh, I'd want to think a while," said Timothy Turtle.

"Very well!" was the tailor's answer. "I've no objection, though it's
something I never do myself."

"I wish you'd come outside a moment, since you don't want me inside your
shop," Timothy remarked. "I'd like to whisper to you."

"I'm deaf," Mr. Frog informed him. "I couldn't hear a single word, even
if you were to shout your head off."

"You can hear what I'm saying now well enough," Timothy pointed out.

"I read the lips," said Mr. Frog with a snicker.

That speech made Timothy Turtle start.

"Then if you can read my lips, no doubt you can read what's on my back,"
he said.

"That's easy," the tailor observed. "Your shell's on your back, of
course."

Timothy Turtle glanced up with a look of scorn.

"Don't be silly!" he snapped. "I mean, can you read what's carved on my
shell?"

"Certainly!" Mr. Frog replied. And he began to mutter, as if to himself,
"J. G.--that means _just grumpy_, of course----"

Timothy Turtle interrupted him quickly.

"I don't care to hear any more," he screamed. And turning away, he
waddled towards the water.

"That Ferdinand Frog has no manners," he spluttered. "I only wish he
wasn't quite so spry." And Mr. Turtle looked very fierce as he snapped
his jaws together.




XX

THE ALMANAC


One rainy night Peter Mink stopped at Black Creek; and calling loudly to
Timothy Turtle he asked for a place to sleep.

"You remember," he said, when Timothy drew himself upon the bank, "you
told me that you would do something handsome for me some time. And now
that I'm wet and tired I hope you can offer me a snug, dry spot in which
to spend the night."

"What can you do to pay me?" asked Timothy Turtle. He never did anything
for anybody without pay. "Can you saw wood?"

Now, Peter Mink would rather stay out in the rain forever than saw a
single stick of wood. So he said:

"No, I can't!" just like that.

"Well, it's about time you learned," said Timothy Turtle.

Peter Mink was about to leave in disgust; and he was wondering what name
he would call Timothy Turtle, when he was a little further away, when he
noticed that Timothy had a thin book in his hand.

"What's that?" Peter asked.

"It's the Farmer's Almanac," said Timothy Turtle. "I've been looking
through it; but my eyes are bad and I can't read."

Now that was quite true; for Timothy's eyes _were_ bad--and he had never
learned to read.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," Peter Mink announced. "If you'll give me a
place to spend the night I'll read the Farmer's Almanac to you."

"Come right in!" Timothy Turtle cried, leading the way to a cozy nook
beneath a big rock which was not far from the water. And Peter Mink was
very glad to creep inside that comfortable shelter. He took the Almanac
from Timothy Turtle and they both sat down.

Peter opened the book.

"I see," he said, "that it says the weather was fair to-day, but look
out for a heavy rain to-night!"

Now, Timothy Turtle had not felt quite sure that Peter Mink knew how to
read. But when he heard that he quickly changed his mind.

"That's exactly what's happened!" he exclaimed. And he was greatly
pleased.

But the next moment he noticed that Peter Mink was holding the book
upside down. Timothy could tell that because the picture of the man
ploughing, on the cover, was upside down.

"You can't read!" he cried angrily. "You don't even know how to hold a
book. You've got it bottom side up!"

But Peter Mink only smiled pleasantly at him.

"You don't understand," he said. "That's the way I was taught to read.
Then, if you want to read when standing on your head, you don't need to
turn the book over.... It's the latest method," he explained.

"Oh!" said Timothy Turtle. "That's different!"

"Yes--quite different!" said Peter Mink.

"What does the Almanac say about next week?" Timothy inquired.

"Time to plant corn!" Peter told him.

"That's so!" said Timothy Turtle. "Mr. Crow was telling me this very day
that Farmer Green was ploughing his cornfield; but of course that
doesn't interest me much.... What else does the book say?" Timothy
continued.

"Well, here's some general advice," Peter Mink remarked, as he looked at
the Almanac again. "It says: 'If anybody comes to you and asks for a
place to sleep, give him a bed--but first of all, give him a good
supper.'"

"I don't believe I want to hear any more to-night," said Timothy Turtle
hastily. "It's late; so we'd better go to bed right away."

Peter Mink was somewhat disappointed. He had hoped to get a fish or two
to eat. But there was nothing he could say, though he did wish Timothy
Turtle could take a hint.

"In the morning you can read to me again," Timothy told him.

So they went to bed.

But in the morning the Almanac was nowhere to be found. Timothy Turtle
hunted for it in every place he could think of--except Peter Mink's
pocket.

After Peter had gone, Timothy continued his search. And at last he found
the Almanac beneath the heap of dry leaves which Peter Mink had used for
a bed.

"That's queer!" Timothy Turtle said. "I'm almost sure I looked there
before Peter Mink went away.... My eyes must be growing worse."

The more he thought of the matter, the gladder he was that he hadn't
found the book before. For there was no knowing but that Peter Mink
might have found some advice about giving a good breakfast to a guest
who stayed over night.

Then Timothy Turtle went into Black Creek and caught a fine fish, for he
was hungry. And he enjoyed his meal mightily, because he had it all to
himself.

While he was eating he kept thinking what a disagreeable fellow Peter
Mink was. No doubt he would have been surprised had he known that Peter
Mink was thinking the same thing about _him_, at exactly the same
moment.




XXI

A QUEER WISH


Fishing was one of Timothy Turtle's favorite sports. He was a skillful
fisherman, too. And though it only happened once that he caught more
than one fish at a time, on that occasion he captured seven. This was
the way it happened:

Johnnie Green had come to Black Creek to fish for pickerel. And Timothy
Turtle was much annoyed when he found Johnnie fishing in the pool that
he liked best of all. Timothy thought it was mean of Johnnie Green to
catch _his_ fish, in _his_ creek.

And Timothy's beady eyes glared as he watched Johnnie from a safe
hiding-place under the bank.

He saw that Johnnie Green was a good fisherman. Before he moved on he
caught three big fish from that pool; and one of them--the biggest of
the three--was the very fish on which Timothy Turtle had been expecting
to dine that day.

It was really no wonder that he was annoyed. And when Johnnie went
further up the creek to try his luck elsewhere Timothy Turtle slipped
into the water and followed him.

The more fish he saw Johnnie Green catch, the angrier Timothy grew. And
he went out of his way to tell a number of his neighbors what was
happening.

"Something ought to be done about it!" he complained.

"Why don't you go down and speak to Farmer Green?" Peter Mink
suggested. Peter liked fish, too. And he had often said that Johnnie
had no right to take food away from him, when everybody knew that there
was a plenty at the farmhouse.

Timothy Turtle did not care for Peter's suggestion.

"I've no time to waste talking to Farmer Green," he said. "It seems to
me a letter would be better. Now, if somebody would write a letter, and
get everybody to sign his name to it, and send it down to Farmer Green
by a messenger, I would do my share to help. I would tell the messenger
where to leave the letter so that Farmer Green would be sure to find
it." Timothy then said that he must hurry back to the creek, for he
wanted to see how many fish Johnnie Green took, so the number could be
mentioned in the letter. But before he left Timothy told Peter Mink to
go and find somebody to write the letter. "There's old Mr. Crow,"
Timothy said. "You might ask him. He could use one of his quills for a
pen, you know."

When Timothy Turtle reached the creek once more he found that while he
was talking to Peter Mink, Johnnie Green had moved oh again.

So Timothy started to follow him. But what should he see, lying on the
bank right before him, but a string of seven pickerel! Johnnie Green had
left them there, while he went still further up the creek to catch more.

Timothy Turtle suddenly changed his mind about sending a letter to
Farmer Green. He wished that Johnnie would come there to fish every day.

"He's a kind boy, after all!" said Timothy Turtle to himself. "I never
dreamed that he was catching these fish for me. But here they are,
waiting for me! For Johnnie must have known that I would find them."

Timothy Turtle didn't say anything more. Of course he was only talking
to himself, anyhow. And he seized the string of pickerel and waddled
into the bushes, where he ate every one of those seven fish.

When Peter Mink met Timothy the next day he said he had not yet found
anybody who would write the letter to Farmer Green.

"Mr. Crow told me that if it was anybody but you he might be willing to
pull out one of his quills for a pen," Peter explained. "But he said
that he hoped Johnnie Green would come here every day to fish, until
there are no fish left for you."

Timothy Turtle sniffed.

"You go back," he directed Peter Mink, "and tell Mr. Crow that _I_ hope
Johnnie Green will come here _twice a day_ until he has caught every
fish in Black Creek."

Peter Mink thought that that was a queer thing for Timothy to wish.
Neither he nor old Mr. Crow could understand it.




XXII

THE UNWELCOME GUEST


Ferdinand Frog did not like Timothy Turtle. But he always said he
thought Mr. Turtle could be _trusted_.

"You can _depend_ on him," Mr. Frog often remarked. "Yes, you can depend
on him to grab you if he ever gets a chance."

And all the rest of the musical Frog family agreed with him.

It is not surprising, therefore, that they never invited Timothy Turtle
to attend their singing parties in Cedar Swamp. It made no difference
how much Timothy Turtle hinted. Though he frequently took pains to tell
Ferdinand Frog how fond he was of music, Mr. Frog never once asked him
to come to a concert.

In private Mr. Frog and his friends often spoke of Mr. Turtle--and
giggled. And one of the Frog family even made up a song about Timothy
Turtle, which the whole company loved to chant in Cedar Swamp, safe--as
they thought--from Timothy's snapping jaws.

But one fine summer's evening they had a great surprise. They had
scarcely begun their nightly concert when Timothy Turtle appeared, out
of the water and crawled upon an old stump, right in their midst.

"Good evening!" he cried. "I was just passing on my way home; and
hearing the singing, I thought I'd stop and enjoy it."

For a few moments none of the Frog family said a word. And then
Ferdinand Frog spoke up and asked Mr. Turtle a question:

"Have you had your dinner?"

"No, I haven't," Timothy answered. "But you needn't trouble yourselves
on my account. Go on with your singing. And if I feel faint no doubt I
can find a bite to eat hereabouts."

Now, Mr. Turtle hoped that his speech would put the singers quite at
their ease. But they looked at one another and rolled their eyes as if
to say, "This Timothy Turtle is a dangerous person. Look out for him!"

At the same time they did not wish to appear frightened. And Ferdinand
Frog's mother's uncle even made a short speech, saying that he hoped Mr.
Turtle would enjoy the singing half as much as everybody else enjoyed
his company.

He was about to make some further remark. But no one knew what. For
Timothy Turtle wheeled about to look at the old gentleman. And the
moment Timothy moved, Ferdinand Frog's mother's uncle jumped hastily
into the water from the hummock where he had been sitting, and swam
away.

The rest of the company then sang a song. And their listener said that
he had never heard anything like it.

"I wish you'd sing it again," he said, "with your mouths open and your
eyes shut."

But the musical Frog family objected that they were not used to singing
in that fashion.

"Why don't you keep your own eyes shut?" Ferdinand Frog asked Mr.
Turtle. "Then you wouldn't know whether ours were open or closed."

"Let us _all_ shut our eyes!" Timothy Turtle then suggested. And when
the Frog family began another song, a few of the younger and more
foolish singers followed Mr. Turtle's advice.

So, too, did Mr. Turtle himself--_for a few moments_.

But he soon opened his eyes slyly. And he became very angry when he saw
that most of the singers were watching him.

"You aren't doing as I asked you!" he shouted.




XXIII

A MERRY SONG


Timothy Turtle made such a noise that the Frog family had to stop
singing.

"It's not fair!" he cried. "You're peeping!"

"Well, so are you!" Ferdinand Frog retorted.

"I only opened my eyes to make sure that you were doing as I asked you
to," Mr. Turtle replied with an injured air.

"And we didn't shut ours, because we wanted to watch _you_," said Mr.
Frog.

"Can't you trust me?" Timothy snapped.

"Certainly!" Ferdinand Frog replied.

"Oh, yes! We can trust you!" And he winked at his friends.

"You don't want to hurt my feelings, do you?" Timothy Turtle went on.

"No, indeed!" everybody exclaimed.

And then Ferdinand Frog told Timothy that they would sing a special song
in his honor.

"Fire away!" Timothy ordered them. And the whole company knew, when he
said that, that if he really cared anything at all for singing he never
would have spoken of it in that fashion.

They were just about to begin the song when Timothy Turtle stopped them.

"What's this thing called?" he demanded.

"It's known," Ferdinand Frog explained, "as 'A Merry Song.'"

And then the whole Frog family began to bellow their loudest:

    Come let us sing a merry song!
     To you it may sound sad.
    And if you think it loud and long
     _We_ think that it's not bad.

    "We'll sing about a grumpy one
     Who snaps and bites all day.
    And if you call that "having fun"
     We make reply, "Go 'way!"

    He has a glittering, wicked eye
     And also cruel jaws.
    And if you ask the reason why,
     We'll answer you, _"Because!"_

    He'll stretch his neck and grab you quick--
     Don't let him come too near!
    And if you poke him with a stick
     He'll seize that too--oh, dear!

    Now, we'll admit he swims quite well
     And that he's slow ashore.
    Don't ask us if he wears a shell
     Until we tell you more.

    Don't ask us if he's fond of fish
     Nor seek to learn his age.
    And kindly don't express a wish
     To see him in a rage!

    Don't ask us if his claws are strong
     And if he has a tail.
    It might be short and blunt, or long
     And pointed like a nail.

    We do not want to cause you pain.
     We would not give offense--
    But, sir, you'll not come here again
     If you have any sense.

After the last echo of the song had lost itself in the depths of Cedar
Swamp, the singers all turned, smiling, to their listener.

But his face wore no smile. On the contrary, Timothy Turtle frowned
darkly.

"You can't fool me!" he cried. "You don't like me! You don't want me
here!"

Ferdinand Frog swallowed a few times.

"Well," said he, "of course my manners are so elegant that I simply
_couldn't_ dispute one of my elders. And anyhow, Mr. Turtle, you'd find
that our singing sounded twice as well if you were half a mile away."

"It certainly couldn't sound any worse than it does here," Timothy
Turtle declared--a remark which made the Frog family grin broadly.

He said no more, but slipped into the water and struck out towards home.

There was a lively scattering of those who found themselves in Timothy
Turtle's path. And for a time it looked as if the singing party had
broken up in disorder.

But after a while everybody came back again--that is, everybody but
Timothy Turtle. He hurried away and spent most of the whole night buried
in the mud at the bottom of Black Creek. For even until daybreak that
merry song came floating now and then across Pleasant Valley.

And Timothy Turtle did not like it. He thought it not only loud and
long, but most unpleasant as well.

THE END




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End of Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Timothy Turtle, by Arthur Scott Bailey