At last, however, he happened to remember that in
the beginning he had started to cut down that very
tree so he could reach the bark and eat it.
Then Brownie Beaver had a good meal. And just
as he finished eating, another thought came into his
head. Why shouldn’t he gnaw right through
the tree?
Since there seemed to be no answer to that question,
he began to gnaw big chips out of the wood. And
in a surprisingly short time he had cut the tree apart
just where it pressed upon him.
Then, of course, all he had to do was to get up and
walk away.
When he reached the village he found that all his
neighbors had been looking everywhere for him.
“That is,” Grandaddy Beaver explained,
“we looked everywhere except near the tree where
you had that adventure a few nights ago. I said
you wouldn’t be there, for I advised you to keep
away from that spot, as you will recall.”
Now, Brownie Beaver said nothing more. He knew
that it was an unheard-of thing for one of the Beaver
family to be caught by a falling tree. To have
everyone know what had happened to him would be a good
deal like a disgrace.
But there are plenty of people who would think they
had done something quite clever if they had gnawed
through a tree with their teeth— though
that was something that never once entered Brownie
Beaver’s head.
MR. FROG’S QUESTION
“Why don’t you get some new clothes?”
It was Mr. Frog that asked the question; and he asked
it of Brownie Beaver, who was at work on top of his
house. Mr. Frog had been hiding among the lily-pads,
watching Brownie. But Brownie hadn’t noticed
him until he stuck his head out of the water and spoke.
At first Mr. Frog’s question made Brownie a
bit peevish.
“What’s the matter with my clothes?”
he asked hotly.
“There’s nothing the matter with them—nothing
at all,” said Mr. Frog—“except
that they are not as becoming to you as they might
be. Of course,” he added, as he saw that
Brownie Beaver was frowning, “you look handsome
in them. But you’ve no idea how you’d
look in clothes of my making.”
Brownie Beaver felt more agreeable as soon as Mr.
Frog had told him what he meant.
“Do you make clothes?” he inquired.
“I’m a tailor,” Mr. Frog replied.
“And I’ve just opened a shop at the upper
end of the pond.”
“What’s the matter with my tail?”
Brownie snapped. He was angry again.
Then Mr. Frog explained that a tailor made suits.
“We’ve nothing to do with tails,"
he said—“unless it’s coat-tails.”
“What about cattails?” Brownie asked.
“You’re pretty close to some right now.
So you can hardly say you have nothing to do with them.”
Mr. Frog smiled.
“I see you’re a joker,” he said.
“And it really seems a pity,” he went
on, “that a bright young fellow like you shouldn’t
wear the finest clothes to be had anywhere. If
you’ll come to my shop I’ll make you a
suit such as you never saw before in all your life.”
