“When you’re older you’ll know better
than to work like that,” Tired Tim told him.
“Why don’t you do the way I did?”
he asked. “I dug a tunnel in the bank of
the pond; and it’s a good enough house for anybody.
It’s much easier than building a house of sticks
and mud.”
But Brownie told Tired Tim that he didn’t care
to live in a hole in the bank.
“Nobody but a very lazy person would be willing
to have a house like that,” Brownie said.
Tired Tim only laughed all the harder.
“Old Grandaddy Beaver has been talking to you,”
he remarked. “I saw him taking you over
to the dam day before yesterday and telling you where
to work on it. Of course, that’s all right
if you’re willing to work for the whole village.
But I say, let others do the work! As for me,
I’ve never put a single stick nor a single armful
of mud on that dam; and what’s more, I never
intend to, either.
“My tunnel in the bank suits me very well.
Of course, it may not be so airy in summer as a house
such as you’re making for yourself. But
I don’t live in my house in summer. So
what’s the difference to me? In summer
I go up the stream, or down—just as it suits
me—and I see something of the world and
have a fine time. There’s nothing like
travel, you know, to broaden one,” said Tired
Tim.
Brownie Beaver stopped just a moment and looked at
the lazy fellow. He was certainly broad enough,
Brownie thought. He was so fat that his sides
stuck far out. But it was no wonder—for
he never did any work.
“You’d better take my advice,” Tired
Tim told Brownie.
But Brownie Beaver had returned to his wood-cutting.
He didn’t even stop to answer. To him,
working was just fun. And building a fine house
was as good as any game.
THE FRESHET
The rain had fallen steadily for two days and two
nights-not just a gentle drizzle, but a heavy downpour.
For some time it did not in the least disturb Brownie
Beaver and his neighbors—that is to say,
all but one of them. For there was a very old
gentleman in the village known as Grandaddy Beaver
who began to worry almost as soon as it began to rain.
“We’re a-going to have a freshet,”
he said to everybody he met. “I’ve
seen ’em start many a time and I can always tell
a freshet almost as soon as I see it coming.”
Grandaddy Beaver’s friends paid no heed to his
warning. And some of them were so unkind as to
laugh when the old gentleman crawled on top of his
house and began to mend it.
“You young folks can poke fun at me if you want
to,” said Grandaddy Beaver, “but I’m
a-going right ahead and make my house as strong as
I can. For when the freshet gets here I don’t
want my home washed away.”
All day long people would stop to watch the old fellow
at work upon his roof. And everybody thought
it was a great joke—until the second day
came and everybody noticed that it was raining just
as hard as ever.
