“Let’s see—” Frisky said,
when Sandy brought the first load—“since
I’m to get half, I’ll take everything
you bring in your left cheek-pouch. And you can
take what you bring in the right one.”
Sandy Chipmunk said that that seemed fair. So
each time he came to the elm he left with Frisky only
what he carried in his left cheek-pouch. And
before gathering more food he scampered home to store
away his own share.
So the day passed. And when evening came, and
the sun was dropping out of sight in the west, Sandy
and Frisky decided they had worked long enough for
Mr. Crow.
“Don’t you suppose he has enough food
by this time?” Sandy asked. He looked up
at Mr. Crow’s house. “We mustn’t
fill his house too full,” he said. “He
has to have room for himself, you know.”
“I don’t think he’ll have any trouble
getting inside it,” Frisky Squirrel answered.
“Well—I’m glad you helped me,”
Sandy told him. “If it didn’t make
me dizzy to climb so high I’d like to take a
look at Mr. Crow’s food. I hope he’ll
be pleased.”
“I hope he will,” Frisky Squirrel agreed.
Sandy Chipmunk noticed that Frisky Squirrel was smiling.
But he thought that it was only because he was thinking
about Mr. Crow, and how happy he would be.
“Let’s wait here till he comes home,”
Sandy suggested.
But Frisky Squirrel said that he was going to bed
early that night, because he expected to have a race
with the sun the next morning.
“I’m going to try to beat him,”
he explained. “I’m going to see if
I can’t get up before he does.”
So Frisky said good-night and left Sandy to wait for
Mr. Crow alone.
MR. CROW SCOLDS SANDY
When he finally reached home, after Sandy Chipmunk
had been working for him all day, Mr. Crow was feeling
very pleasant. You know, he thought that his
winter’s food must be in his house. And
that alone is enough to make any one happy. But
what Mr. Crow liked most about his bargain was the
fact that he wouldn’t have to pay Sandy for his
work. He had said to Sandy: “I’ll
agree to give you half what you gather for me.”
And Sandy Chipmunk had never stopped to think that
that was not any pay at all. For he might have
gathered the food for himself, and had all, instead
of only half of it. As it was, Sandy Chipmunk
was paying himself for working for Mr. Crow.
And Mr. Crow seemed to be the only one that was wise
enough to know it.
Mr. Crow dropped down upon the ground beside Sandy
Chipmunk.
“Well,” he said, “have you finished?”
“Yes!” Sandy answered. “And
I hope you’ll like what I’ve done.
I’ll wait here until you fly up to your house
and look at the food.”
“All right!” Mr. Crow told him. He
flapped his big, black wings. And soon he had
risen to the top of the tall elm.
Sandy watched him as he looked inside his house.
At first Mr. Crow only stared—and said
nothing. And then—to Sandy’s
astonishment—he began to scold.
