Chapter 4

Jinx took Little Weedly up the narrow barn stairs into the loft, and then he climbed out on the roof and began to loosen the shingles. Every now and then he would call down: “Are you all right, Weedly?” and the pig would answer: “All right, Uncle Jinx.” As soon as the hole was big enough, Jinx dropped down through it.

“I guess that’ll give Aunt Effie something to do tomorrow,” he said. “Now we’ll go down to the box stall and get some sleep.”

An hour or so later, a dark cloud came rolling silently across the sky. One by one the stars went out; the night got darker, and a cool damp feeling came into the air. Up in the woods all the little animals stirred, and snuggled closer into their nests, and Peter, the bear, woke up and sniffed. “H’m,” he grunted. “Rain.” So he got up and lumbered off to the shallow cave in the rocks where he took shelter in stormy weather. For he knew the birds would not steal his berries if it rained.

But the farm animals, who slept under roofs, did not wake up, even after the stars had all gone out, and the first raindrops pattered like mice running over the shingles. In the barn, Hank slept standing up, and next door in the box stall, Jinx and Weedly snoozed away side by side. The patter grew to a soft and steady rushing sound, and pretty soon there were little gurglings and splashings as the water ran into the eaves trough and down into the rain barrel at the corner of the barn. And under all these sounds was a steady drip-drip-drip, that got faster and faster. And that was the rain coming down through the hole in the shingles.

It dripped down on to the floor of the loft, and it ran along a crack between two boards until it came to a knothole, and it went down through the knothole and dripped on the middle of Hank’s back. And then it ran down Hank’s left hind leg, and where it went after that I don’t know.

Pretty soon Hank woke up with a snort. He had been dreaming that he was out skating—something of course that he had never done in his life—and that the ice had given way. He struggled and struggled to get to the surface, and suddenly his head popped out, and he was awake and listening to the rain dripping on his back.

“Consarn it!” he said. “It would have to be my roof they made a hole in! Darn that Jinx! If he’s awake, I’ll make him go up and stuff some hay in that hole.”

He whispered Jinx’s name several times, but the cat didn’t answer.

“And if I call him louder,” said Hank to himself, “that crazy pig will wake up and commence squealing. And my nerves just won’t stand that again.” He stood thinking for a minute, and the rain dripped faster. “Ideas!” he said disgustedly. “There’s too many ideas around here if you ask me.” And then he said: “Well, I suppose I can move. That’s an idea too, I suppose.”

He backed out of his stall, trying to walk on tiptoes, which is a pretty hard thing for a horse to do. But he managed not to make much noise. He went over and stood behind the old phaeton, which he had drawn all the way back from Florida the year the animals had taken their famous trip south. Since he usually slept standing up, you wouldn’t think it mattered very much where he did it. But lots of people find it hard to sleep in a strange bed, and probably it was that way with Hank. He was restless, and finally, when the rain began to slacken, he thought: “If I stand around wet like this, it isn’t going to help the rheumatism in my off hind leg. I’ll be as stiff as a saw-horse in the morning.” So he went out for a walk.

When he came back, the sky in the east was all pink, and as he passed the henhouse he heard Henrietta’s voice. “This is the third time I’ve called you. Now you take your head out from under your wing and get on out there.”

There was a sleepy mumble from Charles, and Henrietta said: “If Mr. Bean’s away, all the more reason why you should do your duty. Come along. Out you go.” There was a fluttering and squawking, and then the door flew open and Charles came tumbling out.

The rooster’s feathers were tousled, and he looked nervously over his shoulder as he walked toward the fence. But as he shook his feathers down he caught sight of Hank, and at once he threw out his chest and began to strut pompously. “Good morning, Hank; good morning,” he said. “Excuse me one moment.” And he climbed up on the fence and crowed. Then he said: “Have to do this regular as clockwork every morning, you know, or things wouldn’t get started right. It’s a great responsibility, in a way, but so far I think I can say I have always done my duty.” He crowed again. “Mr. Bean expects every animal to do his duty,” he said solemnly.

“I guess Henrietta does, too,” Hank remarked.

“Oh, you heard that, did you?” said Charles. “Yes, Henrietta is very conscientious. She’s always afraid I’m not going to get out here in time. You know how women are! But, my goodness, I was all ready. I’d have been out here all right.” He crowed again. “You’ll excuse me, Hank, but I’ll have to go on singing for a while. Dear me, I’m in very good voice this morning.” And he crowed some more.

“You and Jinx!” Hank grumbled. “There’s too much singing around here, if you ask me. And now that young Weedly has tuned up, too. You ought to get up a quartet and charge admission.”

“I’m afraid you don’t know much about music, Hank,” said the rooster. “You have to have four for a quartet.”

“Well, good grief, it ought to be easy to get a fourth. All you have to do is be able to yell. I can yell myself, if it comes to that.”

“But it isn’t just yelling,” said Charles, and he crowed again. “You see? It’s a song. You have to sing the first notes just so, and then the last has to be a long, clear, beautiful note that dies away into silence. Gay, but with just a little touch of sadness, if you know what I mean. Listen.” And he crowed again.

“Yeah,” said Hank. “It’s beautiful, all right. But now you listen to me.” He threw up his head and opened his mouth and let out a long, shrill neigh.

“Good gracious, Hank,” exclaimed the rooster, “don’t. Don’t!”

“Gay enough for you?” asked Hank. “And I hope you noticed the sadness. That comes in at the end. Listen; I’ll show you.” And he neighed again.

But Charles had had enough. He tumbled off the fence and legged it for the henhouse, from which a number of startled heads were peering. Hank neighed once more for good measure, and then he trotted toward the barn. “Music, eh?” he said. “I’ll give ’em music.”

But Hank’s musical efforts had startled others besides Charles and his family. In the house, Aunt Effie and Uncle Snedeker had been sound asleep. Charles’ crowing had awakened them, and they were just thinking about getting up when Hank neighed the first time.

“What’s that?” said Aunt Effie, and she jumped up and ran to the window.

“What’s that?” said Uncle Snedeker, and he pulled the bedclothes up over his head.

Then Hank neighed twice more.

Aunt Effie continued to stare out of the window, and after a minute she said: “Snedeker, there’s a horse down by the henhouse. He must have got out in the night. Go on down and get him into the barn.” But of course Uncle Snedeker didn’t hear her, because his ears were under a sheet and two patchwork quilts and a down comfortable.

“Snedeker!” said Aunt Effie again, and then she turned around and saw that Uncle Snedeker was only a mound under the bedclothes. So she came and pulled the bedclothes off.

“Indians!” moaned Uncle Snedeker. “That was the warwhoop. They’re coming, Effie. Eh, we’ll all be murdered in our beds.”

“You will, if you don’t get out and catch that horse,” said Aunt Effie, and she yanked him out and pulled him over to the window. “See him?” He must have got out in the night.” And she pointed to Hank, who was trotting toward the barn.

“Eh, Effie,” mumbled Uncle Snedeker, “but that’s the way they come. They hang down on the other side of the horse, and shoot at you under his neck. You want to send me out to be murdered?”

Aunt Effie let go of him and shook her head. “Seems to me,” she said, “you’re old enough to stop playing Indians. Well, go on back to bed. I’ll get him myself.” And she put on a blue flannel bathrobe with yellow stripes, and a pair of slippers with pink bows, and she tied a red shawl over her curlpapers and picked up her broom and went out.

But by the time she had done all that, Hank was back in the barn.

Now most animals are accustomed to being waited on by humans, and so they get out of the habit of doing things for themselves. But the animals on the Bean farm had wanted to help Mr. Bean all they could, and so, even when the Beans were home, they looked after themselves, and even did most of the farm work. So Hank was used to doing his own housekeeping. He went over to the oat bin and lifted the cover with his nose, and started to eat his breakfast. Just then Aunt Effie came into the barn.

Aunt Effie didn’t know much about horses, but she did know that they shouldn’t be allowed to help themselves to oats.

“Here, here!” she said. “Get back in your stall, you!” And she brandished her broom threateningly.

Hank hadn’t finished, but he knew he could go back to the bin after she had gone, so he went into his stall. Aunt Effie scooped up a measure of oats, and poured it into his manger. “Poor creature!” she said. “No wonder you got in the oat bin. What a way to treat animals!” Then she saw the water that had leaked down through the floor above. She went upstairs, and Hank heard her walking around in the loft. Pretty soon she came down and went in the house, and after a while Uncle Snedeker came out. He had his big, wide-brimmed hat on, and was carrying a ladder and a hammer and nails. He found some shingles in the barn, and then he climbed up and started to patch the roof. He didn’t work very fast, because his hat brim was so wide that nearly every time he raised the hammer he knocked it off. Usually it rolled off the roof to the ground, and then he had to climb down and put it on again. After a while, though, he discovered that if he tilted the hat over to the left, the hammer didn’t hit the brim on the way up. But every now and then, on the way down, it hit his thumb. He wasn’t a very good carpenter.

Jinx and Little Weedly, who had been sleeping late, were disturbed by the hammering, and by Uncle Snedeker’s remarks when he hit his thumb, so they got up, and were just going down to see Freddy, when Freddy came in the door.

“Morning, boys,” said the pig. “Say, Hank, you were going to mow the upper meadow today, weren’t you?”

“Well,” said Hank, “I sort of calculated to. If somebody’ll help hitch me up to the mowing machine.”

“Well, now look,” said Freddy. “We don’t want Aunt Effie to think we can run this farm. Let the hay go. Then I’ll write a note on my typewriter, and leave it in the mail box. Something like this:

“Dear Madam:

The hay in the upper meadow must be mowed right away. Maybe it’s none of my business if Mr. Bean wants to let his farm go to rack and ruin, but I can’t stand by and see good hay spoiled.

From an Admirer.

“Then, you see, she’ll feel that she ought to stay until the hay is all cut and in the barn, and that’ll take several days. After that we can think of something else.”

“That’s a good idea, Freddy,” said Jinx. “But why did you sign it ‘Admirer’? Why not just ‘Friend’?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the pig. “I thought it would make her more anxious to get the hay in, for one thing. If you think somebody appreciates what you do, you like doing it better. And then, you know, I do sort of admire her, at that. She may be trying to steal that teapot, but on the other hand, she didn’t have to patch the barn roof.”

“She was real upset when she thought I hadn’t had enough to eat,” said Hank.

“I guess she’s good in spots, like a lot of people,” said Jinx. “I had a cousin like that. He lived with old Miss Halsey, down in Centerboro. If ever a cat was a saint, he was. He chased the mice out of the house, and he always sat in her lap and purred, even when he wanted to go hunting. And yet, every time she went out, he went up into the spare bedroom and curled up on her best lace counterpane.”

“Don’t see what difference it made, as long as she didn’t find out,” said Hank.

“It wasn’t very good for the counterpane,” said Jinx. “And she did find out, too. One day he jumped down quick when he heard her coming in the front door, and he caught a claw in the lace and couldn’t get loose. He struggled and struggled, but the harder he tried, the more he got wound up in the lace. Miss Halsey heard him, and she came upstairs and found him.”

“What did she do?” Freddy asked.

“I don’t know. He never would talk about that afterward.”

“Well,” said Freddy, “as long as you think it’s a good idea, I’ll go write that letter and get it in the mail box before the mail man comes along. And if either of you think of anything else, to keep the Snedekers busy, let me know.” And he trotted off toward the pigpen.

“Come along, Weedly,” said the cat. “We’ll go over to the cowbarn and see if Mrs. Wiggins has heard anything from Mr. Webb yet. Though I don’t suppose she has. Webb won’t start out before the dew’s off the grass.”

Little Weedly, who had been trying to hide behind Jinx during the talk with Freddy and Hank, gave a sigh. “Now—do we have to go see the cows, Uncle Jinx? I—I don’t like cows very well.”

“Pooh,” said Jinx. “Everybody likes Mrs. Wiggins. She’s got a heart of gold. And so have Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus. Come along.”

Weedly didn’t say any more, but when he came to the door of the cowbarn he drooped his ears, and the curl came out of his tail, and he pressed tight against Jinx.

The three cows were standing with their backs to the door, but at Jinx’s loud “good morning” they turned around, and when they saw Little Weedly, all three sat down suddenly, and closed their eyes, and put their right front hoofs over their hearts, and said: “Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, dear me!”

“Oh! Oh, dear! Oh, dear me.”

Jinx had a hard time not to giggle, but he managed to keep a straight face. “Well, well,” he said, “what’s the matter?”

“Oh!” gasped Mrs. Wurzburger, opening one eye, “take that ferocious animal out of here before I faint!”

“Why, good gracious,” said Jinx, “it’s only Freddy’s cousin, Little Weedly, who has come over to pay us a visit.”

“Take him away!” said Mrs. Wiggins without opening her eyes. “Oh, the great glaring eyes of him!”

“What’s the matter with them, Uncle Jinx?” asked Weedly, looking over the cat’s shoulder.

“Oh, that great voice!” groaned Mrs. Wogus. “It’s like the roaring of lions!” And then Mrs. Wiggins rolled right over on her side, apparently in a dead faint.

“I guess we’d better get out of here,” said Jinx. Indeed he wanted to laugh so badly that he knew if he didn’t get out he would spoil the effect of the whole show. He led Weedly outside. “I guess they were afraid of you, Weedly,” he said.

“But what are they afraid of me for?” asked the pig. He didn’t seem to want to leave the cowbarn, and he kept turning around and looking over his shoulder.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the cat. “I expect they thought you might bite them. You do look pretty determined, you know.”

“Do I really?” said Weedly. “But I wouldn’t bite them. I—I sort of liked them, Uncle Jinx. Couldn’t we go back now? Maybe they’d feel better if you told them that I wouldn’t hurt them.”

“Later, perhaps,” said Jinx. Weedly had stopped pressing close to him, and was trotting along beside him almost self-confidently. “You see,” said Jinx, “most of the animals on this farm are a little timid with strangers. I thought we might look in on one or two of the others, so they’ll get to know you. They’ll probably be a little scared of you at first, so I’d be very quiet and not say very much until they know you better. Let’s go down to the pond and have a chat with the ducks. Maybe they’ll invite you to have a swim.”

“Will they be scared of me?” asked Weedly.

“They’re pretty bashful,” said Jinx, “but you just act as if you didn’t notice it, and it’ll pass off. It always does.”

“Does it? I’ve always been pretty bashful myself, Uncle Jinx.”

“Have you really?” said the cat. “I should never have suspected it. No,” he said thoughtfully, “to me you seemed quite sure of yourself. I should have imagined that you’d be at home in any company—sort of all things to all animals. That’s why I invited you to come over and stay with me. Of course, you acted bashful when Freddy and I came over to your house, but I thought you were just doing that to please your mother.

“And of course you must remember,” he said, “that everybody is a little bashful. I suppose you wouldn’t believe it, but I am, myself.”

Jinx’s whiskers twitched when he said this, and well they might, for if ever there was a cat who hadn’t an ounce of bashfulness in him from the tip of his black nose to the tip of his black tail, that cat was Jinx. But fortunately Little Weedly didn’t know that a cat’s whiskers always twitch when he isn’t telling the truth. For that matter, perhaps you didn’t know it either. But next time you suspect that your cat is not telling you the truth, you watch his whiskers.