EVER SINCE Mr. Lobster had first come ashore he had been curious about the woods, where Mr. Badger and Mr. Bear lived, and where there must be a very different kind of world from any that Mr. Lobster had ever seen. The only time he had ever been in the woods was the time Mr. Bear carried him home to cook him, and that had been such an unpleasant event, and Mr. Lobster had been so frightened and miserable, that he had forgotten all about looking closely at the woods.
“I guess,” said Mr. Lobster to himself, “that was the one time in my life when I forgot to be curious. But you can’t expect a person to be curious just before he is going to be cooked, because at such a time further knowledge seems to have little value.”
So he thought a good deal about the woods in the days that followed the picnic, and he mentioned to Mr. Badger that he might walk to the woods some day.
One day Mr. Badger brought the news that he had moved into a new burrow, the finest burrow anywhere in the woods.
“It would be a great honor to me,” he said, “if you would come to the woods and visit my new home. Also, it would cause some excitement among the creatures who live in the woods, for they have never seen a lobster. Also, again, we might make a call on Mr. Bear.”
“Oh, no, thank you,” said Mr. Lobster quickly. “You are very kind to invite me to your home, but I really couldn’t bear to go to Mr. Bear’s house again. My memory of the first visit is too unhappy.”
“Very well, but I do hope you will come. Of course, it will be a risky trip for you, but you are a hero, and all heroes are unafraid of danger. Besides, if you should start to get dry, Mr. Bear or I could easily pull you back to the beach.”
“I would rather not think of getting dry,” said Mr. Lobster, “though I know it is wise to think of everything first.”
“Well,” said Mr. Badger, “remember that you just walk straight for the woods. Go up the long hill and go straight to that tallest tree, where the permanent partridge lives, and ask him the way.”
“Is he friendly?” asked Mr. Lobster.
“Oh, yes, indeed.”
“Well, what is he?”
“He is a bird,” replied Mr. Badger. “He is the fastest and most cunning bird in our woods. We call him the permanent partridge because he has escaped all foxes and hunters and other vermin for so many years that he just seems to be permanent.”
“I am very stupid about your land creatures, I realize,” said Mr. Lobster. “You see, I didn’t know there were any permanent creatures, as I don’t know of any where I live. With us, permanent is practically forever. But what a wonderful thing it would be to be permanent! Think how wise one could become!”
“And old, too,” added Mr. Badger. “And probably you would have rheumatism if you were permanent.”
“I don’t see any necessity for such a thing,” Mr. Lobster objected. And then he added: “Whatever it is.”
“Do you mean to tell me you don’t know what rheumatism is?” Mr. Badger was amazed.
“I have never heard of it.”
“Why,” said Mr. Badger, “it is the very handiest of all ailments, because whenever you have a pain without any reason for it, or don’t feel like doing something you should, you say you have rheumatism.”
“I see,” said Mr. Lobster. “I should explain that we sea-creatures don’t have such things. We are all either alive or gone. You should try living in salt water.”
“Oh, but you are most unfortunate,” exclaimed Mr. Badger, who pretended to be serious now but could not conceal the rascally twinkle in his beady eyes. “You can never know how good you feel until you have had rheumatism.”
“I feel well now,” said Mr. Lobster.
“But just how well? Just tell me that.”
“Why, very well,” said Mr. Lobster.
“And just how well is that?” insisted Mr. Badger.
“Why, it’s very well, of course.”
“Exactly. You see, you don’t really know how well you are, because you don’t know how well very well is. Take my advice, and have rheumatism. Or at least think about having it. You know it is my motto that a little excitement and a little misery are necessary once in a while to make us appreciate peace and happiness. A little rheumatism, just a slight twinge every now and then, say on a very damp morning, will make you appreciate how well you are when you don’t have it.”
Mr. Badger was smiling now. He loved foolish arguments, and he knew how serious Mr. Lobster was about such things.
“Perhaps I should think that over,” said Mr. Lobster, “but I don’t think I shall believe a word of it. Those who cannot appreciate their good fortune and never count their own blessings are fools. As I am sure you are no fool, I know you are joking.”
The conversation ended here because it was time for Mr. Lobster to go home, and they parted in very good humor, for Mr. Badger had had his joke and Mr. Lobster had shown his wisdom; so they were both satisfied and happy.
Of course, Mr. Badger’s invitation made Mr. Lobster all the more curious about the woods. And finally, when he went ashore one day and Mr. Badger was not there, he realized that he could not stand being curious about the woods any longer but must go and visit Mr. Badger.
It was a coolish sort of day, for now the long summer was passing, and there were days of clouds and gray skies as the season drew to its end. Mr. Lobster thought that his shell would not get dry for a long time in such weather.
“This is the day I am going,” he said to himself. “I know that it is a very dangerous trip, but, as Mr. Badger said, I am a hero. Besides, you never get anywhere by just sitting down and wishing.”
And with these words of wisdom, and trying to forget about the danger of such a long trip, he started in a straight line for the tallest tree that he could see above the woods in the distance.
Now Mr. Lobster had never before walked nearly so far on land, and he did not realize when he started that it was almost a mile to the woods. It was much farther than he supposed, the way it is so often when people start boldly to go somewhere they have never been. Also, it was rather late in the day when he started, for he had been delayed on his way by stopping to open three large clams, which had tasted very good.
On and on he went, keeping his eyes on the tallest tree where lived the permanent partridge. There was a good deal of up-hill going, which was hard for him, and which might have turned some travelers back. But not Mr. Lobster.
“In life,” Mr. Lobster said to himself as he struggled up a hill, “you must never stop for the up-hills. There has to be a down-hill for every up-hill, but you never can have the down-hill until you have conquered the up-hill. I shall have the down-hill when I go home.”
So he climbed up and up the hill, and, although he didn’t turn around to see, which would have been a wise thing to do, he was getting high above his home in the blue Ocean, and quite a distance away.
When he reached the woods he found that he could no longer look up and tell the top of the tallest tree from the tops of other trees, for the sky was gray, and all the tops of the trees were so far above him that it was impossible to tell which was which from his position. He did not want to go outside the woods again to look; so he decided to keep walking anyway.
He was delighted with the woods, and he kept looking every way to see the flowers and bushes and small trees.
“If we only had something like this at the bottom of the Ocean,” he thought. “I wonder why somebody didn’t plant woods there.”
As soon as Mr. Lobster satisfied his curiosity about one thing he was curious about another.
He crawled through the woods in a very happy frame of mind, and in a rather forgetful one. For suddenly he realized that it was getting dark, and he had not found the permanent partridge, and he had not come to Mr. Badger’s home.
“I must now go home myself,” he thought.
So he turned right around to look for the way back to the beach, but all that he could see was trees, and the great sky dark with the oncoming night.
“Perhaps it is this way,” he said to himself, and off he went.
“No, it must be this way,” he said then, and he went in another direction.
But none of the directions seemed to be right, because he could not see the edge of the woods, and he could not see the Ocean.
Then Mr. Lobster knew that he was lost. He was a sea creature lost on land! And he was alone. All the birds seemed to have gone to bed, and he didn’t see a single creature moving about; so there was no one from whom he could ask the way to go. If only Mr. Badger had been there to remind him that he was a hero things might have been better, but there was no Mr. Badger, and Mr. Lobster forgot all about being a hero. He was just plain afraid, terribly afraid.
“I shall certainly dry up without a chance to save myself,” he thought. “When Mr. Badger finds me there won’t be anything left but my shell. I shall be gone. That will make Mr. Badger miserable, and it will be the end of our friendship.”
Sadness overpowered Mr. Lobster, and he was unable to move for some time. He had been in some pretty tight places in his long life, but never had been in a tight place so far from home and, worst of all, on land. This seemed to be the most unhappy moment of his entire existence.
The sun went down red in the far west, and the glow of it came in through the trees so that every great trunk stood out black and straight. From the distance a small creature who had been waiting for the dusk sent out a little peep to try the air and see if it was time for him to come out. The gray gloom in the woods darkened, changing from the dim light of evening to the silent dark of the night.
Fortunately the night was cool with the blessing of falling dew, and Mr. Lobster realized that possibly he would not get dry after all so long as the night lingered and the woods were damp. But he did not like the dark, and he did not like the thought of having to stay where he was until morning.
Just then there was a whush, like silence rushing by, and something scratched along his shell.
Mr. Lobster thought that he was being attacked, and he raised up one big claw and snapped, and he just missed catching something big and blurry in the darkness.
“Who are you?” he asked. He was frightened, but he tried to make his voice sound bold and angry.
“Someone you can’t catch!” answered a proud voice.
“Who are you?” demanded Mr. Lobster again.
“So you are the friend of that contrary Mr. Badger,” came the answer. “He never would take my advice, and evidently you don’t take advice either, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Ah, I know,” guessed Mr. Lobster. “You are the owl.”
“A much wiser bird than you will ever be,” said the unpleasant voice.
“I am thankful to say I shall never have to be a bird,” answered Mr. Lobster angrily.
“If you were, you could see your way home now.” The owl was chuckling in a most disagreeable manner.
Mr. Lobster realized that he had made a mistake in speaking crossly, and now he tried being polite.
“Perhaps,” he said, “since you are the wisest bird in these woods you would show me the way home. I fear I am lost.”
Again the owl chuckled disagreeably.
“Perhaps,” he said, “since you are the wisest lobster in the Ocean you will show yourself the way home. It is a foolish person, indeed, who doesn’t know the way to his own home. What is home for, anyway, if it is not to go to when you have been away long enough?”
Mr. Lobster groaned. The mention of home made him more unhappy than ever.
“How true,” he murmured.
“Everything I say is true,” said the owl. “And now I shall say ‘Good night,’ and resume my hunting.”
“Wait a minute, I beg of you!” exclaimed Mr. Lobster.
But there was just another whush in the darkness, and the owl was gone.
“I hope,” said Mr. Lobster to himself, “that I never let my wisdom make me so disagreeable as that. Really wise persons are glad to share their knowledge and help others. Wisdom is never selfish. I dare say the owl is not so wise as he thinks he is.”
He knew there was no use trying to go home now. He knew also that he did not like the idea of staying where he was and having things whushing over him in the black dark.
So he crawled around from tree to tree and from stump to stump, looking for shelter, and all the time wishing all the harder that he was back in his own home under the ocean waves.
“Oh, the perils of curiosity,” he said to himself. “But anyway, if I ever do get home again, I shall know what the woods are.” And he tried to get comfort from that thought.
Finally, seeing a hole under an old stump, he backed in very carefully.
Almost before he was safely inside he heard a terrified squeaking in the farthest corner of the hole.
“Who is there?” he demanded.
“Just a mouse, sir,” came the answer in a very squeaky and frightened little voice.
“Ah,” said Mr. Lobster, remembering what Mr. Badger had said. “Then besides your squeak you have a long tail.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you are a very insignificant creature.”
“Oh, yes, indeed, sir.”
“Well, may I ask you why you are making all that noise?” asked Mr. Lobster.
“I was saying my prayers, sir.” The little small voice from the corner was still trembling and frightened.
“Why were you saying your prayers?” asked Mr. Lobster, who, of course, was curious.
“You see, sir,” answered the mouse, “no one ever comes into a mouse’s home except to eat him. So I knew, sir, that you would eat me immediately. And I didn’t dare run out because if I do the owl will eat me. So there was nothing left for me to do but say my prayers. It is miserable to be a mouse, sir. No one realizes how gentle we are.”
Mr. Lobster thought over what the mouse had said.
“Is the owl your enemy?” he finally asked the mouse.
“Oh, a terrible enemy, sir.”
“Then I shall be your friend, for I have no affection for the owl.” Mr. Lobster felt that he was being very kind.
“Oh, be my friend, sir!” squeaked the mouse. “I have never had a friend, only a few relatives. And let me stay here in peace in my house until the owl goes to bed. I will do anything I can for you.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Lobster, “I am your friend, and you may stay here. I think, since you got here first, that is only reasonable, anyway. But tell me one more thing, if you will pardon my curiosity. I believe Mr. Badger told me the owl goes out only at night. Is it also true, then, that he goes to bed in the morning?”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
“That settles it,” said Mr. Lobster. “I knew that he couldn’t be as wise as he thinks he is, for he is most discourteous. And if he goes to bed in the morning, then he is plain foolish.”
With that comforting thought Mr. Lobster settled down to wait the long night through. He knew that he would not sleep a wink. He was too worried about getting home in the morning. The dampness and coolness of the night would not last forever. So he was very nervous and twitchety, folding and unfolding his tail, creaking in all his joints just from sheer worry, and, when all is said, having a perfectly miserable night.
Of course, the night had to pass, for the world must roll on, and the sun must have its day. And in the first light of the early day Mr. Lobster crawled out of the hole in the stump, hoping that now he would be able to see his way home or meet someone who could direct him to Mr. Badger.
The mouse came out, said, “Thank you, sir,” and scampered off to find a small breakfast.
Mr. Lobster found that he was alone. There were just as many trees in the woods as there had been the night before. And no sign of a path, and no sign of the Ocean. He had no idea which way to go, or where the tallest tree was.
“I am just as lost as I was last night,” he said to himself. “This trip has turned out to be a dreadful mistake.”
He did not hear any birds, for at this time of the morning the birds were busy getting their breakfasts. He looked around for some passing creature, but there were no creatures. So he just crawled unhappily along, feeling worse by the minute.
Mr. Lobster did not know that the woods creatures had already spied him, and that they were all so frightened at seeing a lobster in the woods, and such a great big lobster, that they were keeping well hidden, watching Mr. Lobster from safe distances.
“What a lonesome place,” thought poor Mr. Lobster. “Lonesomeness is one of the very worst things I know. Being lost is another. And here I am both lonesome and lost!”
He crawled and crawled, and the sun grew brighter and brighter. The dew on the grass and leaves was dried by the sun, taken up into the air so that it could fall again the next night, and the air of the woods became warm. Mr. Lobster felt his shell beginning to get dry.
And he was still lost.
He tried to hurry, but he could hurry only when he was swimming; and he couldn’t swim on land no matter how hard he tried.
“It is all up with me now,” he said sadly. “I am lost and alone, and all my wisdom is doing me no good at all. Evidently you have to have different kinds of wisdom for different places.”
So he stopped to rest, feeling that there was no use in struggling further, and looking around, he was amazed to find that he was right in front of the hole in the stump where he had spent the night.
“After all my crawling I haven’t gotten anywhere!” he moaned. “What a strange place a woods is, and how dreadful!”
Just then the mouse came scampering toward the hole in the stump. Seeing Mr. Lobster, the mouse stopped, trembling all over so that even his long tail was all aquiver.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Mr. Lobster, “and please don’t squeak. I couldn’t stand it now. I am lost. Soon I shall be nothing but a dried-up shell. I shall be gone.”
“I was afraid you had changed your mind, sir,” said the mouse, “and had decided to eat me. You see, I am not used to kindness. But can’t I do anything for you, sir, if you are lost?”
Mr. Lobster looked at the tiny creature. He was a dormouse, a very pretty creature with large ears and a pure white chest, and an extra long tail.
“I fear not,” he said. “You are too insignificant.”
“I have beautiful relatives, sir,” said the mouse.
“Have you any relatives that know Mr. Badger or Mr. Bear?” asked Mr. Lobster, with only a very little hope.
“Well, not exactly, sir,” replied the mouse, “but perhaps my cousin, the squirrel, could help you. He could climb a tree and see where your friends are, and perhaps he would tell them your trouble.”
“I am getting drier every second,” said Mr. Lobster, “and if I get all dry then I am done for. And I shall get all dry if I don’t get home. And I don’t know the way home.”
“How awful!” exclaimed the mouse, who was, like all mice, a kind and considerate creature. “If you don’t mind, sir, I can’t spread the news unless I know your name.”
“I AM GETTING DRIER EVERY SECOND,” SAID MR. LOBSTER.
“I am Mr. Lobster.”
In an instant the mouse was gone, and Mr. Lobster was alone again. He just stayed where he was, feeling drier and drier, and unhappier and unhappier. He really had little faith in the mouse. The creature seemed too small to be of any good.
Just before the very worst happened, the mouse came scampering back.
“Good news, sir!” he cried. “I have told my cousin, and he climbed a tall tree and saw Mr. Badger in one place and Mr. Bear in another, and he told the birds of your plight, and the story is spreading all through the woods.”
Indeed, the mouse had been as good as his word. Soon there was the greatest chatter, and birds began coming to perch in trees and look at Mr. Lobster, all of them very much excited. There were robins and finches and thrushes. There were sparrows and wrens and bluebirds. Two blue jays were talking very loud. One crow came and took a good look at Mr. Lobster and immediately flew away to tell all his friends, the way crows always do. The trees were full of birds, and they made a babel of noise, without stopping for an instant.
Mr. Lobster was more miserable than ever at being the object of so much attention. He felt altogether too conspicuous.
“I am not sure that it is true that misery loves company,” he said wisely but sadly to himself, “but it certainly draws a crowd.”
And then who should come but Mr. Badger, running just as fast as his legs would carry him. And right behind him came Mr. Bear.
“My poor friend!” cried Mr. Badger. “To think you came up here to see me, and came to this! I will save you!”
All the birds made a great outcry then.
“Hold on to my tail!” exclaimed Mr. Badger. “I will drag you from here to the Ocean!”
“Too late,” moaned Mr. Lobster. “I am almost fainting, and I could not hold on tight enough for such a ride.”
“Then what shall we do?” cried Mr. Badger.
“Let him ride on my back,” said Mr. Bear. “Mr. Lobster saved my life once, and now it is my turn to save his. You are both heroes already. Now I shall be a hero.”
Mr. Bear came up close to Mr. Lobster so that he could climb on. Alas, Mr. Bear’s back was so high up from the ground that Mr. Lobster did not have the strength to climb up.
“It is no use,” said Mr. Lobster, and he sighed so deeply that all the birds sighed too, making a sad little sound trembling among the leaves of the trees.
“I could climb on Mr. Badger’s back,” said Mr. Lobster, “but that is the best I can do. I am nearly dry.”
“Oh, dear,” cried Mr. Badger. “I could pull you easily, but I could never carry you on my back.”
Everything seemed lost and hopeless. Even the birds were silent.
But just then, when Mr. Lobster was sure that he was going to faint and that everything was all over, there was a rush of wings. A new bird came flying with the speed of a bullet. It was the permanent partridge, the most cunning of all the birds.
“What is all this hubbub and chatter I’ve been hearing?” he asked. “Is there trouble?” Oh, he was a fine-looking bird, and he stood on the ground, unafraid of anything, and he spread out his tail and raised up the ruff on his neck, so that he looked magnificent.
Mr. Badger quickly told him the whole story of Mr. Lobster’s unhappy trip to the woods.
“Well, well,” said the permanent partridge. “It is a very good thing I came along. I should say let Mr. Lobster climb up on Mr. Badger’s back, and then let Mr. Badger climb up on Mr. Bear’s back, and then let Mr. Bear run down to the Ocean as fast as he can.”
And that is just what happened.
Poor Mr. Lobster was now so dry that he scarcely knew what he was doing, but he managed to climb on Mr. Badger’s back and wrap his long claws around Mr. Badger’s neck.
And then Mr. Badger, groaning under the heavy load, but being as brave as any hero, climbed up on Mr. Bear’s back and wrapped his arms about Mr. Bear’s neck.
Mr. Bear started.
It was an exciting and strange sight—the strangest the woods had ever seen.
Mr. Bear ran fast.
All the birds flew along beside him, chirping and calling out encouragement until he got to the end of the woods.
Mr. Lobster cried out to Mr. Badger, “Faster! Faster!”
And Mr. Badger called out to Mr. Bear, “Faster! Faster!”
And Mr. Bear, who was really three creatures at once, ran so fast that he didn’t have any breath left even for a single growl as he went.
It was a wild and terrible trip, and there was danger every minute that Mr. Lobster or Mr. Badger might fall off. But they didn’t. And when Mr. Bear reached the beach he bravely walked right into the water, so that Mr. Lobster could let go of Mr. Badger and fall right into his own Ocean without doing another thing.
Mr. Lobster did let go at once. He fell with a splash that soaked Mr. Bear and Mr. Badger, and both of them ran for the beach.
And so Mr. Lobster was saved.