The rain continued for several days; and though Toto, mindful of the sad story of Chimborazo, tried hard not to say “Oh, dear!” still he found the time hang very heavy on his hands. On the fourth day, however, the clouds broke away, and the sun came out bright and beautiful. Toto snatched up his cap, kissed his grandmother, and flew off to the forest. Oh, how glad he was to be out of doors again, and how glad everything seemed to be to see him! All the trees shook down pearls and diamonds on him (very wet ones they were, but he did not mind that), the birds sang to him, the flowers nodded to him, the sunbeams twinkled at him; everything seemed to say, “How are you, Toto? Hasn’t it been a lovely rain, and aren’t you glad it is over?”

He went straight to the forest pool, hoping to find some of his companions there. Sure enough, there was the raccoon, sitting by the edge of the pool, making his toilet, and stopping every now and then to gaze admiringly at himself in the clear mirror.

“Good-morning, Coon!” said Toto; “admiring your beauty as usual, eh?”

“Well, Toto,” replied the raccoon complacently, “my view of the matter is this: what is the use of having beauty if you don’t admire it? That is what it’s for, I suppose.”

“I suppose so,” assented Toto.

“And you can’t expect other people to admire you if you don’t admire yourself!” added the raccoon impressively. “Remember that! How’s your grandmother?”

“She’s very well,” replied Toto, “and she hopes to see you all this afternoon. She has made a new kind of gingerbread, and she wants you to try it. I have tried it, and it is very good indeed.”

“Your grandmother,” said the raccoon, “is in many respects the most delightful person I have ever met. I, for one, will come with pleasure. I can’t tell about the rest; haven’t seen them for a day or two. Suppose we go and hunt them up.”

“With all my heart!” said Toto.

They had not gone far before they met the wood-pigeon flying along with a bunch of berries in her bill.

“Where are you going, Pigeon Pretty?” inquired Toto; “and who is to have those nice berries? I am sure they are not for yourself; I believe you never get anything for yourself, you are so busy helping others.”

“These berries are for poor Chucky,” replied the wood-pigeon. “Ah, Coon,” she added reproachfully, “how could you hurt the poor fellow so? He is really ill this morning in consequence.”

“What have you been doing to Chucky, you naughty Coon?” asked Toto. “Biting his nose off?”

“Oh, no!” said the raccoon, looking rather guilty, in spite of his assurance. “Dear me, no! I didn’t bite it off. Certainly not! I—I just bit it a little, don’t you know! it was raining, and I hadn’t anything else to do; and he was so sound asleep, it was a great temptation. But I won’t do it again, Pigeon Pretty,” he added cheerfully, “I won’t really. Take him the berries, with my love, and say I hope they will do him good!” and with a crafty wink, Master Coon trotted on with Toto, while Pigeon Pretty flew off in the opposite direction.

They soon arrived at the mouth of the bear’s cave, and looking in, saw the worthy Bruin quietly playing backgammon with his devoted friend Cracker. The latter was chattering as usual. “And so I said to him,” he was saying as Toto and Coon approached, “‘I think it is a mean trick, and I’ll have nothing to do with it. And what is more, I’ll put a stop to it if I can!’ So he said he’d like to see me do it, and flounced off into the water.”

“Humph!” said Bruin, “I never did think much of that muskrat.”

“What’s all this?” asked the raccoon, walking in. “Anything the matter, Cracker?”

“Good-morning, Coon!” said Bruin. “Morning, Toto! Sit down, both of you. Cracker was just telling me—”

“It is that muskrat that lives in the pool, you know, Coon!” broke in the squirrel excitedly. 98 “He wants to marry the Widow Bullfrog’s daughter, and she won’t have him, because she’s engaged to young Mud Turtle. So now the muskrat has contrived a plan for carrying her off to-night whether she will or no; and if you will believe it, he came to me and asked me to help him,—me, the head squirrel of the whole forest!” and little Cracker whisked his tail about fiercely, and looked as if he could devour a whole army of muskrats.

“Don’t frighten us, Cracker!” said the raccoon, with a look of mock terror. “I shall faint if you look so ferocious. I shall, indeed! Hold me, Toto!”

“Now, Coon, you know I won’t have Cracker teased!” growled the bear. “He’s a good little fellow, and if he wants to help the Widow Bullfrog out of this scrape, he shall. I believe she is a very respectable person. Now, I don’t know whether I can do anything about it myself. I’m rather large, you see, and it won’t do for me to go paddling about in the pool and getting the water all muddy.”

“Certainly not!” said the squirrel, “you dear old monster. I should as soon think of asking the mountain to come and hunt mosquitoes. But Coon, now—”

“Oh, I’m ready!” exclaimed the raccoon. “Delighted, I’m sure, to do anything I can. What shall I do to the muskrat? Eat him?”

“I suppose that would be the easiest thing to do,” said the bear. “What do you say, Cracker?”

“He is very hard to catch,” replied the squirrel. “In fact, you cannot catch a muskrat unless you put tar on his nose.”

“That is true,” said the raccoon. “I had forgotten that, and I haven’t any tar just now. Would pitch or turpentine do as well, do you think? They all begin with ‘A’, you know.”

“I’m afraid not!” said the squirrel. “‘Tar to catch a Tartar,’ as the old saying goes; and the muskrat is certainly a Tartar.”

“Look here!” said Toto, “I think we have 100 some tar at home, in the shed. I am quite sure there is some.”

“Really?” said the squirrel, brightening up. “Good boy, Toto! Tell me where I can find it, and I’ll go and get it.”

“No!” said Toto. “It’s in a bucket, and you couldn’t carry it, Cracker! I’ll go and fetch it, while you and Coon are arranging your plan of action.”

So away ran Toto, and the squirrel and the raccoon sat down to consult.

“The first thing to do,” said Coon, “is to get the muskrat out of his hole. Now, my advice is this: do you go to Mrs. Bullfrog, and borrow an old overcoat of her husband’s.”

“Husband’s dead,” said the bear.

“That’s no reason why his overcoat should be dead, stupid!” replied the raccoon. “It isn’t likely that he was buried in his overcoat, and it isn’t likely that she has cut it up for a riding-habit. Borrow the overcoat,” he continued, turning to the squirrel again, “and put it on. Old 101 Bullfrog was a very big fellow, and I think you can get it on. Then you can sit on a stone and whistle like a frog.”

“I can’t sit down in a frog’s overcoat!” objected the squirrel. “I know I can’t. It’s not the right shape, and I don’t sit down in that way. And I can’t whistle like a frog either.”

“Dear me!” said the raccoon peevishly. “What can you do? I am sure I could sit down in any coat I could wear at all. Well, then,” he added after a pause, “you can stand on a stone, and look like a frog. I suppose you can do that?”

“I suppose so,” said Cracker, dubiously.

“And Toto,” continued the raccoon, “can hide himself in the reeds on one side of you, and I on the other. Toto whistles beautifully, and he can imitate Miss Bullfrog’s voice to perfection. The muskrat will be sure to come up when he hears it, and the moment he pops his head out of the water, you can drop some tar on his nose, and then—”

“Then what?” asked the squirrel anxiously.

“I will attend to the rest of it,” said Coon, with a wink. “See that I have cards to the Mud Turtle’s wedding, will you? Here comes Toto,” he added, “with tar enough to catch fifty muskrats. Off with you, Cracker, and ask the Widow Frog for the overcoat.”

The squirrel disappeared among the bushes, and at the same time Toto came running up with the tar-bucket.

“Well,” he said breathlessly, “is it all arranged? Oh! I ran all the way, and I am so tired!” and he dropped down on a mossy seat, and fanned himself with his cap.

Bruin brought a piece of honeycomb to refresh him, and Coon told him the proposed plan, which delighted the boy greatly.

“And I am to do the whistling?” he exclaimed. “I must practise a bit, for I have not done any frog-whistling for some time.” And with that he began to whistle in such a wonderfully frog-like way, that Bruin almost thought he must have swallowed a frog.

“How do you do that, Toto?” he asked. “I wish I could learn. You just purse your mouth up so, eh? Ugh! wah! woonk!” And the bear gave a series of most surprising grunts and growls, accompanied with such singular grimaces that both Toto and the raccoon rolled over on the ground in convulsions of laughter.

“My dear Bruin,” cried Toto, as soon as he could regain a little composure, “I don’t think—ha! ha! ha!—I really do not think you will ever be mistaken for a frog.”

“Ho! ho! ho!” cried the raccoon, bursting into another fit of laughter as he looked towards the mouth of the cave. “Look at Cracker. Oh, my eye! will you look at Cracker? Oh, dear me! I shall certainly die if I laugh any more. Ho! ho!”

Bruin and Toto turned, and saw the squirrel hobbling in, dressed in a green frog-skin, and looking—well, did you ever see a squirrel in a frog-skin? No? Then you never saw the funniest thing in the world.

Poor Cracker, however, seemed to see no fun in 104 it at all. “It’s all very well for you fellows to laugh,” he said ruefully. “I wonder how you would like to be pinched up in an abominable, ill-fitting thing like this? Ugh! I wouldn’t be a frog for all the beechnuts in the world. Come on!” he added sharply. “Let us get the matter over, and have done with it. I can’t stand this long.”

Accordingly the three started off, leaving Bruin shaking his head and chuckling at the mouth of the cave.

Arrived at the pool, they stationed themselves as had been previously arranged: the squirrel on a large stone at the very edge of the pool, with the tar-bucket beside him; the raccoon crouching among the tall reeds on one side of the stone, while Toto lay closely hidden on the other, behind a clump of tall ferns.

When all was ready, Toto began to whistle. At first he whistled very softly, but gradually the notes swelled, growing clearer and shriller, till they seemed to fill the air.

Presently a ripple was seen in the clear water, and the sharp black nose of a muskrat appeared above the surface. “Lovely creature!” exclaimed the muskrat. “Adored Miss Bullfrog, is it possible that you have changed your mind, and decided to listen to my suit?”

“I have,” said the squirrel softly.

“Oh, rapture!” cried the muskrat. “Come, then, at once with me! Let us fly, or rather swim, before your tyrannical parent discovers us! Leap down, my lovely one, with your accustomed 106 grace and agility, into the arms of your faithful, your adoring muskrat! Come!”

“You must come a little nearer,” whispered the squirrel coyly. “I want to be sure that it is really you; such a sudden step, you know! Please put your whole head out, my love, that I may be quite sure of you!”

The eager muskrat thrust his head out of the water; and plump! the squirrel dropped the tar on the end of his nose.

The muskrat gave a wild shriek, and plunging his nose among the rushes on the bank, tried to rub off the tar. But, alas! the tar stuck to the rushes, and his nose stuck to the tar, and there he was!

At that instant the raccoon leaped from his hiding-place.

Toto, still concealed behind the clump of ferns, heard the noise of a violent struggle; then came several short squeaks; then a crunching noise; and then silence. Coming out from his hiding-place, he saw the raccoon sitting quietly on a stone, licking his chops, and smoothing his ruffled fur.

He smiled sweetly at Toto, and said, “It’s all right, my boy! you whistled beautifully; couldn’t have done it better myself!” (N. B. Coon’s whistling powers were nearly equal to those of the bear.)

“But where is the muskrat?” asked Toto, bewildered. “What have you done with him?”

“Eaten him, my dear!” replied Coon, benignly. “It is always the best plan in any case of this sort; saves trouble, you see, and prevents any further inquiry in the matter; besides, I was always taught in my youth never to waste anything. The flavor was not all I could have wished,” he added, “and there was more or less stringiness; but what will not one do in the cause of friendship! Don’t mention it, Cracker, my boy! I am sure you would have done as much for me. And now let us help you off with the overcoat of the late lamented Bullfrog; for to speak in perfect frankness, Cracker, it is not what one would call becoming to your style of beauty.”