Reynard caught a cold just two weeks before Miss Hare’s school closed for the summer. He was very ill, indeed; but Tiny, Snowball, and his other friends did all they could to make him comfortable.

Miss Hare spent one evening with Reynard. Puss Snowball, Winkie Weasel, and Tiny were present. They had a pleasant time, in Reynard’s humble room, which the stars made almost bright as day.

“Shall I get you some corn?” Miss Hare finally asked.

“I don’t want no corn,” groaned Reynard, whose head ached severely.

“Very well, I will bring you some,” said Miss Hare, rising to leave the room.

“I don’t want no corn!” repeated Reynard, so surprised that his head almost stopped aching.

“That means that you do want some corn,” laughed Miss Hare. “I suppose you meant to say that you don’t want any corn, or that you want no corn. Be careful what you say, Reynard, and never use two denying words where the meaning needs but one. The other day I heard you say, ‘I haven’t seen nothing,’ which meant that you must have seen something. You also said, ‘He is not doing nothing,’ which meant that he was doing something.”

“Thank you, Miss Hare,” said Reynard, with chagrin. “I know that I am sometimes very careless in the use of English. But now my head feels so much better that perhaps, after all, I don’t need no corn.”

Miss Hare laughed again, with more pleasure this time, and gave him a few kernels of corn which she had brought with her.

“Now we must do something to amuse Reynard,” said Miss Hare, pleasantly. “What shall we do?”

“I should like to hear Snowball sing a song,” said Reynard. “He sings good.”

“He does not sing good, but he sings well,” corrected Miss Hare, in a low voice to Reynard. “Will you sing, Snowball?”

“I can’t sing to-night,” said Snowball. “I, too, have a bad cold.”

“You have a severe cold,” said Miss Hare. “It is as wrong to say that you have a bad cold as it is to say that you received a good whipping.”

Snowball was one of those individuals who do not like to be corrected, so for a few moments he shrugged his shoulders and pouted.

Miss Hare turned towards Tiny and said in a cheerful voice:

“Perhaps Tiny will tell us about Squirreltown.”

“Good! good!” shouted enthusiastic Winkie Weasel, leaping awkwardly into the air to show his delight. “Tell us about the time you wandered through the great forest and did not know where you were at.”

“Fy, fy, Winkie!” cried his teacher, shaking with laughter. “How you abuse such useful little words as at, to, and for. You make them work when they should be resting. You say that Tiny did not know where he was at, nor where he was going to, when you should say that Tiny did not know where he was, nor where he was going. One should not place at, to, for, or some other unnecessary little word at the end of a sentence.”

Snowball was very glad to hear the teacher correct Winkie, and soon he regained his usual good humor.

“Winkie and I are both alike in our use of bad English,” he chuckled.

“You are especially apt to use unnecessary words, Snowball,” said Miss Hare. “Why should you say ‘Winkie and I are both alike,’ when it takes less time to say, ‘Winkie and I are alike’?”

Snowball stared stupidly for a while, but did not seem vexed.

“I thought to myself that Snowball was making an incorrect statement,” tittered Winkie.

“Of course, you thought to yourself,” said the teacher with a twinkle in her eye. “You certainly could not think aloud.”

“No, but he knows how to laugh aloud,” said Snowball, somewhat scornfully.

“Now, Tiny, you may tell us something about Squirreltown,” said Miss Hare.

Tiny did not feel so brave about talking as he did on the day he tried to address the mayor and citizens of his native town, for he knew that his present audience was a very critical one. However, he began:

“A wide path leads into Squirreltown. At the place where it enters the city it is very wide indeed. An oak tree stands on both sides of this path—”

“How strange!” interrupted Miss Hare. “Isn’t it rather unusual for a tree to stand on both sides of a path?”

“There are two trees,” stammered Tiny.

“Oh, I see,” said Miss Hare, a flash of understanding shining in her eyes. “You mean to say that on each side of the path there is an oak tree.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Tiny, with a nod. “The trees in the city do not contain many acorns, but these two trees are filled full of them.”

“Of course, if they are filled with acorns, they must be full of them,” laughed Miss Hare. “It sounds as badly to say filled full as it does to say little small. Just how are the trees filled with acorns, Tiny? Are the trunks hollow?”

“The branches of the two trees,” bravely continued Tiny, “bear so many acorns that they could yield all the squirrels in the land an acorn.”

“Then the branches can not bear very many acorns,” said Miss Hare. “One acorn could not very well be divided among such a host of squirrels.”

“I mean that these two trees could yield each squirrel in the land an acorn,” said Tiny, with energy.

“That is right,” said Miss Hare, much pleased. “Tiny is one who thinks, and I believe that in time he will learn to speak correctly.”

“I have lived in Squirreltown nearly all my life, and—”

“How many squirrels live there?” interrupted the teacher.

“Several hundred,” replied Tiny, proudly.

“Then it is not such a great city, after all. It would be better to say that you lived at Squirreltown. When it becomes a great city, you can say that you lived in Squirreltown.”

“I lived on Oak Avenue—”

“It is better to say that you lived in Oak Avenue,” suggested Miss Hare.

“One day a bear met my mother with crooked teeth, and—”

“Who had crooked teeth, the bear or your mother?” tittered Snowball.

“The bear, to be sure,” retorted Tiny, growing quite indignant.

“You should place your helping phrases where they will give the right meaning,” said Miss Hare. “There are many animals ready to make sport of us if we are not careful to say just what we mean.”

“Really, I am so puzzled that I have forgotten what I intended to say,” said Tiny, sitting down. “I cannot say properly where I am, or where I live, or anything else. All I know is that I am very dull.”

“You are not dull,” declared Miss Hare. “When an animal finds out that he has much to learn, it is a good indication that he really knows something. Only the ignorant are satisfied with their own imperfect way of speaking. Now I will sing for you a little lullaby that an otter formerly sang to her little one every night:”

SONG OF REST.

Hardly had Miss Hare finished singing the lullaby, when Billy Beaver began thumping with his tail to let all the students of Beaver Creek know that it was time to retire.

“Goodnight, Reynard. I hope you will sleep well,” said the teacher kindly. “Goodnight, Tiny and Snowball and Winkie. I hope that my criticisms will benefit you. Remember that I meant them all in kindness. Is there anything I can do for you, Reynard?”

“Yes, please,” said the fox, hoarsely. “Tell Billy to bring me a cold pan of water.”

“Poor fox! Poor fox! I will tell him to bring you a pan of cold water,” said Miss Hare, with a hearty laugh that set her long ears to bobbing. “It makes little difference whether or not the pan is cold.”