Mr. Nutcracker, like many other good old gentlemen squirrels,
found that Christmas dinners and other things were apt to go as his wife
said, and his wife was apt to go as young Featherhead said; and so,
when Christmas came, the Chipmunks were not invited, for the first
time in many years. The Chipmunks, however, took all pleasantly, and
accepted poor old Mrs. Nutcracker's awkward apologies with the best
possible grace; and young Tip looked in on Christmas morning with the
compliments of the season and a few beech-nuts, which he had secured
as a great dainty. The fact was, that Tip's little striped fur coat was so
filled up and overflowing with cheerful good-will to all, that he never
could be made to understand that any of his relations could want to cut
him; and therefore Featherhead looked down on him with contempt,
and said he had no tact, and couldn't see when he was not wanted.
It was wonderful to see how, by means of persisting in remarks like
these, young Featherhead at last got all his family to look up to him as
something uncommon. Though he added nothing to the family, and
required more to be done for him than all the others put together,--
though he showed not the smallest real perseverance or ability in
anything useful,--yet somehow all his brothers and sisters, and his poor
foolish old mother, got into a way of regarding him as something
wonderful, and delighting in his sharp sayings as if they had been the
wisest things in the world.
But at last old papa declared that it was time for Featherhead to settle
himself to some business in life, roundly declaring that he could not
always have him as a hanger-on in the paternal hole.
"What are you going to do, my boy?" said Tip Chipmunk to him one
day. "We are driving now a thriving trade in hickory-nuts, and if you
would like to join us--"
"Thank you," said Featherhead; "but I confess I have no fancy for
anything so slow as the hickory trade; I never was made to grub and
delve in that way."
The fact was that Featherhead had lately been forming alliances such as
no reputable squirrel should even think of. He had more than once been
seen going out evenings with the Rats of Rat Hollow,--a race whose
reputation for honesty was more than doubtful. The fact was, further,
that old Longtooth Rat, an old sharper and money-lender, had long had
his eye on Featherhead as just about silly enough for their
purposes,--engaging him in what he called a speculation, but which was
neither more nor less than downright stealing.
Near by the chestnut-tree where Nutcracker Lodge was situated was a
large barn filled with corn and grain, besides many bushels of hazel-
nuts, chestnuts, and walnuts. Now old Longtooth proposed to young
Featherhead that he should nibble a passage into this loft, and there
establish himself in the commission business, passing the nuts and corn
to him as he wanted them. Old Longtooth knew what he was about in
the proposal, for he had heard talk of a brisk Scotch terrier that was
about to be bought to keep the rats from the grain; but you may be sure
he kept his knowledge to himself, so that Featherhead was none the
wiser for it.
"The nonsense of fellows like Tip Chipmunk!" said Featherhead to his
admiring brothers and sisters--"the perfectly stupid nonsense! There he
goes, delving and poking, picking up a nut here and a grain there, when
I step into property at once."
"But I hope, my son, you are careful to be honest in your dealings,"
said old Nutcracker, who was a very moral squirrel.
With that, young Featherhead threw his tail saucily over one shoulder,
winked knowingly at his brothers, and said, "Certainly, sir! If honesty
consists in getting what you can while it is going, I mean to be honest."
Very soon Featherhead appeared to his admiring companions in the
height of prosperity. He had a splendid hole in the midst of a heap of
chestnuts, and he literally seemed to be rolling in wealth; he never
came home without showering lavish gifts on his mother and sisters; he
wore his tail over his back with a buckish air, and patronized Tip
Chipmunk with a gracious nod whenever he met him, and thought that
the world was going well with him.
But one luckless day, as Featherhead was lolling in his hole, up came
two boys with the friskiest, wiriest Scotch terrier you ever saw. His
eyes blazed like torches, and poor Featherhead's heart died within him
as he heard the boys say, "Now we'll see if we can't catch the rascal that
eats our grain."
Featherhead tried to
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