The Tale of Nimble Deer | Page 3

carefully he stole away.

III
AN INTERRUPTED NAP
Nimble, the fawn, stole away into the woods while his mother was sleeping. And when he went he took great pains not to disturb her. He was careful not to step on a single twig. For young as he was, he knew that the sound of a breaking twig was enough to rouse his mother instantly out of the deepest sleep. And he made sure that he didn't set his little feet on any stones. For he knew that at the merest click of a hoof his mother would bound up and discover that he had left her.
So Nimble trod only upon the soft carpet of pine needles and made not the slightest noise. Meanwhile his mother slept peacefully on--or as peacefully as anybody can who is a light sleeper and keeps one ear always cocked to catch every stir in the forest.
She never missed her son at all until she found herself suddenly wide awake and on her feet, ready to run. Not seeing Nimble beside her, for a moment or two she forgot she had a child. Her only thought was to flee from the creature that was crashing through the underbrush beyond the old stone wall and drawing nearer to her every instant.
It was a wonder that she didn't dash off then and there. Indeed she took one leap before she remembered who she was and that she had a youngster named Nimble.
Then, of course, she stopped short and looked wildly around. But she saw no little spotted fawn anywhere.
She had been startled enough, before, roused as she was out of a sound sleep. And now she was terribly frightened.
"Nimble!" she called. "Where are you?"
"Here I am!" Nimble answered. Even as he spoke he burst into sight, leaping the stone wall in such a way that his mother couldn't help feeling proud of him.
"What's the matter?" she cried. "Who's chasing you?"
"Nobody's chasing me," Nimble told her. "When I saw the Fox I hurried back here."
"The Fox!" his mother exclaimed. "Well, he won't dare touch you while I am with you." She began to breathe easily again. If it was only a Fox she certainly didn't intend to run. "Where did you see the Fox?" she demanded.
"He was right over my head," Nimble said.
"My goodness!" his mother gasped. "That was dangerous. Was he on a bank above you?"
"He was in a tree," Nimble replied.
His mother gave him a queer look.
"What's that?" she asked him sharply. "In a tree? What did he look like? Was he red?"
"He was grayish and he had black rings around his long bushy tail; and his long pointed nose stuck out from under a black mask."
"Nonsense!" cried Nimble's mother. "You didn't see a Fox. You saw a Coon!"
Nimble was puzzled.
"You told me once," he reminded his mother, "that a Fox was a sly fellow with a bushy tail and a long pointed nose. And this person in the tree had----"
"Yes! Yes!" said his mother. "Now listen to what I say: A Fox is red. And his tail has no rings at all. And Foxes don't climb trees."
"Yes, Mother!" was Nimble's meek answer.
He was glad to learn all that. And he was glad, too, that his mother hadn't asked him how he happened to stray off alone into the woods.

IV
PLANNING A PICNIC
While he was only a fawn Nimble became very fond of water lilies. But he didn't carry them as a bouquet, nor wear one in his buttonhole. He was fond of lilies in a different way: he liked to eat them, and their flat, round, glossy pads. At night his mother often led him to the edge of the lake on the other side of Blue Mountain and there they feasted.
It was wonderful to stand in the cool water, not too far from the shore, with the moonlight shimmering on the ruffled lake, and breathe in the sweet scent of the lilies while nibbling at their pads.
"There's nothing," said Nimble to his mother one night, "nothing so good to eat as water lilies."
His mother said, "Humph! Wait till you've tasted carrots!"
"Carrots!" Nimble echoed. "What are carrots and where can I find some? Do they grow in this lake?"
"Carrots," his mother explained, "are vegetables and they grow in Farmer Green's garden."
When he heard that, Nimble wanted to start for Farmer Green's place at once. But his mother said, "No!" And he soon saw that she meant it, too.
However, the word carrots was in his mouth a good deal of the time, for days and nights afterward. But Nimble wasn't satisfied with having only the word in his mouth. There was no taste to that at all. Nor could he chew it, nor swallow it. He was wild to bite into a carrot and see if it actually was more toothsome