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Page 72
"There's no use going off this other way," Spot put in, "for there's
nothing over there but a big lot of water with a mill standing by it. I
was over there one day."
"Then that is our way," said the French lady, decisively. "That is the
ocean. I know they brought me across the ocean, and I was awfully sick
all the way."
That last rather discouraged them, for nobody wanted to get awfully
sick if there was any other way to find Scrubby's tree; so they
concluded not to go to France.
"Well, let's go somewhere, for I'm getting cold," peeped the chicken;
and then there was a great discussion. At last, Spot said:
"We _are_ a stupid lot! There's that sparrow comes about the door every
day--he could tell us all about trees in a minute if we could find
him."
Minx knew where the sparrow kept himself, for she always watched him
with an eye to business.
"But," she said, "some of the rest of you will have to talk to him, for
he'll never let me come near him."
So then the chicken called to the sparrow, and the sparrow answered.
The matter was explained to him, and the bird fluttered down among them
as much excited as anybody.
"It's for little Scrubby, eh?" he said. "What in the world does she
want a tree for? I know. It's because she is half bird herself--bless
her heart!--and she likes trees just like any other bird. And don't she
come to the door every morning and give me crumbs and talk to me so
friendly? Of course, I'll help find a tree for her."
But he had not found one yet, and so the chicken told him.
"I don't know," he said. "Suppose I call Mrs. Squirrel. She can tell."
And off he flew, and had the gray squirrel there in a minute, cold as
it was.
Then they had to tell the story over again to Mrs. Squirrel and to Mr.
Rabbit, who had also hopped along to see what the fuss was all about.
"Scrubby's got to have a tree, and that's all about it," chattered Mrs.
Squirrel, as she whisked about in a state of great excitement. "I
didn't know old Kriss could be so mean as that. Call _him_ a saint! And
all because Scrubby's poor! Humph! Don't seem to _me_ she is so very
poor. Didn't I give her those eyes she has? And didn't the robin give
her his own throat? And hasn't she a sunbeam inside, that shines all
through? And didn't Miss June roll up all the flowers she had, and a
dozen birds beside, and wrap the whole bundle up in Scrubby's brown
skin? I don't call that being so very poor, do you? Anyhow, she is not
so poor but that she could make me feel jolly every time she came
out-doors last summer to run after me and chatter to me."
The rabbit had been standing all this time with one cold foot wrapped
up in his ear. He unfolded his ear now, and wiped his eyes with it.
"She almost cried," he said. "Just think of one of my little bunnies
wanting anything she couldn't get, and crying about it! It just breaks
my heart."
"Tree!" chirped the chicken.
"Yes," said Mrs. Squirrel, "why don't you go and get a tree for
Scrubby? What do you all stand here for, chattering and doing nothing?
I'd give her mine, only that great beech couldn't be got into the
house."
"We wanted your advice," the sparrow suggested.
"Advice! You don't need any advice. Why don't you give her your own
tree? That little Norway spruce is just the thing. Come along, and
don't be so selfish!"
"I'm not selfish; but really Norway is not fit, and, besides, I don't
believe he'll go."
"Nonsense! He's a beautiful tree, only there isn't much green on him;
and of course he'll go, for we'll make him go," answered the very
decided Mrs. Squirrel.
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