Chapter I: Part 1

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FATHER THRIFT AND HIS ANIMAL FRIENDS

by

JOSEPH C. SINDELAR

Author of The Nixie Bunny Books

With Pictures by Helen Geraldine Hodge

Beckley-Cardy Company Chicago

* * * * *

BOOKS BY JOSEPH C. SINDELAR
BOW-WOW AND MEW-MEW (Craik-Sindelar). Illustrated in colors.
NIXIE BUNNY IN MANNERS-LAND. Illustrated in colors.
NIXIE BUNNY IN WORKADAY-LAND. Illustrated in colors.
NIXIE BUNNY IN HOLIDAY-LAND. Illustrated in colors.
NIXIE BUNNY IN FARAWAY-LANDS. Illustrated in colors.
FATHER THRIFT AND HIS ANIMAL FRIENDS. Illustrated in black and color.
MORNING EXERCISES FOR ALL THE YEAR.
BEST MEMORY GEMS.
BRIGHT ENTERTAINMENTS FOR CHRISTMAS.
THE BEST THANKSGIVING BOOK.
THE BEST CHRISTMAS BOOK.
MERRY CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENTS.
CLOSING DAY ENTERTAINMENTS.

* * * * *

Copyright, 1918, by Joseph C. Sindelar All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America

To
Joseph C. Jr.
and
his friends

CONTENTS

PAGE

The Queer Little Old Man 11
The Little Old Man Decides 17
His First Day in the Forest 23
Great Gray Owl 29
The Animals of the Forest 35
What Made the Bear Sick 41
How the Woodpeckers Helped 47
The Busy Beavers 53
The Gray Foxes and the Red Foxes 59
Red Squirrel and Bunny Cottontail 65
Shaggy Bear's Mistake 71
The Sweetest Thing in the Forest 77
Robins, Crows, and Blackbirds 85
The Little Raindrops 91
Trouble in the Forest 97
Two Bad Boys 103
The Boys and the Birds 109
Insects and Worms 115
After Many Days 123

Introduction

As from the days your father's father knew,
This little story book now comes to you.
So when you turn its pages, heed them well:
Though strange the stories, many truths they tell.

They tell of animals and birds and trees,
Of children, flowers, and honeybees;
Of a queer old man, and a quaint old town
With crooked streets that ran up and down.

They tell of these and many, many more.
Still, this I'd add to what has gone before:
In the wood there grows a tree--the thrifty tree--
As wonderful as anything can be!

Its trunk is copper; silver are its leaves;
Its blossoms from bright golden threads it weaves;
Its fruit is health and wealth and honest joy--
So seek this goodly tree, wise girl and boy.

FATHER THRIFT AND HIS ANIMAL FRIENDS

THE QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN

Once upon a time, in a quaint old town, there lived a queer little old man. His name was Thrift--Father Thrift people called him, although he really was no father at all.

As I said before, he was just a queer little old man. He had no wife, no children, no home of his own.

But he had a kind heart within his queer little body. Also, he had willing hands and feet, and these brought him many friends.

How old the queer little man was, or how long he had lived in the quaint old town, no one seemed to know.

The present grandfathers and grandmothers remembered how the queer little man used to take them, as children, on his lap and tell them stories.

He had told the same stories to their children and to their children's children. Yet to none of them did he look any different to-day than he did when they first saw him.

You must not think that telling stories was all the queer little old man had to do. He was a sort of all-round village helper. He helped everybody who needed help.

But it was for his good advice that the queer little old man was most sought. He always thought well for everybody, and the people profited by following his teaching.

In fact, the whole town grew prosperous, _extremely_ prosperous, by heeding Father Thrift's advice.

You would suppose that the queer little old man would be well rewarded.

Not so! For when these people became very, _very_ prosperous, they felt that the queer little old man was only in their way.

What further need had they of his advice?

He had taught them to live simply, to spend wisely, and to waste nothing. He had taught them to enjoy simple pleasures and to form simple habits.

"Of what good is time or money, body or brain, if we do not know how to use any of them?" he would say.

"What will become of good health if we do not take care of it?

"Of what good is study-time or play-time unless we get the most we can out of it?

"Or of what worth is life itself if we waste it?"

But the townspeople would not listen to him now. Young Mr. Spendthrift had come to town and they followed him. They only laughed at Father Thrift.

"Poor, queer old man!" they said. "He must be out of his head."

And they began to spend money foolishly, and to waste their time and their health as well as their money.

_How_ it grieved the queer little old man to see things go so!

Day after day he would sit with his head in his hands, thinking, thinking, _thinking_. (He liked to think even better than most people like to eat.)

Then one day, after he had sat for a long, long time thinking, he got up and exclaimed: "At last, at last I have it! I'm sure I have it, this time. Yes, I'm sure."

And those who heard the queer little old man said: "Just as we told you. Poor fellow, he's out of his head! Some of the wheels up here have gotten badly out of order." And they pointed to their foreheads.

But the old man heard them not. Or if he heard he lost no sleep on account of what they said.

THE LITTLE OLD MAN DECIDES

The next day the whole town was busy--very busy--gossiping. Everybody told everybody else what the queer little old man had been overheard to say.

But where was the little old man?

Now that they thought of it, who had seen him since the night before?

Nobody!

Where could he be? Had he dropped through a crack in the floor, his disappearance could not have been more sudden or more complete.

Every one was excited. It was not that the town cared particularly about the queer little old man. It was not that, at all. Only the people were curious to learn where he could have gone or what could have happened to him.

* * * * *

Leading from the town was a crooked road that was traveled but little. At the end of the road was a great forest where there lived many animals and birds.

Had any of the townspeople been up very, very early on the morning that the queer little old man disappeared, they need not have been so excited.

For on that morning a bent little figure might have been seen trudging along the crooked road leading toward the forest.

The man was dressed poorly, almost shabbily. He walked slowly, and seemed to be deep in thought.

Over his shoulder he carried a cane. From it hung a bag made of a big red figured handkerchief.

Apparently the man was on a journey, and the big red figured handkerchief was his traveling bag.

The fat, round-faced Moon Man smiled down from his home in the sky at the little figure in the road. His mouth seemed to move, and I am sure he was saying:

"Go, brave little old man. Go where you've decided to go.

"If you are going to the forest, you will no doubt find a welcome there. Some animals and birds are better as friends than are some people.

"Anyway, the great forest is in need of your lessons. I will light the way for you. May the good spirits attend you!"

And in the stillness of the early morning the queer little old man of the quaint old town might have been heard to answer:

"So I have decided. Come what may, I shall be satisfied.

"Thank you, kind Moon Man, for your good wishes and for your bright light."

And on and on he trudged.

The orange sun was peeping its head above the horizon when the queer little old man reached the edge of the forest.

What warmth the glorious sun gave! His rays gave warmth of heart as well as warmth of body.

The old man sat down on a log, to rest his tired legs and to take a bite to eat.

Then a voice within the queer little old man began to talk.

It said: "Perhaps, after all, you should not have left the quaint old town. You were a coward to run away.

"Ever since young Mr. Spendthrift came there to live you have been discontented. And when the people began to take his advice rather than yours, you grew angry and left.

"Is that the way for an old man to do who always had plenty to eat and to wear?"

But another voice with a fiery little temper was waiting to be heard.

"What!" it cried, "have you no principle? Are you a worm, to be stepped upon?

"Waste is wrong, no matter what you waste. Thrift is right and forever will be.

"Therefore, hie you to the heart of the forest as you have decided. You will at least have peace of mind, and surely that is worth as much as 'plenty to eat and to wear'!"

HIS FIRST DAY IN THE FOREST

At last Father Thrift was in the heart of the forest.

It was very peaceful there.

The wind rustled the leaves on the trees.

The birds flew among the branches and sang and talked and scolded.

Do birds ever scold?

Oh, my, yes! You should hear the mother birds, sometimes, when the father birds waste their time about the house and the baby birds are hungry!

But this morning nearly everything in the forest seemed happy.

The squirrels leaped from tree to tree.

Robin sang his merry "Cheer-up! chee, chee! Cheer-up! chee, chee!" And he sang it again and again.

I think he tried to say: "Welcome, queer little old man! Welcome to the forest!" (Besides, he _may_ have found some good fat worms to eat.)

The dry leaves and small twigs crackled under the little old man's feet as he walked along.

He could hear the soft, rippling sound of the water as it ran over the stones in the brook.

He knew that in the shade of the bending willow trees little fishes played in the water.

Blue sky was above him. Green grass was all around him. Flowers grew at his feet.

Was not the forest a glorious place in which to be!

The queer little old man drew in a deep, deep breath.

The air was filled with the perfume of the pine trees.

"Tap, tap, tap!" Who is disturbing the peace of the forest? It sounds like a carpenter with his hammer.

"Tap, tap, tap!" There it goes again.

The queer little old man looked around.

"Oh, there you are, you little redhead!" he said.

It was Woodpecker. Funny bird! How swiftly he climbs the trunk of the tree!

"Tap, tap, tap!" he knocks with his bill. "Come out from under the bark, you bugs!" he cries. "I want some dinner."

But the bugs do not always come. So Woodpecker bores a hole in the decayed part of the tree and with his bill goes after them.

Does he get them? Yes, indeed; so quickly does he work that the poor little bugs wouldn't have time to whistle for help even if they knew how.

"Curious fellow, that!" said the queer little old man. "He is industrious, too.

"He reminds me of the hop-toad that came to one of the gardens last summer.

"The toad, too, used to catch and eat the bugs. By doing so he saved many a plant from being destroyed.

"But what a homely old fellow he was! And how handsome the woodpecker is!

"It is quite true that one does not grow to look like what he eats, but rather like what he thinks.

"The hop-toad lives so close to the ground that he sees only the brown earth. And if he thinks at all he thinks of _that_.

"But the woodpecker flies in the air and lives in the trees.

"He sees the blue sky and the pretty flowers and the silvery brook. There is beauty all around him. And if you wish to know of what _he_ thinks, just see how he _looks_."

Thus the queer old man spent his first day in the forest. Every little thing interested him. He watched the busy bees at work. He traced the footprints of bears and rabbits and deer in the soft ground along the brook.

But at last night came and spread its cover of darkness over all.

In a cave the queer little man made a soft bed of dry leaves. Then he lay down to sleep.

"Friends, good-night," he whispered to the forest.

And the trees rustled back, "Good-night, good-night."

GREAT GRAY OWL

Great Gray Owl sat up in the tree, winking and blinking.

He would turn his head first in one direction, then in another.

Wise old bird! What he could not see with those large glassy eyes of his was hardly worth seeing.

Suddenly he flew to the ground. There, like a brave sentinel, he marched back and forth in front of the cave in which Father Thrift was sleeping.

Several times in the night the queer little old man heard the hooting of the owl. More than once he thought he heard the wise bird say, "Who-oo, who-oo goes there?"

The first time a sharp "Hiss-ss, hiss-ss!" came in reply. Father Thrift shivered to think of a snake crawling so near him.

Then he heard the owl's sharp command: "Halt! What is your business here?"

"I'm visiting friends that live in a hole in that cave," replied the snake.

"I advise you to do your visiting some other time," said the owl. "Father Thrift is sleeping in the cave to-night. He must not be disturbed."

With the snake the owl's word was law. He had known of several snakes that had shortened their lives by not taking the wise bird's advice.

"Such strong claws, such a hooked bill, such sharp eyes, are not to be trifled with," thought the snake, as he wriggled along toward home. "But what is the forest coming to when one can't visit his friends? Besides, who is Father Thrift, anyway?"

Just then Great Gray Owl called to the snake: "Come to the cave, here, at ten o'clock in the morning and don't forget. Tell your friends to come, too. There will be a meeting of all the animals of the forest."

As he finished saying this the owl heard a loud crackling of twigs and a rustling of leaves behind him. He turned around just in time to face Shaggy Bear.

"What, ho, Friend Owl!" cried the bear. "What are you about this evening? Are you looking for wee mice or for tender little bunnies?"

"No," said Great Gray Owl, "not to-night. I am keeping watch so that Father Thrift may not be disturbed in his sleep."

"And who, pray, may Father Thrift be?" asked Shaggy Bear.

"To-morrow, at ten o'clock in the morning, if you will come back here, you may learn who Father Thrift is. For the present I will say that the cave in which you have been in the habit of sleeping will be Father Thrift's home in the future."

"So, so!" growled Shaggy Bear. "So, _so_!" (He spoke this last rather crossly.)

"Yes," said Great Gray Owl, "that, at least, has been decided."

Then he went on: "Aren't you glad it was _your_ cave that was chosen for Father Thrift? Aren't you _glad_? Think of the honor it will be to you to have him use it! Just _think_ of it!"

What a fine fellow the owl was, to be sure, to give other people's things away so generously!

As for the bear, whether he thought of the honor or not, I cannot say. He never was known to be much of a thinker.

Nevertheless the owl's tactful words soothed him, and he felt quite satisfied to leave things as they were.

"I know of other caves and of hollows in trees where I can sleep," said Shaggy Bear. "When I'm full of honey I don't care!"

That the bear was full of honey seemed quite clear.

Indeed, if you might judge by outside appearances, he was over full. The sticky stuff was running down his chin, and he kept wiping it off with his big paw as he walked away in lazy bear fashion.

Before morning all the animals of the wood, and the birds and the bees, knew that at ten o'clock there would be a meeting at the cave.

What it was about or who Father Thrift was, not one of them knew. That is, no one knew except the owl; and he wouldn't say.

THE ANIMALS OF THE FOREST

The next morning the sun was up before Father Thrift. In fact, when he awoke the sun had already taken the sparkling dewdrops away on a journey back to the clouds.

The sky was bright. The birds were singing, the insects humming. And the flowers were smiling and thanking the sun for the warmth and the light.

Father Thrift rubbed his eyes and looked about him. Something was wrong, very wrong!

The rooster wasn't crowing. The dog wasn't barking. The horses weren't neighing. Those were familiar sounds to Father Thrift's ears. And he missed them.

He drew a deep breath. The air was sweet with the odor of fir trees and of pine.

"Ah," he said, "how could I have forgotten that only yesterday I left the quaint old town!

"This, then, is my new home in the forest. It is a glorious home!"

Soon the queer little old man had his breakfast. He had freshly picked berries and bread, and clear, cool water from a spring near by.

Then he sat down on a log, to think.

Suddenly he heard a great rustling of leaves and a flapping and fluttering of wings.

Turning around, he found himself face to face with such a gathering of animals and birds as he had never in his life seen.

And at his elbow stood--who do you suppose? Great Gray Owl, whom he had heard hoot in the night.

Before Father Thrift had time to ask what the gathering was about, Great Gray Owl rolled his big eyes and said: "Father Thrift, permit me to introduce to you the animals of the forest."

"I am happy to meet you all," said Father Thrift kindly.

Then the animals gave a shout that sounded like three cheers and a hundred tigers.

Do you wonder at that? You will not when I tell you all that were present.

There were the shaggy bears, the red foxes, the busy beavers, the gray wolves, the cottontail rabbits, the bushytail squirrels, the woodchucks, the chipmunks, and the deer.

Then there were the eagles, the owls, the hawks, the crows, the blue jays, and the robins, and many others of the bird family. Even the honeybees and the butterflies, the insects and the snakes were there.

Indeed, all the animals of the forest must have been present, there were so many.

It was wonderful how quickly they had learned of Father Thrift's coming to their home.

Now the Great Gray Owl was waving a stick in the air, motioning for silence.

When everything was quiet, he perched himself on a tall stump, where every one could see him, and made a speech.

"Father Thrift," he said, "we welcome you to the forest. We are glad that you have come to live with us.

"Many years ago we birds and animals had a king. But he died and since then things have not gone well with us.

"We have not lived wisely. I fear many of us have wasted when we had plenty, and suffered when what we had was gone.

"If you will be our king, we will promise to do exactly as you say."

He rolled his big eyes at the animals and asked, "Won't we?" And every one of the animals shouted, "We will!"

But Father Thrift declared that he would rather be only one of them, instead of being their ruler.

He would advise them, and teach them, and help them.

"And we will help you, too," said Shaggy Bear. "I'll give you my cave for keeps, to begin with."

"And I'll bring you nuts to eat," said Bushytail Squirrel.

"And I'll bring you some of my honey," said Honeybee. "That is, I will if Shaggy Bear doesn't steal it all."

"And I'll bring you plenty of mice," said Great Gray Owl.

But Father Thrift only smiled at that. For, of course, mice would be of no use to him!

WHAT MADE THE BEAR SICK

Father Thrift was busy carrying pine needles into his cave. Pine needles make a soft carpet. And the bare floor of the cave was _so_ hard.

At last he had enough and he sat down to rest.

Just then he looked out of his cave and saw Shaggy Bear, half walking, half crawling toward him.

"Why, whatever is the matter?" Father Thrift exclaimed in astonishment.

"I am so sick I believe I shall die," groaned the bear. The poor fellow's face was pale and tears were running down his cheeks.

"Oh, cheer up, cheer up!" cried Father Thrift briskly. "Why should you _want_ to die?"

"That's it--I don't!" returned the bear sorrowfully. "But I believe my time has come."

"Where do you feel the worst--in your stomach?" asked Father Thrift.

"Yes," replied Shaggy Bear. "That is where the trouble started."

"I thought so; I thought so," said Father Thrift. "I wonder that you were not sick before.

"Now, first of all, let me tell you that you are not going to die, not yet. But should you keep on eating as you have eaten in the past few weeks, you could never expect to be strong and healthy."

"Why?" asked the bear, brightening up suddenly.

But Father Thrift did not answer his question.

"I am going to suggest something for you to do, Shaggy," he said.

The bear looked puzzled but hopeful.

"You won't like it," Father Thrift continued. "No one ever did. But it is the only way by which you can become well and strong again.

"The very first time I saw you I knew that you were not eating the right kind of meals.

"Why, bears are known to have such good appetites that we often hear boys say, 'I'm as hungry as a bear!'

"But you don't feel that way. That is because you eat too much honey and not enough solid, nourishing food.

"This makes you sick. And while perhaps you wouldn't die from it, you would grow to be cross and disagreeable. Then no one would like you. Would that be any better?"

The bear scratched his head. "But what am I to do?" he asked.

"Stop eating sweets for three months," advised Father Thrift. "Don't you see that you spoil your appetite for good roots and berries by eating too much honey?

"What, do you suppose, would become of boys and girls who ate nothing but cookies and candy, instead of milk and eggs, and meat and bread, and vegetables and fruit?

"A little candy, when eaten after meals, seldom hurts anybody. When you are better you may have a little honey again, too.

"Another thing. Besides eating and sleeping, what do you do?"

"Nothing," replied Shaggy Bear.

"Hereafter you must spend some time each day working or walking or playing outdoors," said Father Thrift. "You need exercise.

"Don't be afraid to run. That will fill your lungs with pure, fresh air and make your blood circulate more freely.

"Eat only three meals a day and be regular. Do not eat between meals. Remember that the stomach works hard and needs rest as much as do your feet.

"Eat slowly and chew your food well, and I promise that at the end of three months you will feel better than you have ever felt in your life."

The bear made a wry face at all this. For he liked honey about as much as he disliked exercise.

"Mayn't I eat _some_ honey?" he asked pleadingly.

Father Thrift looked at him a little sternly.

"None for three months," he said.

Shaggy Bear was in earnest and at once promised to do as he was told.

Then, as the bear rose to go, Father Thrift patted him on the back.

"You mustn't let this spoil your good times," he said. "Only remember that nobody can be happy without good health."

It was a hard trial for the bear.

Many, many times he was tempted to stuff himself with honey and then roll up in his cave and go to sleep. But each time he turned sadly away from temptation.

And at the end of three months he was as sound and healthy as a bear could be. Then how grateful he was to Father Thrift for his good advice!

And the queer little old man was happy to think that he had been able to help Shaggy so much.

HOW THE WOODPECKERS HELPED

One morning, as Father Thrift was sitting in front of his cave sunning himself, he heard some one crying.

It was a squeaky sort of cry.

Father Thrift could not imagine who it could be that was in trouble.

He looked around, but saw no one.

Then he listened. The sound came from behind a large tree near by. He walked over to the spot. And there sat--who do you suppose?

Little Gray Squirrel, crying into his maple-leaf handkerchief as though his very heart would break!

"What is the matter, Gray Squirrel?" asked Father Thrift.

"Oh, Father Thrift," sobbed Little Gray Squirrel, "let me tell you what some bad boys did to me!

"I live in the big old oak tree near the edge of the forest. I have a nest in the old tree's trunk. There I live with my baby squirrels. There, too, I have gathered and stored nuts for food.

"And now some boys have stolen all my nuts!

"Soon the cold days of winter will come. Then what shall I do for food for my babies and myself?"

And the poor little squirrel cried until he almost choked, and fresh tears ran down his cheeks.

Father Thrift looked angry. He said: "This is very bad. I am sorry to hear all this, good Gray Squirrel. While I cannot give you back the nuts which the boys stole, I think I can send some one to help you gather more.

"There are still some nuts on the ground, and we'll help you to find them."

Little Gray Squirrel thanked Father Thrift for his kind words. Then he dried his tears and started for home.

And the queer little old man sat watching the bushy tail as it whisked down the crooked path and out of sight.

Then all of a sudden he heard a sharp "Tap-tap-tap!"

Without even looking up Father Thrift knew who it was. "A friend in need," he said to himself.

Then he called to the woodpecker that was doing the knocking. "I wish to talk with you," he said.

Woodpecker flew down, and Father Thrift told him all about Little Gray Squirrel.

"Oh, we will help him gather a fresh store of nuts," said Mr. Woodpecker. "Indeed, we will help!" And he flew away.

Within a very short time a whole flock of woodpeckers was flying toward Little Gray Squirrel's home.

Soon Little Gray Squirrel's troubles were over, for the woodpeckers filled his winter storeroom full of the choicest nuts. Now he was sure of having plenty to eat all winter for himself and his family. And how thankful he was!

But that is not all.

When the woodpeckers were through filling the squirrel's storeroom with nuts, did they stop?

No, indeed! One woodpecker who was older than the others got up on the topmost branch of the tree and said:

"Dear brothers, do you realize now how foolish we have been all our lives?

"In the summer we feed on bugs and beetles and ants and seeds.

"Then in the winter, because we know no better, some of us go South. Some of us go hungry, and some of us die, because we cannot find enough to eat.

"Why cannot we, too, store up nuts and have food for the winter as the squirrels do?"

"The very thing!" cried the other woodpeckers.

So they all began gathering acorns and beechnuts and storing them in the bark of the trees.

Some of the nuts they would drop beneath the bark of the tree. And some they would drive with their strong bills into cracks and holes which they found here and there.

The trees which were old and worm-eaten were, of course, the easiest into which to drive the nuts. Knotholes, too, were good places in which to store food.

When the woodpeckers had many, many nuts stored away, one of them said:

"Isn't it strange that we didn't think of this before! We need not go South to find a new home this winter. We can stay right here and still have plenty to eat."

And that is what they did.

So, while the woodpeckers helped Little Gray Squirrel out of his trouble, they helped themselves into the good habit of learning to save. And they have not forgotten it to this day.

THE BUSY BEAVERS

One evening Father Thrift was sitting by the brook, looking into the water. The bright silver moon made the night almost as light as day. Everything was quiet, except for a faint ripple of the water.

Suddenly Father Thrift heard something go, "Splash-sh! splash-sh! splash! splash!" almost beside him.

Then he heard a voice calling from the water.

"Father Thrift," it said, "you have never visited us. Won't you take your canoe and come now?"

And Father Thrift, looking into the water, saw that it was Mr. Beaver who was calling.

"Thank you, thank you, Mr. Beaver!" replied the queer little old man. "I will accept your invitation with pleasure."

And soon the two were making their way through the water to the place where the beavers were building their home.

And where do you suppose that was?

On a nice sunny hill? Or in the shade of the trees?

No, no! Instead, it was in the middle of a pond which the beavers themselves had made by building a dam of mud and sticks.

The beavers' house was made of mud and sticks mixed with stones. Or, rather, it was being made. The beavers were still working at it.

"My, my," said Father Thrift, "how very, very late you beavers work! Don't you ever rest?

"I know you are very industrious. Nearly everybody knows that, as there is a familiar saying among us that an industrious person works like a beaver. But I never supposed that you worked all the time!"

"We don't," replied Mr. Beaver. "We work only at night. All of our work is done then. And I am ashamed to tell you that there are some beavers who do not wish to work at all."

"_So!_" exclaimed Father Thrift. "I am surprised at that. And do they live here, too?"

"Oh, no," said Mr. Beaver. "We have no place for lazy beavers, or 'old bachelors,' as we call them. Usually we cut their tails off and chase them away."

"That is punishment enough," said Father Thrift. "Still, lazy folks deserve no better. Wasting time is just as bad as wasting food, or money, or anything else."

Then Father Thrift stopped to watch the interesting and wonderful ways of the wise beavers.

Some of them dug mud out of the bottom of the creek.

Others cut sticks from bushes and trees with their big chisel-edged teeth. By biting out chips, one by one, a beaver can easily cut down a large tree.

The mud and sticks for their house and dam they carried against their breasts as they swam, holding them there with their forefeet. Then they would put the sticks in place and press the mud down.

Their tails they used only for swimming. But, then, those big, strong tails make fine propellers.

"You are building a very large house, it seems to me," remarked Father Thrift.

"Yes," replied Mr. Beaver. "But you must remember that several families of beavers live in the different rooms of this house."

"Just so, just so," said the queer little old man. "I suppose that you find your house comfortable. But isn't it rather damp?"

"In some parts, yes," admitted Mr. Beaver. "But in the center of our house we have rooms above the water.

"Of course, as you know, we cannot climb trees like a squirrel. Neither can we burrow like a cottontail rabbit. But in deep water we are safe.

"We enter and leave our homes from beneath the water, unseen. And when we are attacked by enemies we take to the water to save ourselves."

"I have been told that your food is chiefly the roots of the common yellow water lily," said Father Thrift. "What do you do in the winter when the pond is frozen and there are no lily roots to be had?"

"Oh," said Mr. Beaver, "we eat the bark of trees, too--mostly poplar, birch, and willow. But, as the ice prevents us from getting to the land in winter, we should not have even that to eat if we did not cut a supply of sticks in the summer time.

"These we throw into the water opposite the doors of our houses and leave them there for the winter, for bark is good beaver food."

Father Thrift nodded. But on his way home he could have been heard to say: "Wise little animals! Always working. Always saving. Always having."

THE GRAY FOXES AND THE RED FOXES

After Father Thrift came to the forest to live, one night each week (except in bad or very cold weather) had been "story night."

On "story night" all the animals would meet in front of his cave to hear and tell stories.

This night Gray Fox was to tell a story.

Gray Fox was a good story-teller, and so he always had a large audience. Most of the animals were present to hear him.

And this is the story Gray Fox told:

* * * * *

There was once a young fox who was very wasteful. He left half his food on his plate. He spent all his pennies for candy. He broke his playthings purposely, and tore his clothes needlessly. There was really no end to his wastefulness.

This fox belonged to the family of Gray Foxes. And the Gray Foxes were a prosperous nation.

They lived peaceably among themselves and with their neighbors, and every one had plenty to eat, to wear, and to spend.

So no one paid much attention to Young Fox's wastefulness. Or if the other foxes did pay attention to him, they rather imitated him, for he _was_ a clever young fox.

Soon nearly all the young foxes grew wasteful. They all left half their food on their plates. They all spent their pennies for candy. They all broke their playthings purposely, and tore their clothes needlessly. There was no end to their wastefulness.

And so things went from bad to worse.

But one day a messenger brought the Gray Foxes some bad news. The Red Foxes were preparing to make war upon the Gray Foxes!

"Why make war upon us?" asked the Gray Foxes. "We are a peaceable nation. We harm no one."

"True, true!" said Governor Gray Fox. "But remember, also, that we are a prosperous nation. We are _too_ prosperous to please the Red Foxes. We must prepare to defend ourselves."

And they did prepare. And then there was a long and bloody war between the Gray Foxes and the Red Foxes.

The Gray Fox fathers and brothers, who should have been working in the fields and mills and factories, were out killing the Red Fox fathers and brothers.

And the Red Fox fathers and brothers, instead of working in their fields and mills and factories, were out killing the Gray Fox fathers and brothers.

But the foxes did not stop eating. And they did not stop wearing clothes.

Just as many foxes as ever were eating food and wearing clothes. Yet only about half as many were left at home to make the things to eat and the clothes to wear. The rest of the foxes were away at war.

So, of course, there were only half as many things to eat and to wear as there had been before. And because there were only half as many, and every one wanted these, they cost twice as much.

Now it seemed as though the poor foxes wouldn't have money enough to buy food and clothes. And they worried as to how they could get along.

But the rich foxes, like Young Fox and his friends, could still buy all the things _they_ wanted, because they had plenty of money. They bought more than they needed.

"This will never do!" declared Governor Gray Fox. "Everybody must eat, and everybody must wear clothes.

"Hereafter every one will get an equal share of the food, and nothing must be wasted. And clothes will cost just so much and no more."

The poor foxes said that that was fair enough, for they hadn't anything to waste. But the rich foxes complained bitterly. They said the Governor was trying to starve them.

Still, they had to do as the Governor said. And it was good for them to do with less. It is true that the fat foxes lost their big stomachs, but that made them look handsomer. It also made them feel much better.

No one ever left anything on his plate now. No one spent his money foolishly. No one broke his things purposely, or tore his clothes needlessly. There was an end to all the wastefulness.

And when the war was over the Gray Foxes grew prosperous again. Only this time there were no foxes as poor as there had been before the war. Neither were there any quite so rich.

But every one had plenty. And because all shared fairly, they all lived more happily.

* * * * *

"Which shows," added Father Thrift, "that everything which happens is for the best, and the world is a good place to live in, after all."

RED SQUIRREL AND BUNNY COTTONTAIL

The ground was covered deep with snow, and it was bitter cold in the forest.

But Mr. Red Squirrel and his family were quite comfortable in their cozy home.

Mr. Red Squirrel lived with his wife and three children in the hollow of an old oak tree. They were a thrifty and industrious family.

They always had plenty to eat, besides something laid away for a rainy day.

That is because Mr. Red Squirrel was very careful about little things, and brought up his family to be the same.

Before the nuts were fully ripe, the squirrels would climb the trees, gnaw the stems, and drop the nuts to the ground.

Then they would scamper down and gather them into neat piles. They would eat some of the new nuts for breakfast, and put the rest away in the granaries.

They worked hard all the summer and autumn, getting food for the winter. And never a thing was wasted in Mr. Squirrel's house.

On this cold winter's night Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel and the three little squirrels sat warm and snug in their home in the old oak tree. Suddenly there came a tiny tap at the door.

It might have been the wind. Mrs. Squirrel was not sure. She listened. The sound came again. Yes, some one certainly was knocking at their door.

Who could it be, this bitter cold night?

Mr. Squirrel got up and opened the door. At first he saw no one.

"Who's there?" he called, in his pleasant, cheery voice.

"It is I, neighbor," answered a weak voice, sadly. "Please let me in! I am cold and hungry!"

Mr. Squirrel opened the door wide, and said: "Yes, come in, come in. It is a bitter cold night, to be sure. Come in and let me shut the door. My tail is nearly frozen just from standing here."

Then there came hopping into the hollow of the tree trunk a rabbit. Poor Bunny Cottontail, how miserable he did look!

His coat was all dirty and ragged. And his poor little tail hung down behind instead of standing up straight and stiff, as a rabbit's tail ought to do.

His ears drooped, and his whiskers were broken and limp. He had rheumatism in one hind leg, and his eyes, which should have been as bright as Mr. Squirrel's, were dull and dim.

Altogether he looked as shabby and sad as a bunny could look--not at all like a respectable, well-brought-up rabbit.

Mr. Squirrel hastened to put poor Bunny into the warmest corner of the hollow. And Mrs. Squirrel brought him some food, which he ate eagerly.

The little squirrels were so astonished at the rabbit's appearance that they did not know what to make of him.

When Bunny was warm and rested, Mrs. Squirrel sent her little ones to bed.

Then she and Mr. Squirrel began to try to find out what had happened to make their poor neighbor so forlorn.

"How could I help it?" he cried mournfully. "I did not know that it would be so cold, nor that the snow would be so deep that I should not be able to get a bit of winter cabbage to eat.

"I am sure I am willing to work. I would take any trouble, but it is not a bit of use. Indeed, Neighbor Squirrel, I do not see how you have managed."

And he looked enviously around the neat, warm little nest.

"It was very simple," replied Mr. Squirrel, gravely. "We all helped and put away part of everything we found. If we found six nuts, we put away at least three in our storeroom. And nuts and acorns were very plentiful this autumn.

"So, though the winter is very hard, we shall have plenty. We have plenty for a friend, too. So eat as much as you will, neighbor, and don't spare the loaf."

It was very kind of Mr. Squirrel, but he could not help the poor rabbit much.

Bunny had been such an idle, wandering fellow that he could not be content to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel quietly and help to do the work of their little home. So in a few days he wandered away.

As he shivered in the cold and tried to find enough to eat, he often wished that he had been as wise and as thrifty as the Squirrel family.

And the Squirrel family, being as kind-hearted as they were thrifty, often thought of the poor rabbit with pity. They wondered how he was getting on, but they never heard of him again.

SHAGGY BEAR'S MISTAKE

Father Thrift was carrying in wood for his fire. It had been a long and hard winter.

Suddenly he heard footsteps in the snow behind him. He looked around. And there--would you believe it!--stood his old friend, Shaggy Bear.

Shaggy was as thin as a shadow, and his teeth chattered with the cold.

"My, my, but you are out early this year!" exclaimed Father Thrift. "Come in and warm yourself by the fire."

Shaggy needed no coaxing. He was so cold that even his voice had frozen in his throat! At least he couldn't speak a word until he grew warm.

And the way that bear snuggled up to Father Thrift's fire was comical to see!

At last he managed to say: "Father Thrift, I shouldn't know this place if I had not lived here so long. You have a door on the cave, and two windows. And you have chairs and a table, and--and two beds.

"Why have you two beds, Father Thrift?"

"One is for company," answered the queer little old man.

"If you had just one more bed, I should say this was the House of the Three Bears."

And Shaggy laughed at his little joke. (Or perhaps the good meal which Father Thrift had prepared for him tickled his stomach.)

"Where have you been all winter?" asked Father Thrift.

"When the cold days came," said the bear, "I crawled into my cave in the rocks and curled myself up into a big ball. There I meant to stay until the warm days of spring.

"The snow made a door to my cave, and I intended to sleep all winter long.

"Then the wind swept the snow away from my door and I awoke and looked about. I thought that spring had come.

"And that is where I made my mistake. I should have gone to sleep again. But I was hungry, having had nothing to eat all winter. So I crawled out.

"The roots and the berries are still asleep under the snow. The fish are under the ice. There is nothing for me to do but return to my cave and go back to sleep."

"You must not do that," said Father Thrift. "That would be wasting time. And time is the most precious thing we have."

"Is it?" the bear asked in surprise.

"Indeed it is!" replied Father Thrift. "We may lose wealth, but by hard work and saving we may win it back.

"We may lose health, and with care and medicine restore it. But time that is lost is gone forever."

The bear listened to Father Thrift's wise talk, but he shivered and said: "Still, I am cold; and I can find no food to eat."

"I have a warm fire," said Father Thrift. "And I have food enough for us both, and to spare. I will share with you if you will help me with my work."

"That I will, gladly!" cried Shaggy, who was still smacking his lips over the fine dinner he had eaten. "But how does it happen that you have food, when the ground has been frozen so long?"

"When you learn to look ahead," replied Father Thrift, "you will find that easy enough.

"In the warm days I prepare for the cold days which I know are coming. I raise my crops. I gather berries and plums, and preserve them. The apples and the nuts will keep as they are.

"So, you see, instead of letting go to waste what I cannot use when food is plentiful, I save it for the days when food is scarce."

"Then do you rest all winter?" asked the bear.

"No!" said Father Thrift. "In the winter many things are waiting to be done. Then I make my clothes, shoes, furniture, tools, and other things."

"What are you making now?" questioned the bear, as Father Thrift whittled pieces of wood with his knife.

"These will be wooden spouts," answered Father Thrift. "You like sweet things--honey, for instance."

Father Thrift smiled. Do you know why?

"Well, maple sirup and maple sugar are about as sweet as honey. These spouts will help us get all we want of both."

"Will they?" cried Shaggy eagerly. "How?"

"The maple trees, too," Father Thrift told him, "have been sleeping all winter. Most of the sap has been down in their roots. In the early spring it travels upward into the trunk and branches and the trees awake.

"The maple tree does not need all its sap. It is willing to give some of it to us. And when you have maple sirup you won't have to steal honey from the bees."

This pleased Shaggy so much that he stood up on his hind legs and danced a bear dance. How Father Thrift laughed!

THE SWEETEST THING IN THE FOREST

Father Thrift spent the next few days in making wooden pails, in which to gather the maple sap.

What a lot of measuring and sawing and fitting and finishing it takes to make a few pails!

Shaggy Bear helped as much as he could. But bears are _such_ clumsy things!

Finally one day Father Thrift said to Shaggy: "Now everything is ready. We have our spouts with which to draw the sap from the trees. And we have the wooden pails and some earthen crocks I made from clay last summer, in which to gather it.

"There is a large iron kettle we will use for boiling the sap down into sirup and sugar.

"To-morrow we will tap our trees."

"Why to-morrow?" asked the bear. "That seems too long to wait. Why not to-day?"

"Because," replied Father Thrift, "everything depends on time. There isn't time enough left to-day. To-morrow we will start work real early. And to get up early to-morrow we must get to bed early to-night."

"I don't see how I shall be able to sleep at all," grumbled the bear.

But in a few moments he was fast asleep where he sat.

He was a funny fellow!

Still, Father Thrift did not mind. He liked the quiet. When it was quiet he could think. In that he was quite different from many people, who like only to talk.

And he thought to himself: "Suppose that each person wastes one hour a day. A hundred days, a hundred hours. Multiply that by the number of people in the world--"

But the figures were too large even for Father Thrift to count up.

"If every one would use that hour each day in reading a good book, or in thinking, or in doing something else that is useful, how much better the world would be in another hundred years!"

Father Thrift sat and thought for a whole hour.

Then he waked the bear and each went to his own bed to rest for the night.

What a funny sight it was--a man and a bear sleeping side by side in the same room!

Early the next morning Father Thrift and the bear went to the maple grove to tap their trees.

Father Thrift bored holes in the tree trunks. Then he pounded a little spout into each hole for the sap to run through.

As they had no handles on their pails and crocks, they could not hang them on the spouts. Instead they set them down in the snow under the spouts.

The sun was getting warm, and was drawing up the sap from the roots of the tree into its branches. Soon you could hear it drip, drip, dripping into the pails and the crocks.

Shaggy Bear was too astonished to talk. He put out his paw, and a great drop of shining yellow maple sap fell on it. Then he licked his paw. Then he grunted, a funny bear grunt of surprise and pleasure.

_Mmmmmm!_ It was good! It was sweet, truly. And what a delicious flavor it had!

The bear put out his paw again and again. And how he did lick the sap off it! My, oh, _my_! it was sweet! Not even the honey of the bee tasted so good. It was like nothing else in the whole forest.

Meanwhile Father Thrift was arranging his kettle and pans and building a fire.

"Now let us pour all the sap into one pail," he said, "and perhaps we shall have enough to start boiling."

"Oh, but that may spoil it!" cried Shaggy Bear.

"The sap is made sweeter by boiling," said Father Thrift. But the bear did not see how that could be.

When the sap began to boil, Father Thrift told Shaggy to stir it, so that it would not burn.

Suddenly the bear began jumping about and crying: "Father Thrift, come here, come here!"

Father Thrift ran over to see what had happened.

Shaggy was all excitement.

"Look!" he cried. "Look in the kettle! We had much there. Now we have little. I told you the fire would spoil it!"

"No," replied Father Thrift, smilingly, "the fire has not spoiled anything. When the sap boils, the water in it goes away in steam. And the longer it boils, the more the water goes away.

"This time we will not let it boil so very long, and then we shall have sirup. But the next kettle of sap we will boil longer and then we shall have maple sugar."

When the sirup grew thick, Father Thrift said, "Taste!" And the bear tasted.

"Oh, Father Thrift," he cried in delight, "it is the best thing I have ever tasted! Truly, the boiling improves it."

Then when the maple sugar was done, Father Thrift called Shaggy.

"Taste _this_," he said.

Ah, how good it was! Nothing like it had ever gone into Shaggy Bear's mouth before. Never had he tasted such sweetness.

And, oh, what a wonderful meal they had that night! Father Thrift made golden corn cakes, and he and Shaggy ate the hot cakes with fresh maple sirup poured over them.

* * * * *

The bear grew thoughtful after supper.