Freddy and the Ignormus Read online

  A buzz of excitement ran among the listeners, and they all looked inquiringly at Freddy, who nodded assurance of the truth of the rooster’s boast.

  For a while, as other animals came running over from the barnyard, Charles went on praising himself, and describing the fight in detail. But Freddy interrupted him. “Never mind the fight, Charles,” he said. “Give ’em the patriotic stuff. They must stick to Mr. Bean.”

  So Charles continued. “But my friends, enough of my modest exploit. What of you, my compatriots? What of Mr. Bean? What of our glorious republic? Are they to go down to ruin under the onslaughts of our cruel enemies, the Ignormus and his accomplices, Simon and his gang? I say to you: No, a thousand times, no! Let us band together, let us close up our ranks, resolved to do or die, and advance upon the enemy. What do you say, animals? Are we afraid of the Ignormus?”

  He paused for a reply, but for a moment there was none. Then a small rabbit in the front row said: “Yes.”

  “That’s the wrong answer,” said Charles, looking down at him severely.

  Many of the others, however, seemed to agree with the rabbit. But Freddy went up to the fence and turned to face the crowd, which by this time included most of the animals on the farm.

  “What our young friend has said is right,” he declared. “We are afraid of the Ignormus. I am; you are; even my gallant friend Charles is, though he quite rightly hates to admit it.”

  “I am not!” said Charles crossly.

  “But,” continued Freddy, “the greatest bravery is found in those who go ahead, even though they are afraid. That, animals, is what we must do. We must show this superior bravery; we must defend the honor of Bean; we must drive the Ignormus and his confederates from their lair; we must make the Big Woods safe for the smallest and weakest animal who wishes to walk there.”

  A wave of enthusiasm swept over the audience, and they cheered and cheered. Freddy’s eloquence had rather carried him away; he had had no intention of starting a crusade against the Ignormus—at least, not yet. But he saw at once that the martial spirit must not be allowed to die down without action. If he did not lead the animals now against the enemy, he would never have another chance. For if he put it off, even for a day, they would become frightened again, and then they would leave the farm, by ones and twos and families. They would migrate from the Bean farm, just as at some time in the past they had migrated from the Big Woods. And they would never come back.

  Freddy had started something, and he wasn’t at all sure that he could finish it. He thought of the enormous white shape that had floated down towards them in the darkness, and he shivered. He thought of that shotgun pointing at him from the window of the Grimby house, and he shuddered. He thought of the big family of Simon’s kin, lurking under the Ignormus’s protection in the gloom of the Big Woods, and he shook.

  But then he pulled himself together. These animals, no one of whom would have stepped a foot inside the Big Woods an hour ago; many of whom were even leaving their homes for fear of the Ignormus,—they would follow him right up to the door of the Grimby house. Their fighting spirit was aroused; they were in a mood to tackle twenty Ignormuses. Some in the crowd had already raised the Marching Song of the F.A.R.

  Freddy pushed through the crowd to where Mrs. Wiggins was standing. “Look here,” he said quickly; “I can’t hold this crowd much longer. You take charge, as President of the F.A.R., will you? I’ve got an idea, and I’ve got to carry it out before this mob starts for the Big Woods. Can’t explain now. I need a couple of hours. You can use it in getting them organized into companies, with captains and so on, and getting out the flag, and generally whooping up their spirits. Will you?”

  “My land, Freddy,” said the cow, “I’ll try. I wish I’d had some experience in the army. I’m no general.”

  “You are now,” said the pig. “General Wiggins, and don’t you forget it. This is our chance to lick the Ignormus, and we’ve got to take it. Give me two hours, and then lead your army into the Big Woods and surround the Grimby house. I’ll be there, and we’ll decide on a plan of attack then.”

  He dashed off up the brook. At the third stone above the apple tree on the left side of the brook, he stopped and rapped sharply with a fore trotter. At once an elderly, rather motherly looking beetle came out from under the stone. When she saw him, she said, “Good morning,” and dropped a curtsey. At least she tried to, but her legs got tangled up and she sat down heavily.

  “Drat it!” she said. “I never can manage that properly.”

  “Where’s Randolph?” Freddy asked.

  “Eh?” said the beetle, putting one foot up behind her ear.

  “Eh?” said the beetle.

  Freddy repeated the question in a louder tone.

  “Well, no,” said the beetle. “I don’t think it will rain before tomorrow.”

  Freddy put his snout down close to her and yelled: “Where’s Randolph?” at the top of his lungs.

  “You don’t need to bellow like that,” she said mildly. “I’m only a mite deef. You want Randy, eh? He’s round here somewhere, by the brook, hunting mosquito eggs. Never saw such a boy for mosquito eggs. I tell him so many of them aren’t good for him, but will he listen to me? I guess not!” She droned on her mild complaints about her son.

  “Oh, dear!” said Freddy, and he was turning disconsolately away when something black came swiftly through the grass stems and stopped before him.

  “Randolph!” exclaimed Freddy. “Thank goodness! Look, Randolph, you said if I needed your help to come for you, and I do need it very badly. I think I’m not saying too much if I say that the fate of the Bean farm, at least as far as the animals are concerned, rests with you.”

  “H’m,” said the beetle shortly; “pretty big responsibility for a bug. However. Do what I can. You taught me to handle my legs. Guess I can do something for you. Command me.”

  “Well,” said Freddy, “I want you to come up to the Big Woods and do some scouting for me. And maybe some gnawing. You’ve got good strong jaws, haven’t you?”

  “Cut anything but tin,” said Randolph.

  “Good,” said the pig. “Climb up on my back. We haven’t much time.” And when Randolph had climbed up Freddy’s leg—which took some time, for it tickled a good deal and Freddy couldn’t help squirming—away they went.

  This time Freddy didn’t try to go quietly when he got into the Big Woods. He plunged along through the underbrush, taking care not to let the beetle get swept off, and didn’t stop until he reached the place from which he and Theodore had seen the gun pointing from the window of the Grimby house. Sure enough, there it was, and as it swung around to cover him, he squatted down behind a tree and gave Randolph his instructions.

  The beetle slipped down from Freddy’s back and started towards the house. He advanced in short rushes from one clump of grass to the next, like a skirmisher creeping up on the enemy. He reached the porch, climbed it, made a dash across without being noticed, and walked up the wall under the window. In another second or two he was walking down the under side of the gun barrel towards the muzzle.

  Freddy had instructed him to walk down the under side, because if someone was aiming the gun—and someone certainly was—that someone would be squinting down the upper side of the barrel and would notice the beetle and probably shake him off. And then Freddy gave a groan. For Randolph slipped and fell to the porch floor. The steel gun barrel was too smooth.

  Randolph didn’t try to climb again. He went down off the porch, and Freddy, who had pretty keen eyes, saw that he was chewing up a dandelion stalk and rubbing his six feet in the juice.

  “By gum, that’s clever, “said the pig to himself. “Making his feet stick.”

  This time Randolph walked right down to the muzzle of the gun and disappeared inside one barrel. After a minute he came out and disappeared inside the other one. Then he came out again, dropped to the porch, and in a few minutes was back beside the pig.

  “Guess only one cartri
dge has been fired,” he said. “Right hand barrel smells of powder smoke, and the cartridge shell is empty. Left hand barrel is clean, and the cartridge shell has a little cardboard cap or stopper on it, as you told me.”

  “Do you think you could gnaw through the cardboard?” Freddy asked.

  “Give me five minutes alone with it,” said the beetle, “and you can drive a team of caterpillars through it.”

  “Well, you see,” said the pig, “that cap holds the shot in. If you can gnaw through it, and then we can get him to tip the gun barrel down, all the shot will run right out. Then if he shoots at me it won’t make any difference, because he’ll be shooting a blank cartridge.”

  “Leave it to me,” said the beetle, and started off again.

  In spite of his boast, it took Randolph a good quarter of an hour to gnaw through the cartridge cap. Freddy watched impatiently, but at last he saw one or two small round shot drop out of the barrel, then the beetle, who had evidently been pushing them along ahead of him, appeared, and a few minutes later he and Freddy were trying to think of some way to get whoever was aiming the gun to point the barrel down, so the shot would roll out. For the ground in front of the house where Freddy was hiding, was higher than the house itself, so that the gun was pointing a little upward.

  “I could go in and roll ’em out, one by one,” said Randolph. “But there’s an awful lot of them.”

  Freddy shook his head. “The other animals would get here before you’d finished, and some of them might get shot.”

  “Maybe they’ll get scared again, and won’t come at all,” said the beetle. “Fine speeches you and Charles made. Heard ’em over by the brook. Don’t know when I’ve heard more stirring ones. But when they get all through cheering and begin to calm down—begin to think about that Ignormus with his terrible claws—”

  “I guess you, being a bug, maybe don’t understand us animals very well,” said Freddy. “We’ve always known about the Ignormus, but he didn’t bother us and we didn’t bother him. Folks say rabbits who got too near the Big Woods disappeared, and maybe it’s so. I never knew any of them personally.”

  “Too many of ’em anyway,” said Randolph. “What’s a rabbit or two?”

  “Anyhow,” continued the pig, “we kept away from the Big Woods and didn’t worry. Sure, we kept away because we were afraid. You couldn’t have dragged any animal on our farm up here with ropes. But while one animal might be afraid, by himself, a crowd of animals will tackle anything, once they get good and mad. They love their homes, and they love the farm, and the Beans. They don’t want to leave here, and they don’t want to see Mr. Bean robbed right and left. They’re mad clear through. But I guess it didn’t occur to them that they could do anything about it until Charles and I talked to them. Oh, they’ll come all right.”

  Freddy was squatting down behind the tree, with the tip of his snout almost touching the beetle, for they were talking in whispers so as not to be heard in the house. There was a faint rustle in the grass, and turning his head Freddy saw a large centipede hurrying towards them.

  “Why, Jeffrey!” exclaimed the beetle. “What you doing so far from home?”

  “Hi, Randy,” said the newcomer, and he reared up and looked suspiciously at the pig. “This guy bothering you?” he asked. “Want me to give him a nip?”

  “No, no,” said Randolph hastily. “He’s my good friend, Freddy. Freddy, meet Jeffrey.”

  “Pleased, I’m sure,” said the centipede. “Just came up to call on my cousins. They live in a stump up here a piece. But what are you doing here? Mosquito eggs?” He turned to the pig. “No accounting for tastes, eh, mister? I wouldn’t touch mosquito eggs if I starved first. But Randy, here—I’ve seen him eat twenty-five at a sitting. And boy, how the mosquitoes hate him! Lucky you’ve got a hard shell, Randy, my boy. But what’s going on?”

  Randolph explained. When he had finished, Jeffrey said: “Let’s have a look,” and went rippling over towards the house. When he had looked at the gun, he came back. “Leave it to me,” he said. “I can fix you up.” And he went back the way he had come.

  “Gosh, what can he do?” said Freddy disconsolately.

  “Dunno,” said the beetle. “But when he knows what he’s doing, he don’t waste words, Jeffrey don’t. He’s got something up his sleeve, all right.”

  “He hasn’t got any sleeves,” said Freddy peevishly.

  “Well then,” said Randolph, “you think of something.”

  Of course Freddy couldn’t, so he didn’t say any more. And after a few minutes, back came Jeffrey, and behind him were his cousins, twelve of them. They didn’t stop. “Leave it to us,” said Jeffrey as they headed for the house, their dozens of legs carrying them over the ground faster than a mouse can walk. They climbed the porch, rippled up the wall and down the under side of the gun barrel, and one by one disappeared into the muzzle. Presently, one by one, the round gleaming shot began dripping out of the muzzle on to the porch floor.

  “Now, how in the world—?” said Freddy.

  “Lying on their backs,” said Randolph. “End to end. Passing the shot out with their feet. They sort of walk ’em out, upside down, if you see what I mean.”

  It didn’t take more than a minute. Then the centipedes filed out, down the gun barrel, the wall, the porch, and came over to report.

  “Not a shot left in the cartridge,” said Jeffrey. “There was some black stuff back of the shot. Want us to get that out too?”

  “That’s gunpowder,” said Freddy. “If you got careless it might go off.”

  “Here today and gone tomorrow,” said Jeffrey. “If you say so we’ll get it.”

  But Freddy said no, it wasn’t necessary.

  “OK,” said Jeffrey. “Be seeing you.” And the centipedes filed off without another word.

  “I’d like to have thanked your friend,” said Freddy. “He doesn’t realize how great a service he has performed.”

  “He doesn’t care,” said Randolph. “If you’d thanked him, you’d just have embarrassed him. That’s a centipede for you. Generous as all get out, but pretty hard-boiled.”

  “Yes, he didn’t seem very sensitive,” said Freddy. “Well, now I suppose we wait for the animals.”

  “If they come,” said Randolph cynically.

  Chapter 14

  Down in the barnyard Mrs. Wiggins was mustering her troops. She had been President of the F.A.R. for so long that she had got used to being in authority and giving orders, and she was a much better general than you’d expect a cow to be. The smaller animals were divided into companies of twenty, each under a leader of their own choice. Of course they couldn’t be expected to do much fighting against a creature like the Ignormus, or even against rats, but they could do a lot of shouting and running around, which is a large part of any battle anyway, and they could also be used as scouts. The center of the advance would be led by Mrs. Wiggins in person, supported by Robert, Georgie, Jinx and Minx. In recognition of his recent gallantry, Charles was assigned to command of the left wing, and under him were Henrietta, with several of their more robust children, Weedly, and a fox named John, who spent his summers on the farm. The right wing, commanded by Peter, the bear, was made up of Mrs. Wurzburger, Mrs. Wogus, Sniffy Wilson and his family, Bill, the goat, and a porcupine named Cecil.

  Mrs. Wiggins had gone into the barn to get the flag of the F.A.R., which of course would be carried in the advance, when Mr. Bean drove into the yard. He had been to Centerboro to buy some traps to put in the vegetable garden, although he said he didn’t know what good they would do now: there were so few vegetables that hadn’t been stolen. When he saw the animals lined up in the barnyard, he hooked the reins around the whip socket and jumped out of the buggy.

  Mrs. Bean had come to the kitchen door and was watching.

  “What in tarnation is going on here?” he demanded, walking out in front of the army and looking them over as he puffed furiously at his pipe.

  The animals looked at one ano
ther, but didn’t dare say anything. And just then Mrs. Wiggins came out of the barn with the flag in her mouth.

  “Humph!” said Mr. Bean. “Another of your parades, hey? Tomfoolery, I call it! Why don’t you get busy and stop this thieving that’s going on? Instead of giving parties.” He looked around. “Ain’t the pig here? Freddy? Humph! Run away, I suppose. Good riddance, too. I don’t like animals that steal things.” He clasped his hands behind him and took a turn up and down with his eyes on the ground. Then he lifted his head. “Why don’t you ask,” he shouted, “if you want things? Oats, vegetables. Have I ever grudged you anything? I—I—” He stopped, glared, then turned to Mrs. Bean. “You tell ’em, Mrs. B.,” he said.

  Mrs. Bean came down off the kitchen porch. She was a round, apple-cheeked little woman, with snapping black eyes. All the animals were very fond of her.

  “Mr. Bean only wants to say,” she said quietly, “that he’s always been very fond of all of you. You’ve done a great deal for him, and he appreciates it. You can have about anything on this farm that you want. And so he doesn’t understand why you—some of you, that is—want to steal things from him. Is that about it, Mr. B.?”

  “That’s it exactly,” said Mr. Bean. “And all this marching and flag-waving—”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Bean. “He doesn’t think that this is any time for parading around, as if everything was all right.”

  This was too much for Mrs. Wiggins. She dropped the flag from her mouth and said: “We don’t think everything is all right. And this isn’t a parade: it’s an army. We’re going out to fight the robbers, and defeat them, and make them give back what they’ve stolen.”

  Mr. Bean didn’t look at Mrs. Wiggins when she spoke. It always embarrassed him to hear an animal talk. I don’t know why, but it did. But he stopped puffing his pipe so he could hear her. And Mrs. Bean said: “You know who the robbers are?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the cow. “It’s a long story, and I haven’t time to tell you now. But if Mr. Bean would only trust us for a little while—”