Freddy’s Cousin Weedly Read online

  “It’s Mr. Bean’s handwriting, all right,” said the sheriff. “‘My dear aunt,’” he read. “‘I hope this finds you as it leaves me, in good health and spirits.’ H’m, he spelt ‘spirits’ wrong, but I guess that’s no harm. H’m, h’m. ‘If you pass by this way going to Albany, we will be glad to have you stop for dinner.’ Well now, ma’am,” said the sheriff, “that ain’t exactly an invitation to come for a long visit.”

  “Oh, you know how William is,” said Aunt Effie. “He never says more than a quarter of what he means. Why look how he signs the letter. Anybody else would sign: ‘Your affectionate nephew.’ But he just signs: ‘Respectfully, William Bean.’”

  “Yes, that’s true,” said the sheriff. “What’s the meaning of this postscript—something about a silver teapot—”

  “Oh, nothing,” said Aunt Effie, picking the letter quickly out of the sheriff’s hand. “Just some family business.”

  “Well, it seems to be all in order,” said the sheriff. “You understand, ma’am, it was my duty to investigate.”

  “Certainly, sheriff, certainly. And now won’t you have a cup of tea?”

  “Afraid I must be getting back,” the sheriff replied. “I just remembered I left the jail locked.”

  “Left it locked!” said Mr. Snedeker. “Well, that’s all right, ain’t it, eh? Prisoners can’t get out.”

  “They can’t get in,” said the sheriff. “Most of ’em are out visiting their families tonight or at the movies, and they’re going to be good and sore if they come back and find they can’t get in.”

  “Sounds like a pretty nice jail,” said Aunt Effie.

  “It is a nice jail, if I do say so,” said the sheriff. “One of the most popular jails in the state. I have to make it nice, or I wouldn’t have any job. You see, ma’am, we don’t have any crime in Centerboro, and if I didn’t keep a nice comfortable jail that people want to stay in, why I wouldn’t get any prisoners to look after, and where’d my job be? So I got the cells all fixed up with good beds, and we got a game room and tennis courts and so on, and we set a better table than the hotel does. Folks like to stay in my jail, so now and then they break a few unimportant laws so they can get sent there. I don’t say it’s right of ’em, but it’s reasonable.”

  “Well, I’m glad there’s no crime in Centerboro,” said Aunt Effie, “but how about these boys that were ringing the doorbell just now?”

  “There aren’t any boys around here, ma’am,” said the sheriff. “My guess is, it was some of the animals on this farm. I expect you’ve heard about Mr. Bean’s animals?”

  “I’ve read about them in the papers,” said Aunt Effie. “Smart enough animals, I suppose, but that’s one reason we thought we’d stay here for a while. I can’t understand William going away and leaving them all alone here. We are going to stay and look after them.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said the sheriff. “Mr. Bean knew what he was doing all right, when he left them to run the place. I guess you haven’t talked to any of ’em yet, have you, ma’am?”

  “Talked to ’em, eh?” said Mr. Snedeker with a giggle. “That’s a good one, that is.” And Aunt Effie said: “Do I look like the kind of woman who’d go around talking to animals? Oh, I know,” she said: “there was a lot in the newspapers about how they can talk and about how they had the first animal bank in the country, and so on. Folderol and fiddlesticks! Don’t you try to fill us up with that kind of nonsense, sheriff.”

  “I can’t make you believe it if you don’t want to,” said the sheriff. “But if I were you—”

  “If I were you, sheriff,” interrupted Aunt Effie, “I’d stop talking foolishness.”

  “Have it your own way,” said the sheriff stiffly. “But if you want to stay here, you’d better make friends with them—that’s all I have to say. Good evening, ma’am. And to you, sir.” And he went out.

  “Eh, well, suppose there’s something in it, Effie?” said Mr. Snedeker. “Animals talking? Could be, you know. Parrots talk—why not animals? Eh, Effie?”

  “Well, there’s one thing certain,” said his wife, “nobody ever said you couldn’t talk, Snedeker. Why don’t you go up in the attic and look for that teapot?”

  “I will, Effie, I will. Only I’d like to ask you if you meant what you said to the sheriff about staying here for a while, eh? I thought you said we’d start back to Orenville as soon as you got the teapot.”

  “And so we will. But it may take some time to find it. You may be sure William has got it hidden away in a safe place. And while we’re staying here, we’re going to see that this farm is properly run. It’s a sin and a shame for them to go off and leave everything to rack and ruin. Leaving the animals to run the place, indeed! I never heard such nonsense!”

  Jinx, who had been listening all the time under the couch, was doing some hard thinking. He knew something about that silver teapot. Mrs. Bean prized it very highly and only used it on special occasions, and once when she had been polishing it with one of Mr. Bean’s old flannel nightcaps, which she saved for that purpose, he had heard her tell Mr. Bean that she would have felt pretty badly if he had given the teapot to his Aunt Effie.

  “Couldn’t give it to her,” Mr. Bean had said. “ ’Twasn’t mine to give. My grandmother gave it to me, and told me to keep it for my wife.”

  “Which you did, Mr. B,” said Mrs. Bean. “And yet I feel sort of sorry for her, too, not having it. She wanted it so much, and she does so love tea parties.”

  “Tea parties, tea parties!” Mr. Bean grumbled. “Seemingly that’s all they do out in Ohio is give tea parties.”

  “No harm in that,” said Mrs. Bean. “I expect we’d give ’em too if we had anybody to give ’em to.” She held the teapot up so that it glittered in the sunlight that came through the kitchen window. “It’s a pretty piece of silver. And yet, you know, if she’d asked us nicely for it, instead of acting as if we’d stolen it from her, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have given it to her. I suppose you’ll say I’m too softhearted.”

  “No harm in that either,” said Mr. Bean gruffly, and patted her on the shoulder as he went out toward the barn. But in a minute he came back and poked his head in the door. “As long as you don’t give way to it,” he said, with the little grumble that was what he used for a laugh. And Mrs. Bean laughed too and put the teapot away.

  So Jinx knew that the Snedekers must not be allowed to get that teapot. He also knew where it was, for he had been with. Mrs. Bean when, before she left for Europe, she had wrapped it in a flannel petticoat and put it in the bottom of an old horsehide trunk in the attic.

  He slipped out from under the couch and ran upstairs. But the attic door was closed. He thought a minute and then went into the spare bedroom. “Hey! Webb!” he said in a cautious whisper. And in about half a minute he felt a tickling on his left ear and a tiny voice said: “Hi, Jinx! What’s on your mind?”

  Mr. Webb was a spider who usually lived out in the cowbarn. But before the Beans had gone away, Mrs. Bean had been worried about flies getting into the house, and especially into the spare bedroom, so Mr. and Mrs. Webb had moved in there and had built their fly traps in every corner of the room. As a matter of fact, no flies had come in, and the Webbs couldn’t catch enough of them to make a living. But they kept on living there just the same because they knew it would please Mrs. Bean, and Mr. Webb went down to the cowbarn every day, just as a man would go to his office, and caught enough flies to keep them going. This was really pretty nice of Mr. Webb, for though you or I could have gone from the house to the cowbarn in a couple of minutes, it was a long weary tramp for a spider, particularly at the end of the day when he was tired out hunting.

  “Careful, Webb,” said Jinx. “Don’t get on my nose and make me sneeze, or those people will hear me. Have they been up here?”

  “Turning the house upside down ever since they got here,” said Mr. Webb. “I heard the woman say she was Mr. Bean’s aunt. She doesn’t look like him.”

 
“How can you tell whether she does or not?” said Jinx. “With all those whiskers.”

  “Whiskers?” said Mr. Webb. “I didn’t notice she had whiskers.”

  “I mean Mr. Bean’s whiskers,” said the cat. “He’s got so many that nobody has ever seen what he really looks like, so how would you know whether his aunt looked like him or not? But anyway,” he said, “we’ve got to do something about it.” And he explained.

  Mr. Webb didn’t say anything for a time. He paced up and down between Jinx’s ears, deep in thought. At last he said: “If we can keep them from finding the teapot tonight before they go to bed, then before morning we can get word to the other animals, and they’ll have to do something. But in the meantime, we’ve got to keep Uncle Snedeker from finding it if he goes up in the attic. Listen; that sounds like him coming now. You follow him up if you can, and try to scare him. There’s a crack over the window where Mrs. Webb and I can get up there. We’ll do what we can. So long; I’d better hurry.”

  Jinx could hear feet coming up the stairs. In a minute he saw Uncle Snedeker, with a candle in his hand, walk along the hall and open the door to the attic stairs. Jinx followed him and when Uncle Snedeker held up the candle to look around, the cat darted behind an old chest of drawers.

  Mrs. Bean was a good housekeeper. Everything in the attic was piled up and packed away neatly. The floor was swept, and there were even clean little muslin curtains at the windows. “Neat as a new pin,” said Uncle Snedeker. “Let’s see, now, Snedeker; where’ll you begin, eh? Where’ll you start? That big chest in the corner looks like a likely place to find a silver teapot in, eh? Well, then—Whoosh!” he said suddenly, and began pawing at his face with both stands. “Spiders! Ugh, how I hate the nasty things!” For Mr. Webb had dropped from a rafter on to Uncle Snedeker’s nose, and had run down across his face and then jumped to the floor.

  Uncle Snedeker brushed himself off, and then he picked up the candle and looked around, but didn’t see anything. If he had looked up, he would have seen Mrs. Webb, but he didn’t. He was just starting for the big chest when Mrs. Webb jumped.

  Uncle Snedeker was pretty bald, and Mrs. Webb landed on the top of his head and skidded halfway down his forehead before her feet took hold properly. She ran down his face and jumped just as Mr. Webb had done. Then she and her husband climbed back on to the rafter, all ready for another jump, if it should be necessary.

  But it wasn’t necessary. For Uncle Snedeker was still saying “Whoosh!” and “Phow!” and all the other things people say when bugs drop on them, when Jinx gave a low ghostly moan. Uncle Snedeker dropped his candle and bolted down the stairs and slammed the door at the foot of them behind him.

  Well, they had saved the teapot for the time being, but Jinx was certainly worse off than he had been before, for he was shut in the attic with no way to get out. Of course he could sit down and howl, and if he howled long enough, somebody would come and let him out. But he had an idea it would probably be Aunt Effie who would come, and Aunt Effie was entirely too handy with a broom.

  He talked it over with the Webbs, but they couldn’t think of anything. “I tell you what I’ll do though, Jinx,” said Mr. Webb. “I’ll go on down to the pigpen and tell Freddy. Maybe he can organize a rescue party.”

  But Jinx said no. There was a heavy dew that night, and although it was nothing that would have bothered you or me, a spider would be certain to step into a dozen puddles that were over his ankles. And Mr. Webb was subject to colds. He had had one cold after another all that spring.

  Mrs. Webb was much relieved. “I’d rather Webb didn’t go, and that’s the truth,” she said. “He feels so bad when he has a cold, and then he sneezes all the time, and the flies hear him and get away. You know yourself, Jinx, it’s no use going out hunting if you’re sneezing every two seconds. It got so the flies just laughed at him. They sat in rows on the wall and waited for him to sneeze and they laughed their heads off. They even invited their friends to come hear the sneezing spider. You can’t imagine how trying it was.”

  “Jinx doesn’t want to hear about our troubles, Mother,” said Mr. Webb. “Besides, that’s all over now.”

  “I just wanted him to understand why I thought you oughtn’t to go,” said Mrs. Webb. “But goodness, I’ll go down and tell Freddy myself. A breath of air’ll do me good.”

  But Jinx wouldn’t hear of it. “No indeed, ma’am,” he said. “I certainly won’t let a lady do a thing I can’t do myself. No, no; I’ll just curl up here on this old mattress and Webb can see Freddy in the morning.” And so they left it at that.

  Chapter 3

  Jinx had forgotten all about Little Weedly, whom he had left curled up on an old blanket in the box stall of the barn. But Little Weedly hadn’t forgotten Jinx. He lay there staring into the darkness and wondering why his handsome new uncle didn’t come back. For Jinx had said he’d only be a few minutes. “Oh dear, oh dear!” said Little Weedly to himself. “Why doesn’t he come?” And like all scary people, he began trying to scare himself worse, by thinking of all the terrible things that could have happened to Jinx, until he was in a regular panic.

  In the stall next door he could hear Hank, the old white horse, breathing in long slow breaths, and occasionally muttering in his sleep. You can’t imagine anything much more peaceful to listen to. But if you want to scare yourself there are always, in any old building, creaks and snaps and rustlings that you can imagine are bears or burglars or bugaboos of unprecedented ferocity, just crawling up on you and waiting to pounce. And so by the time there did come a sound that he really couldn’t explain, Weedly was almost ready to fly into a fit.

  It wasn’t a very large sound. In fact, if you or I had been lying awake and had heard it, we would merely have said: “H’m, mouse somewhere,” and would have turned over and tried to go to sleep. And we would have been right, too, for it was a mouse named Quik, who was sitting on the edge of the manger just over Weedly’s head, eating a peanut.

  Quik and his three brothers, Eek and Eeny and Cousin Augustus, had gone to bed at their regular time, up in the hay mow. Usually they lived in the house, but while the Beans were away there weren’t any crumbs under the dining room table, or any little saucers of things that Mrs. Bean left out for them, so they had moved down into the barn. The other three mice had gone right to sleep, but Quik had been wakeful, probably because he had eaten a coffee bean at dinner, and at last he had got up. He crawled out of the hay and walked up the wall to a hole under the eaves, and out on to the roof. But an owl hooted and he went back in again. All of the owls in the neighborhood were friends of his, but it is hard to recognize friends in the dark, and if there was a mistake it would be too late to explain who he was after he was eaten. So he went back in and foraged around in the part of the barn where the boys used to play when they were home. For where there are boys, there are usually crumbs. And sure enough, he found an old peanut.

  Quik took the peanut into the box stall and climbed up on the manger and started to eat it. It was so dark he didn’t see Weedly at all. The peanut was pretty stale, but Quik didn’t get peanuts very often and I’m afraid he smacked his lips a good deal as he munched it, although mice, as a general rule, have very good manners. It was this smacking that Weedly heard. He began to tremble, and that made a rustling noise. Quik looked down and saw something white on the floor that moved a little bit, and that startled him so that he dropped his peanut, which hit Little Weedly on the nose. And then Little Weedly lost all control of himself, and began to squeal “Help! Mamma! Help!” at the top of his lungs, and he ran, still squealing, out into the barnyard.

  For his size, a pig can squeal louder than almost any other animal. Little Weedly was small but in five seconds every animal on the Bean farm was tumbling out of bed, shouting: “Hey! What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Quik, who had, of course, been nearest the first squeal, fainted dead away and didn’t come to until all the excitement was over. Hank woke up with a snort, and came clumping out, and
Robert and Georgie, the two dogs, rushed out, and the three cows, Mrs. Wiggins and Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus, pushed aside the little lace curtains at their windows in the cowbarn and stuck their broad noses out. Freddy came out of the pigpen, and the ducks, Alice and Emma, came waddling up from the pond as fast as their short legs could carry them, and the chickens, clucking and cackling, piled out of the henhouse, Henrietta in the lead, and Charles, the rooster, as usual, talking very loud, but bringing up the rear.

  When Little Weedly came out of the barn door, he headed straight for home. He dodged through the animals that were gathering in the barnyard, and galloped up across the brook and into the woods, yelling all the time. He was afraid of the dark night, and of the woods, but he was more afraid of that box stall where he had had the terrible experience of having a peanut drop on his nose out of nowhere. And if he had got home, this story wouldn’t have had much more to say about him. He would have gone down in history just as a terribly bashful pig, and that would be the end of him.

  But up in the woods the squealing had been heard, too. Birds stirred on the branches, and rabbits and chipmunks and squirrels came to their doorways and sniffed and pricked up their ears. And Peter, the bear, who had been curled up in the raspberry patch, where he had been sleeping lately so that he could keep an eye on the blue jays who came early in the morning to steal his berries, got up and came sleepily out to see what was going on. And he came out right in the middle of the path up which Little Weedly was galloping.

  Bears are good-natured animals. They aren’t any more ferocious than mice; they’re just bigger. Down the path Peter could just make out that something was coming, and he stood up on his hind legs to see better. Weedly came tearing along toward him, screeching like a fire engine, but just before he got to the bear he stumbled over a projecting root and fell flat.

  “Hello there,” said Peter. “You must be the little pig that says ‘Wee, wee’ all the way home. What’s all the trouble?”