“Mrs. Coon did. We had four of the finest youngsters you have ever seen over in a certain big hollow tree. They are getting big and lively now, and go out with their mother every night. I do hope the hunters will leave them alone this fall. I hate to think of anything happening to them. If they can just get through the hunting season safely, I'll enjoy my winter sleep better, and I know Mrs. Coon will.”
At this Johnny Chuck pricked up his ears. “Do you sleep all winter, Bobby?” he asked eagerly.
“Not all winter, but a good part of it,” replied Bobby. “I don't turn in until the weather gets pretty cold, and it is hard to find anything to eat. But after the first snow I'm usually ready to sleep. Then I curl up in a warm bed of leaves in a certain big hollow tree, and don't care how cold or stormy the weather is. Sometimes I wake up once or twice, when the weather is mild, and take a little walk around for exercise. But I don't go far and soon return to sleep.”
“What do you do when Bowser the Hound gets after you?” asked Peter Rabbit.
“Run till I get out of breath,” replied Bobby. “And if by that time I haven't been able to fool him so that he loses my trail, I take to a tree. Thank goodness, he can't climb a tree. Sometimes I climb from the top of one tree into the top of another, and sometimes into a third and then a fourth, when they are near enough together. That fools the hunters, if they follow Bowser.”
“Have you any relatives, Bobby?” asked Old Mother Nature.
“I didn't know I had until you mentioned that fellow with the ringed tail you said you would tell us about. I didn't know there was anybody with a tail like mine, and I would like to know about it,” replied Bobby.
“He isn't exactly a Raccoon, but he is more nearly related to you than any one else,” replied Old Mother Nature. “His tail shows that. Aside from this, he is nothing like you at all. He is called the Ring-tailed Cat. But he doesn't look any more like a Cat than he does like you, and he isn't related to the Cat family at all. He has several names. He is called the Bassaris, the Civet Cat, Ring-tailed Cat, Coon Cat and Cacomixtle. Instead of being thick and clumsy-looking, as is Bobby here, he is long and rather slender, with a yellowish-brown coat, somewhat grayish on the back and whitish underneath. His head is rather small, long and beautifully shaped. His ears are of good size and very pretty. In some ways he looks like Reddy Fox. But the really beautiful thing about him is his tail. It is nearly as long as his body, thick and beautifully marked with black and white bands.
THE RING-TAILED OR CIVET CAT. He is neither a Cat nor a Civet but a Bassaris.
“He is quick and graceful in his movements, and, like Bobby, prefers to be abroad at night. Also, like Bobby, he eats about everything that he can find—flesh, reptiles, fruit, nuts and insects. He lives in the Far Southwest, and also in some of the mountains of the Far West. Why he should be called Civet Cat is more than I can guess, for he is neither a Civet nor a Cat. He is very clever at catching Mice, and sometimes he is kept as a pet, just as Farmer Brown keeps Black Pussy, to catch the Mice about the homes of men.
“Now, Bobby, you can trot along home, and I hope all that green corn you have eaten will not give you the stomach ache. To-morrow we will see what we can find out about Buster Bear.”
Chapter XXXII
Buster Bear Nearly Breaks Up School
“Has Buster Bear a tail?” asked Old Mother Nature, and her eyes twinkled.
“No,” declared Whitefoot the Wood Mouse promptly.
“Yes,” contradicted Chatterer the Red Squirrel.
“What do you say, Prickly Porky?” Old Mother Nature asked.
“I don't think he has any; if he has, I've never seen it,” said Prickly Porky.
“That's because you've got poor eyes,” spoke up Jumper the Hare. “He certainly has a tail. It isn't much of a one, but it is a tail. I know because I've seen it many times.”
“Woof, woof,” said a deep, rumbly, grumbly voice. “What's going on here? Who is it hasn't any tail?”
At the sound of that deep, rumbly, grumbly voice it looked for a few minutes as if school would be broken up for that day. There was the same mad scrambling to get away that there had been the morning Reddy Fox unexpectedly appeared. However, there was this difference: When Reddy appeared, most of the little people sought safe hiding places, but now they merely ran to safe distances, and there turned to stare with awe and great respect at the owner of that deep, rumbly, grumbly voice. It was great, big Buster Bear himself.
Buster stood up on his hind legs, like a man, and his small eyes, for they are small for his size, twinkled with fun as he looked around that awe filled circle. “Don't let me interrupt,” said he. “I heard about this school and I thought I would just pay a friendly visit. There is nothing for you to fear. I have just had my breakfast and I couldn't eat another mouthful to save me, not even such a tender morsel as Whitefoot the Wood Mouse.”
Whitefoot hurriedly ran a little farther away, and Buster Bear chuckled. Then he looked over at Old Mother Nature. “Won't you tell them that I'm the best-natured and most harmless fellow in all the Great World?” he asked.
Old Mother Nature smiled. “That depends on the condition of your stomach,” said she. “If it is as full as you say it is, and I know you wouldn't tell me an untruth, not even timid Whitefoot has anything to fear from you.” Then she told all the little people to put aside their fears and return.
Buster, seeing that some of the more timid were still fearful, backed off a short distance and sat down on his haunches. “What was that about a tail I overheard as I came up?” he asked.
“It was a little discussion as to whether or not you have a tail,” replied Old Mother Nature. “Some say you have, and some say you haven't. Whitefoot thinks you haven't.”
Once more Buster Bear chuckled way down deep in his throat. “Whitefoot never in his life looked at me long enough to know whether I've got a tail or not,” said he. “I never yet have seen him until now, when he wasn't running away as fast as his legs could take him. So with me always behind him, how could he tell whether or not I have a tail?”
“Well, have you?” demanded Peter Rabbit bluntly.
“What do you think?” asked Buster.
“I think you have,” said Peter. “But if you have you are sitting down on it and I can't tell. It can't be much of a one, anyhow.”
Again Buster chuckled. “Quite right, Peter; quite right,” said he. “I've got a tail, but hardly enough of a one to really call it a tail.”
As Buster sat there, every one had a splendid chance to see just how he looked. His coat was all black; in fact he was black all over, with the exception of his nose, which was brown. His fur was long and rather shaggy. His ears were round. His paws were big and armed with strong, wicked looking claws.
“You all see what a black coat Buster has,” said Old Mother Nature. “Now I'm going to tell you something which may surprise you. Just as there are Red Foxes that are black, so there are Black Bears that are brown.”
“What's that?” grunted Buster, with the funniest look of surprise on his face.
“It's a fact, Buster,” said Old Mother Nature. “A great many of your family live out in the mountains of the Far West, and there quite often there will be one who is all brown. People used to think that these brown Bears were a different kind of Bear, and called them Cinnamon Bears. It