Toto's Merry Winter

TOTO'S MERRY WINTER.




CHAPTER I.


IT was evening,--a good, old-fashioned winter evening, cold without,
warm and merry within. The snow was falling lightly, softly, with no
gusts of wind to trouble it and send it whirling and drifting hither and
thither. It covered the roof with a smooth white counterpane, tucking it
in neatly and carefully round the edges; it put a tall conical cap on
top of the pump, and laid an ermine fold over his long and impressive
nose. Myriads of curious little flakes pattered softly--oh! very
softly--against the windows of the cottage, pressing against the glass
to see what was going on inside, and saying, "Let us in! let us in!
please do!" But nobody seemed inclined to let them in, so they were
forced to content themselves with looking.

Indeed, the aspect of the kitchen was very inviting, and it is no wonder
that the little cold flakes wanted to get in. A great fire was crackling
and leaping on the hearth. The whole room seemed to glow and glitter:
brass saucepans, tin platters, glass window-panes, all cast their very
brightest glances toward the fire, to show him that they appreciated his
efforts. Over this famous fire, in the very midst of the dancing,
flickering tongues of yellow flame, hung a great black soup-kettle,
which was almost boiling over with a sense of its own importance, and a
kindly consciousness of the good things cooking inside it.

"Bubble! b-r-r-r-r! bubble! hubble!" said the black kettle, with a fat
and spluttering enunciation.

"Bubble, hubble! b-r-r-r-r-r-r! bubble!
Lots of fun, and very little trouble!"

On the hob beside the fire sat the tea-kettle, a brilliant contrast to
its sooty neighbor. It was of copper, so brightly burnished that it
shone like the good red gold. The tea-kettle did not bubble,--it
considered bubbling rather vulgar; but it was singing very merrily, in a
clear pleasant voice, and pouring out volumes of steam from its slender
copper nose. "I am doing all I can to make myself agreeable!" the
tea-kettle said to itself. "I am boiling just right,--hard enough to
make a good cheerful noise, and not so hard as to boil all the water
away. And _why_ that beast should sit and glower at me there as he is
doing, is more than I can understand."

"That beast" was a raccoon. I think some of you children may have seen
him before. He was sitting in front of the fire, with his beautiful tail
curled comfortably about his toes; and he certainly _was_ staring very
hard at the tea-kettle. Presently the kettle, in pure playfulness and
good-will, lifted its cover a little and let out an extra puff of snowy
steam; and at that the raccoon gave a jump, and moved farther away from
the fire, without ever taking his eyes off the kettle.

The fact is, that for the first time in his life the raccoon knew what
_fear_ was. He was afraid--mortally afraid--of that tea-kettle.

"Don't tell me!" he had said to Toto, only the day before, "don't tell
_me_ it isn't alive! It breathes, and it talks, and it moves, and if
that isn't being alive I don't know what is."

"Coon, how utterly absurd you are!" cried Toto, laughing. "It _doesn't_
move, except when some one takes it up, of course, or tilts it on the
hob."

"Toto," said the raccoon, speaking slowly and impressively, "as sure as
you are a living boy, I saw that kettle take off the top of its head and
look out of its own inside, only last night. And before that," he added,
looking rather shamefaced, "I--I just put my paw in to see what there
was inside, and the creature caught it and took all the skin off."

But here Toto burst into a fit of laughter, and said, "Served you
right!" which was so rude that the raccoon went off and sat under the
table, in a huff.

So this time, when the kettle took off the top of its head, Coon did not
run out into the shed, as he had done before, because he was ashamed
when he remembered Toto's laughter. He only moved away a little, and
looked and felt thoroughly uncomfortable.