It's Saturday.

Chapter 12: There Is Enough for All

THE SUN had set, and the gold of the west slowly faded to a cool clear green. Venus, hanging low over the Pine Wood, burned brilliantly, all alone at first, but as the sky deepened the smaller stars began to show themselves. High up the new moon swam like a silver sickle. As the dusk thickened the whole Hill began, to whisper with the soft rustle of small bodies passing through the grass, with the swish of tiny feet, all making their way toward the garden, for this was Midsummer's Eve and the Little Animals were gathering. On the edge of the small circular lawn the Folks sat silently. It was dark and shadowy here under the big pine. All that could be seen was the dim whiteness of the stone benches, the regular glowing and dying of the Man's pipe, and the tent-like, gray tarpaulin. The top of this glowed in the moon's pale light like a beacon, and like a beacon it seemed to beckon all the Animals, for instead of gathering at the garden they were all pressing closer and closer to the little round lawn. Slowly, silently, one step at a time, they moved through the deep grass and the shrub shadows until the clearing was entirely surrounded by an audience of small, tense Animals, waiting for-they knew not what. The moonlight was brighter now; the little lawn was like a small, lighted stage. They could make out the Lady sitting motionless on the bench, beside her the drowsing bulk of Mr. Muldoon. It was so still that they could hear his wheezy breathing. Suddenly the silence was rudely shattered by Uncle Analdas' harsh cry as he stepped shakily into the open. His sunken eyes were staring, his ears cocked at crazy angles. "Where is he?" he croaked wildly. "Where is he? Where's that dingblasted old Cat? Leave me at him! They're not a-goin' to hang our Little Georgie!" Mother sprang from the shadows, calling, "Analdas, come back. Oh, stop him, someone, stop him!" There was a sudden stir in the Lady's lap; then, clear and joyous, Little Georgie's voice rang out. "Mother," it cried. A small form sprang to the ground and sped across the clearing. "Mother, Father, it's me, Little Georgie, I'm all well - look at me - look. In the bright moonlight he leaped and cavorted on the lawn, around and across, up and down, over and over. He jumped high over Uncle Analdas and turned a double handspring. He sprang to the bench and kicked Mr. Muldoon playfully in the stomach. The old Cat lazily caught him round the waist and they wrestled happily, finally falling to the ground with a thump. Remembering his age and dignity, Muldoon clambered back onto the bench, where his purr rumbled like a far off gristmill. A joyous chattering broke out among the Animals, but stilled when the Man quietly rose and approached the tarpaulin. Very deliberately he loosed its fastenings and hung it clear. In the deep silence that followed it was almost possible to hear the sound of a hundred little breaths caught and released in a sigh of awe. The Mole grasped Willie Fieldmouse's elbow. "Willie, what is it?" he whispered. "What is it? Willie, he eyes for me. Willie's voice was hushed and breathless. "Oh, Mole," he said. "Oh, Mole, it's so beautiful. It's him, Mole, it's him-the Good Saint!" "Him --of Assisi?" asked the Mole. "Yes. Mole, our Saint. The good St. Francis of Assisi- him that's loved us and protected us Little Animals time out of mind-and, oh, Mole, it's so beautiful! He's all out of stone, Mole, and his face is so kind and so sad. He's got a long robe on, old and poor like, you can see the patches on it. "And all around his feet are the Little Animals. They're us, Mole, all out of stone. There's you and me and there's all the Birds and there's Little Georgie and Porkey and the Fox-even old Lumpy the Hop Toad. And the Saint's hands are held out in front of him sort of kind-like blessing things. And from his hands there's welter dropping, Mole, dear, cool water. It drops into a pool there in front of him." "I can hear it splashing," the Mole whispered, "and I can smell the good clear pool and feel its coolness. Go on, Willie, be eyes for me." "It's a fine pool for drinking of, Mole, and at each end it's shallow like, so the Birds can bathe there. And, oh, Mole, all around the pool is broad hat stones, a sort of rim, like -a shelf or something, and it's all set out with things to eat, like a banquet feast. And there's letters, there's words onto it, Mole, cut in the stones." "What does it say, Willie, the printing?" Willie spelled it out slowly, carefully. "It says -'There - is-enough-for-all.' There's enough for all, Mole. And there is. "There's grain-corn and wheat and rye for us-and there's a big cake of salt for the Red Buck, and there's vegetables, all kinds of vegetables out of the garden, all fresh and washed clean, no dirt on them, and there's clover and there's bluegrass and buckwheat. There's even nuts for the squirrels and chipmunks - and they're all starting in to eat them now, Mole, and if you don't mind - if you'll excuse me--I think I'll sort of join in. Willie joined in with his cousins, who were fairly wallowing in grain. Near by, Uncle Analdas, looking slightly bewildered, was gulping alternate mouthfuls of clover and carrots. Porkey was working determinedly on a pile of buckwheat, unconscious that a sprig of it, draped over one ear, gave him a most rakish appearance. There was a steady sound of chewing and munching and champing. The Folks sat silent, the glow of the Man's pipe rising and falling with slow regularity, the Lady gently rubbing Mr. Muldoon's jowls. The Red Buck licked salt till his lips were thick with foam, took a long drink from the pool, and then, tossing his head, snorted loudly. The eating stopped and Willie eased his belt a hole or two; his softly furred little stomach seemed to have suddenly swollen alarmingly. With slow and stately tread the Red Buck began a circuit of the garden. The Doe and their Fawn walked behind him. Obediently all the other Animals fell into line. There came Phewie and the Gray Fox, side by side, waddling Porkey and Uncle Analdas, Mother and Father with Little Georgie between them, his arms around their necks, the Pheasant and his wife, with their mincing, rocking chair walk, feathers glimmering bronze-gold in the moonlight. There came all the Fieldmouse tribe, the Raccoon and the Opossum the Chipmunks and the Squirrels, gray and red. And alongside them, on the very edge of the garden, the quivering and humping of the earth showed the progress of the Mole and his three stout brothers. Slowly, solemnly the procession circled the garden until they had all returned to the little lawn where the Good Saint stood. The Red Buck snorted again, and all gave attention as he spoke. "We have eaten their food." His voice rang out impressively. "We have tasted their salt, we have drunk their water, and all are good." He tossed his proud head in the direction of the garden. "From now on this is forbidden ground." His chisel-sharp hoof rapped the earth. "Does anyone dispute me?" None did, and there was a silence, broken at last by the voice of Uncle Analdas. "Haow'bout them dingblasted Cutworms?" he called. "They don't know no laws or decent regulations." The Mole, who had been a little slower than the rest leaned his elbows on the earth as he reared up from his just- completed tunnel and turned his blind face toward the sound. "We'll patrol," he said, smiling, "me and my brothers, night and day, turn and turn about. Good hunting too; got six on that trip." As the Animals resumed their dining, Phewie and the Gray Fox suddenly pricked up their ears at a clatter from the grape arbor back of the house. Sulphronids mellow voice echoed up the Hill. "Hi, Mr. Skunk," she called; "come and get it." Eagerly they trotted away into the darkness. The moon was dipping behind the Pine Wood before the last trace of the feast was cleaned up and the well-stuffed Little Animals took their way down the Hill. They scattered to their respective homes with gay but sleepy farewells. Mother carried a small market basket on either arm. "Soup tomorrow," she cried happily. "Peavine and lettuce soup, tomorrow and every day from now on." Uncle Analdas cleared his throat. "If there ain't nobody occupying that there guest room," he announced a little sheepishly, "I might sorta try it out again fer a spell. Porkey's a good feller and all that, but that there burrow of his is mighty musty, yes sir, mighty musty, and as fer his cookin'" "Of course you shall, Uncle Analdas." Mother smiled. "Your room is just as you left it. I've dusted it every day." Little Georgie, running in gay circles, called to Father. "Any new Dogs around?" "I understand there is a newly arrived pair of Setters up on Good Hill Road." Father answered. "Said to be very highly bred and quite capable. When you have had a few more days of rest and recuperation we must give them a workout." "I'm ready any time," laughed Little Georgie gaily. "Any time at all." He leaped high in the air, rapping his heels together three times, soared clear over Father, Mother, and Uncle Analdas. "I'm fine!" Each evening throughout the summer the kindly Saint's ledge was spread with a banquet; each morning, it was chum and neatly swept. Each night the Red Buck, Phewie, and the Gray Fox patrolled the premises against wandering marauders, the Mole and his stout brothers made their faithful rounds. All summer Mother and the other womenfolk preserved, packed, and put away winter stores. Once again there were parties and merrymaking, laughter and dancing. Good days had come back to the Hill. Tim McGrath surveyed the flourishing garden and lifted his voice in wonderment. "Louie," he said, "I just can't understand it. Here's these new folks with their garden and not a sign of a fence around it, no traps, no poison, no nothing; and not a thing touched, not a thing. Not a footprint onto it, not even a cutworm. Now me, I've got all them things, fences, traps, poisons; even sat up some nights with a shotgun -and what happens? All my carrots gone and half my beets, cabbages et into, tomatoes tromp down, lawn all tore up with moles. Fat-Man-down-to-the-Crossroads, he keeps dogs even and he ain't got a stalk of corn left standing, all his lettuce gone, most of his turnips. I can't understand it. Must just be Beginner's Luck. "Must be," agreed Louie. "Must be that - or something." end