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SOMETIMES Fatty Coon liked a
taste of fresh fish, just by way of a change from Farmer Green's corn,
and
blackberries, wild grapes, bugs – and all the other dainties
on which he
dined.
So it happened that one day
he visited Black Creek, where he crouched near the water with the hope
that
some silly fish would swim within reach of his sharp claws.
For a long time he waited
patiently. And at last, to his great joy, a young pickerel nosed
his way
through the shallow water in front of him.
The newcomer was hunting
flies. And he did not notice the eager fisherman. Fatty Coon waited
until just
the right moment. And then one of his paws darted suddenly into the
water.
But instead of Fatty Coon
catching the pickerel, someone else caught Fatty Coon. His captor was
no less a
person than Timothy Turtle himself, who had been buried all this time
in the
mud almost under Fatty Coon's nose. That is, his body was buried. His
head and
neck he had left free, so that lie might strike, at a fish when one
came his
way. But he had seen something else that took his fancy. When Fatty's
paw
scooped into the water Timothy Turtle just had
to grab it.
"Let me go!" Fatty
Coon shrieked, for Mr. Turtle's cruel jaws hurt him. terribly.
"Why, this is
fun!" Timothy Turtle muttered thickly, as he took a firmer hold on
Fatty's
paw. "Besides, I've been wanting to talk with you for a long time."
"Then you'd better let
me go," Fatty groaned, "because you can't talk well with your mouth
full."
"I can say all I need
to," Timothy Turtle grunted. "And I know that if I dropped your
paw
you'd run off."
"Hurry, then! "
Fatty Coon begged him piteously. "Hurry and tell me what you have to
say.
And please talk fast!" Timothy Turtle almost smiled. "Am I hurting
you?" he inquired.
"Yes, you are!"
cried Fatty Coon.
"Good!" Mr. Turtle
snorted. "I meant to, because I've a grudge against you." Fatty Coon
couldn't think what he meant.
"I've never done a
thing to you," he declared.
"Perhaps not!"
Timothy Turtle admitted. "But you stole Mrs. Turtle's eggs –
twenty-seven
of them – and you can't deny it."
Now, it was true – what
Timothy Turtle said. Hidden among the reeds one day, Fatty Coon
had watched
Mrs. Turtle bury her eggs in the sand, to hatch. And when she had
gone he had
crept out from his hiding-place, dug up her precious, round, white
treasures,
and eaten them, every one.
Well, Fatty Coon dropped his
head in front of Mr. Turtle. He was somewhat ashamed, and frightened,
too. And
he did not like to look into Timothy Turtle's blinking eyes. "How did
you
know?" he asked Mr. Turtle.
"Mrs. Turtle told
me," said Timothy, shifting his hold slightly, for a better one.
"How did the old lady
know who took her eggs?" Fatty persisted.
"Mr. Crow saw
everything that happened – and don't you call my wife an old
lady!"
Timothy Turtle spluttered.
"Very well! She's a
young one, of course," Fatty said hastily. "But I don't know how I've
harmed you."
"You don't, eh?"
Timothy Turtle snarled. "Then I'll explain. I meant to have those eggs
myself, young man!"