It's Wednesday.
Chapter 09: Dividing Night
THE DAYS lengthened and the sun climbed higher, and with the lengthening days the spirits of the Little Animals also rose. In the garden long rows of brilliant green vegetables were thrusting their way up. The lawns were now rich carpets of new grass, very smooth and beautiful, for the Mole, ashamed of his destructive rampage, had kept strictly away from them. Each evening Father inspected the bluegrass. It was slow-growing and would not amount to much this year, but next summer-oh my! From his burrow entrance Porkey surveyed the flourishing field of buckwheat with great satisfaction. In the chicken-run countless baby chicks ran and scratched and peeped endlessly while the mother hens chuckled and scolded. Phewie and the Gray Fox often paused there in the early evenings to look over the prospects, but Phewie was so satisfied by Sulphronia's generosity in the matter of garbage that his interest in live chicken was rapidly waning. He had even persuaded the Fox to sample a bit of her cookery. The Fox at first had scorned the idea, saying he preferred his chicken fresh, but after trying a Southern-fried chicken wing, as Sulphronia fried it, he had been quite won over and now usually joined Phewie in his midnight feasts. Each evening the Animals inspected the garden. The seed packets placed on sticks at the ends of the rows were all gone over carefully with many ohs and ahs at the brightly colored pictures. Little Georgie, of course, had to read them for Uncle Analdas, who had always mislaid his specs. Each Animal made notes on the vegetables available and his family's tastes and needs, in preparation for dividing Night. That long-awaited occasion arrived and passed off with less controversy than usual, for the garden was so large that there seemed to be ample for all, even the most finicky. It was a bright moonlit night, and every Animal on the Hill had gathered to present his claims. Phewie and the Gray Fox acted as judges, for, not being vegetarians, they could be trusted to make fair and disinterested decisions. Father, of course, made most of the speeches. One question arose which had never come up at any former Dividing Night. Willie Fieldmouse and his relatives, grateful for the Folks' rescue of Willie from the rain barrel, proposed that a small portion of the garden be set aside for the exclusive use of the household. Mother warmly seconded this, for she had been most touched by the sign on the driveway. There was considerable debate, but Porkey seemed to represent the opinion of the majority when he said, "Let them take their chances along with the rest of us. Folks don't respect our claims, so why should we give them special privileges. 'Tain't democratic." So the motion was voted down. To some present, Uncle Analdas' claims seemed a little extravagant. After all, he was not a regular resident of the Hill, but since he was the guest of Father and Mother, both of whom were highly regarded, there was no open comment, although there was a bit of spiteful gossip behind cupped paws. On the whole the meeting was most pleasant and orderly, very different from some of the former ones, when the meager, ill-kept gardens of the previous Folks had led to a great deal of wrangling. Father voiced this thought in his closing speech. "We seem," he said, "to be blessed with most generous, well-bred and kindly Folks. Their present plantings promise the most bountiful garden with which we have been favored in many years. I hope, therefore, that it is not necessary to impress on any of you the desirability of adhering strictly to those rules and regulations which have always been observed here on the Hill. "Each Animal's allotment shall be for his and his family's exclusive use and enjoyment; anyone encroaching on property not his own risks banishment from our community. "In the event that the Folks should take an undue quantity of vegetables from any one Animal's holding, our Board of Relief will assign him additional space. "Finally, nothing is to be touched until Midsummer's Eve. This rule is of the utmost importance, for we have learned by long experience that premature inroads on the crops only result in hardship for everyone. By allowing them to approach maturity a far more plentiful supply will be available for all. I hope that you will all use that patience and self-restraint for which the Animals of our Hill have long been noted and that those of us whose duty it is to see that these regulations are enforced will not be called upon to invoke any disciplinary measures. May I also remind you, Porkey, and you, Foxy, that this prohibition applies to buckwheat, chickens, and ducks, as well as vegetables?" "It's all right with me," Phewie piped up. "Ain't no closed season on garbidge. Come on, Foxy, this is fried-chicken night. I move the meetin's adjourned." The animals all wandered home from the meeting in a most contented mood. A group of the young ones were singing "Happy Days Are Here Again." Of course it was quite a wait to Midsummer's Eve but the fields were green now, there was plenty of natural provender, and the garden promised a real bumper crop. The housewives were all planning their preserving and canning. Mother broached the subject of a new storage room which she had long desired. Uncle Analdas could help with the excavating, and Little Georgie had become quite handy with tools now, so he could build the shelves. Little Georgie had been sent to the Fat-Man-at-the-Crossroads for some items overlooked in the morning's marketing, and, seated before the burrow, Mother went on outlining her plans for the storeroom. Suddenly the night air was rent by that hideous sound that brings a chill of dread to the hearts of all country dwellers-the long, rising shriek of car brakes, the whine of slithering tires. There was a moment of frozen silence, then from the Black Road a man's curse, a motor roaring into new life, and a car going on. Mother gave one gasp-"Georgie!"- and collapsed, but Father and Uncle Analdas streaked for the road. They could hear the tearing of bushes as the Red Buck thundered down the Hill, could hear Porkey's wheezing gallop, the twitterings of the hastening Fieldmice. But fast as they all were, the Folks from the house were faster. Father could hear their running footsteps on the gravel drive, see the blue-white gleam of a flashlight. The Animals crowded the bushes, peering out at the dreaded Black Road where the Folks bent over a small, limp object. They heard the Man say, "Here, hold the flashlight," saw him whip off his coat and spread it on the road-way, heard him say, 'There now, there now" as, kneeling, he gently wrapped something in it. They saw him tramp up the driveway, carrying the bundle carefully. They saw the Lady's face, white and drawn in the moonlight, and they heard her saying things no Lady should ever say.
