Mother West Wind Where Stories

Where Limberheels got his long tail.

Have you ever seen Limberheels the Jumping Mouse when he was in a hurry?  If you have, very likely the first time you felt very much as Peter Rabbit did when he saw Limberheels for the first time.  He was hopping along across the Green Meadows with nothing much on his mind when from right under his wobbly nose something shot into the air over the tops of the grasses for eight or ten feet and then down and out of sight.  Peter rubbed his eyes.

“Did I see it, or didn’t I?  And if I did, what was it?” gasped Peter.

A squeaky little laugh answered him.  “You saw it all right, Peter, but it isn’t polite to call any one it.  He would be quite provoked if he had heard you.  That was my cousin, Limberheels,” replied a voice quite as squeaky as the laugh had been.

Peter turned to see the bright eyes of Danny Meadow Mouse twinkling at him from the entrance to a tiny little path that joined the bigger path in which Peter was sitting.

“Hello, Danny!” he exclaimed.  “Do you mean to tell me that was a relative of yours?  Since when have any of your relatives taken to flying?”

Danny chuckled.  “He wasn’t flying,” he retorted.  “He just jumped, that was all.”  Danny chuckled again, for he knows that Peter considers himself quite a jumper and is inclined to be a bit jealous of any one else who pretends to jump save his cousin, Jumper the Hare.

“Jumped!” snorted Peter.  “Jumped!  Do you expect me to believe that any Mouse can jump like that?  I didn’t get a good look at that fellow, but whoever he is I tell you he flew.  Nobody can jump like that.”

Danny chuckled again.  “Wait a minute, Peter,” said he.  He disappeared, and Peter waited.  He waited one minute, two minutes, three minutes, and then suddenly Danny poked his head out from the grass beside the path.  “Here he is, Peter,” said he, coming wholly out into the path.  “Let me introduce my cousin, Limberheels.”

As he spoke the grass beside him rustled, and out crept some one beside whom Danny Meadow Mouse looked big, clumsy and homely.  One glance was enough to tell Peter that the stranger was a sure-enough member of the Mouse family, but such a member as he never had seen before.  He was trim and slender.  He wore a reddish-brown coat with a white waistcoat.  But the things that made Peter stare very impolitely were his tail and his legs.  His tail was nearly twice as long as his body, slim and tapering, and his hind legs were very long, while his fore legs were short.  It took only one glance to convince Peter that here was a born jumper.  Any one built like that must jump.

“You two must become acquainted and be friends,” continued Danny Meadow Mouse.  “Peter is one of my best friends, Limberheels.  He wouldn’t hurt a flea.  I’m sure that from now on he will be one of your best friends.”

“I’ll be happy to,” said Peter promptly.  “Danny has been telling me what a wonderful jumper you are.  Would you mind showing me how you jump?  I guess you jumped right in front of me a few minutes ago, but I was so surprised that I didn’t really see you.”

“I guess I did,” replied Limberheels rather timidly.  “You see, I didn’t hear you coming until you were almost on top of me, and then I didn’t know who it was so I got away as quickly as I could.  I’ll be ever so glad to have you for a friend and next time I won’t run away.”

“Show him how you can jump,” interrupted Danny Meadow Mouse.  “He wouldn’t believe me when I told him that you didn’t fly.”

Limberheels grinned rather sheepishly.  “Of course I didn’t fly,” said he.  “No animal can fly but Flitter the Bat.  I just jumped like this.”

With a tremendous spring from his long hind legs Limberheels leaped, while Peter Rabbit stared, his mouth wide open with astonishment.  He hadn’t dreamed that any one could jump so far in proportion to his size as this slim, trim little cousin of Danny’s.  Later, after Limberheels had jumped for Peter’s benefit until he was tired and had gone to hunt for a lunch of grass seeds, Peter wanted to know all about Limberheels.

“Never in my life have I seen such jumping,” he declared.  “And never have I seen such a tail.  I thought Whitefoot the Wood Mouse had a fine tail, but it doesn’t compare with that of Limberheels.”

“It is a fine tail,” replied Danny, whose own tail, as you know, is very short.

“It is a fine tail,” he repeated rather wistfully.  “Would you like to hear where he got it?”

“I know,” retorted Peter with a grin.  “He got it from his father, who got it from his father, and so on way back to the days when the world was young.”  Then, seeing a look of disappointment on Danny’s face, and eager for a story as usual, he added:  “But I would like to know how such a tail as that came in the family.”

Danny brightened up at once.  “It’s funny how things come about in this world,” he began.  “The great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of Limberheels, the first one, you know, was quite an ordinary Mouse when Old Mother Nature made him and started him out to make his way in the Great World.  He was little, one of the smallest of the family, and his tail was short, no longer than mine.  His hind legs were like those of all his relatives.  He ran about just as his relatives did.  He was so small and kept out of sight so much that he didn’t even have a name.  There was nothing about him to suggest a name.

“For a long time he was contented and happy.  Then one day he happened to see Mr. Hare jump.  It seemed to him the most wonderful thing in the world that any one should be able to jump like that.  So he began to spend most of his spare time where he could watch Mr. Hare.  One day Old Mother Nature happened along unseen by him, as he was watching Mr. Hare jump, and she overheard him say very, very wistfully, ’How I wish I could jump like that!  I wish I had long hind legs like Mr. Hare.’

“Old Mother Nature’s kindly eyes twinkled.  ‘That’s easily arranged,’ said she.  ’If you think long hind legs will be of more use to you than the ones you have, you shall have them.’

“The next morning when little Mr. Mouse awoke, he discovered that in the night something had happened to his hind legs.  They were very long and strong, regular jumping legs like those of Mr. Hare.  Of course he was in such a great hurry to try them that he couldn’t wait for his breakfast.  He began by making little short hops, and in no time at all he was getting about splendidly.  At last he got up his courage to try a long jump.  Up in the air he shot, and then something happened.  Yes, Sir, something happened.  He couldn’t kept his balance.  He turned two or three somersaults and landed on his back.

“‘I guess,’ said he to himself, ’I’ve got to learn to make long jumps.’  So he kept trying and trying, but always with the same result—­he never knew when, where, or how he was going to land.  As long as he made short jumps he had no trouble, but every time he tried a long jump he lost his balance, and try as he would he couldn’t discover why.  So at last he gave up trying and contented himself with short jumps.  Finally Old Mother Nature came that way again.

“‘How do you like your long hind legs?’ she asked.

“‘Very much, thank you,’ replied little Mr. Mouse politely.

“‘Let me see you jump,’ said Old Mother Nature.

“Little Mr. Mouse made half a dozen little jumps.  They were not much more than hops.  ‘You don’t call that jumping, do you?’ laughed Old Mother Nature.  ’With such long, strong legs as I’ve given you, you ought to be one of the best jumpers anywhere about.  Now let me see you make a long jump.’

“Little Mr. Mouse tried his best to think of some excuse, but he couldn’t.  So he made a long jump, and the usual thing happened—­he turned two or three somersaults and landed on his back.  Old Mother Nature looked astonished.  Then she laughed until she had to hold her sides.  ‘Do it again,’ she commanded.

“With the most shamefaced air that you can imagine, little Mr. Mouse jumped again.  Old Mother Nature watched him closely.  ‘Come here to me,’ said she as he scrambled to his feet after his tumble.  ’It’s all my fault,’ said she kindly, as he obeyed her.  ’It was very stupid of me.  What you need is a long tail to balance you on a long jump.  That short tail is all right for short jumps, but it won’t do for long jumps.  It won’t do at all.  I should have thought of that when I made your legs long.’

“She reached down and took hold of the tip of that little short tail and drew it out until it was long, almost twice as long as the body of little Mr. Mouse.  ‘Now jump,’ she commanded, ’and jump with all your might.’

“A little fearfully but with the beginning of a little hope Mr. Mouse jumped with all his might.  Away he sailed straight and true and landed lightly on his feet so far from where he had left the ground that he could hardly believe his own eyes as he looked back.  Mother Nature was smiling.

“’There you are, Mr. Limberheels.  I guess that that will make you quite the most wonderful jumper of all my children,’ said she.

“And so it was that little Mr. Mouse, all at one time, became possessed of a long tail, a name, and the ability to out jump all his neighbors,” concluded Danny Meadow Mouse.  “Do you know,” he added wistfully, “sometimes I envy my cousin Limberheels.”

“I envy him myself,” declared Peter.