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‘Have we?’
‘No, you old son of a lobster, we haven’t. But we can say we have. You’re old-fashioned. Now listen. The only way we’ll get the animals to come to us instead of going to that darned old Shop Under the Willow is by giving ’em something new. Or at any rate by making ’em think we’re giving them something new. That’s the reason for the telephone.’
‘We ain’t got a telephone,’ muttered Old Sam.
‘No. Nor has anyone else in the wood. So they can’t prove it, see? All we have to do is to say to an animal, “Call us up”, and we know quite well he can’t call us up ’cos he’s not got anything to call with.’
‘That seems fair enough,’ admitted Old Sam.
‘It’s the same with “Goods Delivered to your Door”.’
‘If you think I’m going round with a basket at my age, climbing trees and ferreting into burrows, you’re very much mistaken,’ proclaimed Old Sam.
‘You don’t have to. Read the notice. It says … “To your Door”. Well, none of the animals have got a door. They’ve got nests and holes and hideouts, but there’s not a darned door in the wood. So if we say we deliver to the door, we don’t because there ain’t no doors to deliver to. Got that?’
‘’Pon my word,’ admitted Old Sam, ‘that’s a bright idea.’
Together they carried the board over to the stump of a blasted oak. A few bangs with a hammer and it was firmly in position.
‘And now,’ said Sam. ‘we’d better have breakfast, so’s to be ready for the customers.’
*
News travelled fast in the wood. Long before the shop was open, processions of animals were to be seen coming from all quarters of the wood, and by nine o’clock there was a long queue outside the Ford. Sam had put up a lot of shelves, and on these shelves were a great number of boxes, tied up with attractive ribbons.
‘What was inside the boxes?’ you may ask.
We will tell you, because it will help to show you what a really horrible little boy Sam was.
There was nothing in the boxes.
Nothing at all.
‘But how could he get the animals to buy nothing?’ you may enquire. ‘Wouldn’t the animals call in PC Monkey and have the law on him?’
No, they couldn’t. Because, you see, Sam was very clever. He knew that ‘nothing’ has many names; in German it is nichts, in French it is rien. All over the world men make different sounds when they want to describe that which is without sound or shape or weight or life.
So Sam was going to sell the animals ‘Nichts’ and ‘Rien’ and if any of them made a fuss about it, he’d say that it wasn’t his fault that they were so ignorant. Anyway, he had a shrewd idea that they wouldn’t complain; he knew that an animal hates to be made to look a fool. If you had ever seen the look of pain in the eyes of a circus dog you would know what I mean. He was meant to run on all fours, free as the wind, through the long grass, through sunlight and shadow, but men force him to spend half his life staggering over the sawdust on two legs, blinking in the glare of arc-lights.
*
At nine o’clock precisely Sam’s grandfather came out of his cave, beating a big drum. That was the signal that the shop was open, and immediately all the animals began to swarm around, twittering, and purring, and squeaking, and sniffing.
Of course, there were lots of things besides the boxes full of Nothing … real things, I mean. Most of them – though the animals did not know it – were quite useless. There were heaps of brightly coloured glass, which Sam described as rubies and diamonds and emeralds, though they only came from Woolworth’s; there were all sorts of things like that. But it was the boxes full of Nothing which interested the animals most; they longed to know what was inside them; and soon there was quite a queue in front of the counter.
‘What is in these boxes?’ enquired Mrs Rabbit.
‘Nichts,’ replied Sam, with a grin.
‘Nichts?’ Mrs Rabbit looked puzzled. She had no idea what ‘nichts’ were, but she did not like to show her ignorance, because Mrs Hare was standing beside her. And Mrs Hare always put on superior airs, simply because she could run so fast.
‘Ah, nichts!’ repeated Mrs Rabbit, nodding and trying to look wise. ‘Nichts,’ she said again, wondering if they were anything like nuts. Probably that was what they were – a new sort of nut. But then again they might be nothing of the sort. They might be nightdresses or they might be nail-scissors. She tried to find out a little more.
‘What quality nichts?’ she asked.
‘Medium,’ observed Sam.
‘Medium,’ repeated Mrs Rabbit. That told her nothing at all, though it seemed to suggest that they were not nuts. You would not describe nuts as ‘medium’. Perhaps it was nightdresses after all, in which case she did not want to buy them; she had no use for medium nightdresses, being a very fat rabbit.
She turned to Mrs Hare. Maybe she would be able to learn something from her, without revealing that she did not know what ‘nichts’ were.
‘Ah, good afternoon, Mrs Hare!’
Mrs Hare gave one of her superior bows.
‘I was just thinking of buying some nichts,’ said Mrs Rabbit, fumbling with her shopping-basket.
‘Then why don’t you buy some and have done with it?’ snapped Mrs Hare. ‘You’re holding up the queue.’
Mrs Rabbit gave a nervous giggle. ‘It’s just a question of whether you think the medium variety is the best?’
She looked Mrs Hare straight in the eyes as she said this.
Now between you and me, Mrs Hare was just as ignorant as Mrs Rabbit about nichts, but being so superior she did not betray her ignorance. Without batting an eyelid, she returned Mrs Rabbit’s stare, and drawled:
‘Well, it depends on what you are going to use the nichts for.’
‘Yes, of course. It would depend on that.’
‘What were you going to use the nichts for?’ demanded Mrs Hare.
This was too much for Mrs Rabbit. She could not say, ‘I am going to eat them,’ because they might be nightdresses, and no lady would eat a nightdress – only shady girls like Miss Moth ever indulged in such a peculiar diet. On the other hand, she could not say ‘I am going to wear them,’ because they might be nuts, and you could not possibly wear a nut unless you balanced it on the top of your head, which would look ridiculous. Nor could she run the risk of saying, ‘I am going to cut my nails with them.’ They might be nail-scissors, it is true, but again they might not. And you could not possibly cut your nails with a nut or with a nightdress. Out of the question.
So she gave no direct reply; she merely lowered her eyes, fumbled in her bag, and asked:
‘How much?’
‘Five shillings,’ snapped Sam.
‘Five shillings!’ gasped Mrs Rabbit. It was far more than she could afford. It would mean that the whole Rabbit family would have to stay indoors, in the burrow, next weekend instead of going for a ramble in the wood. But she had gone too far to draw back … she could not admit to poverty in the presence of that dreadfully superior Mrs Hare.
‘I will have one box.’
Sam wrapped up a box for her in a cabbage leaf, tied it with a few strands of hay and sealed it with a drop of gum which he had stolen from the fir tree. It looked such a grand parcel that Mrs Rabbit felt it must be worth five shillings.
As Sam handed it to her, he said, ‘I suppose you understand how to undo this parcel?’
‘How to undo it?’ Mrs Rabbit blinked at him in bewilderment. She did not know what he meant.
‘You must not undo it in daylight,’ Sam said. ‘Otherwise, all the goodness goes out of the nichts. They must never be exposed to the sun.’
‘No,’ muttered Mrs Rabbit. ‘I quite understand.’
Poor thing. She did not understand at all. As she gathered up the parcel her brain was in a whirl. Nuts? Obviously not nuts … it didn’t make any difference if you exposed nuts to the sun. Nor, for that matter, nail-scissors or nightdresses. What could these nichts be? Perhaps they were some sort of photographic film? In which case, what would Mr Rabbit say when he learned that she had spent five whole shillings on a photographic film, considering that they were far too poor to afford a camera to fit it into?
She felt on the verge of tears. She wanted to go off, all by herself, and hide in the bracken till the darkness came and she could undo her box and see what it was that she had really bought. She was just about to hurry away when she caught Mrs Hare’s eye. For the first time in her life she thought that Mrs Hare looked embarrassed; she kept on biting her lower lip, and there was a nervous twitch to her tail. Was it possible, after all, that Mrs Hare had been bluffing, that she too did not know what nichts were? The thought made Mrs Rabbit feel much better. So instead of running off with her parcel, she hovered in the background pretending to examine some of the other goods on the shelves.
*
It was now Mrs Hare’s turn in the queue.
She strolled up to the counter, put down her bag, and sniffed haughtily.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Hare,’ said Sam. ‘May I have the pleasure of selling you some nichts?’
‘Thank you, no.’ Mrs Hare had not the least idea what nichts were but she was not going to show it. Nor was she going to be such a fool as Mrs Rabbit, and buy something she might not want.
‘I have already a large supply of nichts,’ she said. ‘At “The Burrows”.’
That was the name of Mrs Hare’s house. When Mrs Rabbit heard these words, she felt a little better. If Mrs Hare kept plenty of nichts at ‘The Burrows’ it must be all right. ‘The Burrows’ was a very superior residence.
Mrs Hare leaned forward over the counter. She pointed to some boxes done up in pale pink paper.
‘What is in those?’ she drawled.
‘Rien,’ replied Sam.
‘Rien?’ she repeated. And then … in the same drawling tones … ‘Is it pure rien?’
Sam nodded. ‘You will not find purer rien anywhere.’
Mrs Hare sniffed. This sniff was another sign of nerves.
‘You say that this is pure rien?’ repeated Mrs Hare.
She asked the question because she wanted to gain time.
‘Yes, madam. Nothing but rien. Absolute … complete … rien.’
Sam spread out the palms of his hands to prove what he was saying. And suddenly some instinct warned Mrs Hare to beware of him and his boxes. She could not explain what she felt; it was like one of those tremors of warning which came to her on some still summer afternoon when a tiny sound or a faint scent told her that Man was in the wood.
So she plucked up her courage, and drew herself up to her full height, and looked Sam straight in the eye.
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I do not think I need any rien. It is one of those things which I can do without.’
*
So great was the success of The Shop in the Ford that dusk was falling before the animals reluctantly tore themselves away, and wandered back to their homes, bearing their parcels with them. After his experience with Mrs Hare, Sam had decided not to sell any more boxes of Nothing; it was too risky; some of the animals might talk, and then they would not come to the shop any more.
Meanwhile Mrs Rabbit, instead of going home, had scampered off to a quiet place to wait till darkness came, so that she might undo her parcel and see what was inside it. She did not dare to undo it in the presence of the family in case the ‘nichts’ was something which none of them wanted.
Never had night seemed so long in coming. There had been a beautiful sunset, but though it had faded, a few gleams of gold still lingered in the sky. Surely it was dark enough now? The outlines of the trees had merged into the night; even the white wings of Mr Justice Owl were invisible, as he soared overhead with a melancholy ‘too-wit too-woe’.
Now!
Mrs Rabbit stretched out her paw and with trembling fingers she untied the ribbon. She rolled it up carefully and placed it on the grass beside her. Next she removed the brightly-coloured paper, folded it up, and sat on it to make sure that it did not blow away. And at last, holding her breath, very slowly, very gently, she lifted the lid and peered inside.
She could see nothing, even though her eyes were made to see in what we would call ‘darkness’.
Perhaps it was very small – perhaps it was a jewel, a diamond or ruby? She put her paw inside the box and felt round the edges. She could feel nothing. Round and round moved her paw; it could find nothing. She lifted the box and sniffed it; there was no smell but the smell of paper; she turned it upside down and listened; there was no sound of anything dropping out, not even the faintest whisper. The box was empty.
Heavy at heart, and trembling with worry and disappointment, Mrs Rabbit put down the box and stared into the darkness. Big tears came to her eyes, but she did not notice them; they fell unheeded over the coloured paper on which she was sitting. Far, far away in the distance the faintest gleam of light still lingered; it was like a single golden thread in a coverlet of deep black velvet; and as Mrs Rabbit watched it she told herself that this was the cause of all her trouble, this little thread of light. Sam had said ‘wait till complete darkness’; she had not waited, she had been too eager.
How could she face the family? As she thought of the family the tears flowed faster. They would all be waiting for her; Mr Rabbit would be running backwards and forwards to the front door, pushing out his nose and sniffing anxiously; and the children would be twitching their tails and asking when she was coming back with their presents. Presents! A piece of coloured paper and an empty box! It was too much to bear. Mrs Rabbit buried her face in her paws and sobbed out loud.
*
Now it so happened that Judy was walking home through the very field where Mrs Rabbit was sitting, and Judy had been trained to hear all the cries of animals in sorrow. She knew, for instance, that there are times when even dragonflies are depressed, when they feel that there is no point in flitting from flower to flower, and that the only thing to do is to sink on to a cool cabbage-leaf and cry.
So when Judy drew near to Mrs Rabbit, she naturally heard her crying, though most humans would have heard nothing at all, and she tiptoed across and whispered to her, very softly.
‘Mrs Rabbit, what is the matter?’
Instantly, Mrs Rabbit stopped crying. Her body stiffened, her ears snapped back flat on her head, her paws were rigid. This was a Human. And Humans had only one idea, to hunt and to kill.
‘Don’t be silly, Mrs Rabbit.’ Judy’s voice was very gentle. ‘It’s me. Judy.’
Mrs Rabbit breathed a long sigh of relief. She looked up and blinked through her tears.
‘I am so unhappy, Miss Judy.’
‘Tell me.’
So Mrs Rabbit told her all about going to the shop and buying the box from Sam.
‘But what did he say was in it?’ asked Judy.
‘Nichts.’
‘Nichts?’ Judy’s brow puckered. ‘But that is nothing.’
‘How can nichts be nothing?’
‘I mean, it is nothing in Germany.’
Mrs Rabbit sniffed. ‘It may be nothing in Germany, but I do not see why it should not be something here.’ She was feeling better now, and was inclined to be argumentative.
‘What I mean is …’ began Judy.
Mrs Rabbit interrupted her. ‘I might be nothing in Germany myself. In fact, I probably should be nothing … nobody at all. Most of my relations are in Australia.’
‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘there were other boxes that I might have bought. Boxes full of rien. I suppose you will say that is nothing too.’
‘Of course it is,’ said Judy. ‘It is nothing in France.’
Mrs Rabbit patted her paw nervously on the ground. She was beginning to feel impatient. ‘We do not seem to be getting very much further,’ she observed.
‘Wait a minute!’ There was a note of excitement in Judy’s voice. ‘I believe I’m beginning to understand. You see …’
However, Mrs Rabbit was still so nervous and upset that she did not listen. ‘All this talk about France and Germany … where does it get us?’ She took up the scrap of coloured paper, sniffed it, and threw it away again. ‘You say that nichts is nothing in Germany. But from what I have heard about that country, things that are nothing in Germany are often something in other countries. Even … even Scraps of Paper.’ She sniffed, very rapidly. ‘I read that in a history book.’
‘You are quite right. And you are a very clever rabbit.’ Judy put her hand gently on Mrs Rabbit’s paw. She felt the sympathy returning between them; the paw was soft and yielding, and answered to the pressure of her fingers. ‘But dear Mrs Rabbit, you must listen a minute. I have something very serious to tell you. And something very … very bad.’
Whereupon she proceeded to explain.
When Mrs Rabbit at last understood, and had learned the full extent of Sam’s wickedness, her first impulse was to rush violently through the wood, stamping her feet in the secret S O S which summons all the rabbits from their burrows in time of danger and crisis. But she soon realized that this would be a mistake. She would never have the courage to tell them what a fool she had been. Besides, what could they do? If Sam was so wicked that he would cheat animals, he might be so wicked that he would kill them too; he might even have a gun.
‘What can any of us do?’ she moaned.
Judy knew what she herself could do. Underneath her blouse she wore a silver locket. She was very fond of it, and it was the only piece of jewellery she had ever possessed. But Mrs Rabbit’s need was greater than her own, so with a little sigh, for she really was very fond of it, she unfastened it, and hung it round Mrs Rabbit’s neck.
‘Oh, I couldn’t take it,’ breathed Mrs Rabbit, staring in wonder at the locket.
‘Yes, you could,’ said Judy. ‘And you can say that it was what you found in the box. Look, we will actually put it in the box for a minute, and then you will not be telling a lie.’
‘But … but it’s so beautiful.’
And indeed, in the light of the rising moon, it sparkled like frost.
‘It is rather pretty,’ agreed Judy. ‘So you’d better hurry home with it at once before I change my mind.’
Mrs Rabbit jumped up and down, giving little furry kisses to Judy’s hand. Then with a final ‘Thank you – oh, thank you!’ she gathered up the box and the paper and ran into the night.
Judy watched Mrs Rabbit’s tail bobbing through the long grass till it was finally out of sight. Then she too turned for home.
But as she walked her heart was heavy, and she shook her head. ‘Something must be done,’ she said to herself. ‘Something must certainly be done.’
Chapter Four
THE STRUGGLE BEGINS
‘YES,’ AGREED MRS JUDY, on the following morning, when she had heard the whole story, ‘something must certainly be done.’
It was nearly twelve o’clock, and not a single animal had come near The Shop Under the Willow Tree. Not that they were not still very fond of Mrs Judy, but Sam had been so clever with his advertisements and his smart talk that they all thought that they could buy much better things at The Shop in the Ford.
Besides, Mrs Rabbit had been so proud of her beautiful locket that she had been scampering through the wood ever since breakfast, showing it to all the other animals, who thought it was a wonderful bargain. And so Judy’s kind action had only served to injure Judy herself. Which is often the way of kind actions, though that should not prevent us from performing as many of them as we can.
‘We shall be ruined,’ sighed Mrs Judy.
Judy smiled bravely. ‘No, we shall think of something. Perhaps Sam is right when he says we are not modern.’
Mrs Judy snorted. ‘Modern! Of course we’re not modern. What’s the point of being modern? What’s better in the world today than it was yesterday?’
Judy could think of no answer.
‘Well,’ said Judy, changing the subject, ‘what we have to do is to persuade the animals to buy more.’
‘Buy more what?’
‘More anything. And I really think we ought to go all round the shop now, at this very minute, and see if there isn’t anything we can improve.’
*
‘Let’s begin with the Nest Department,’ suggested Judy.
The Nest Department lay under the shelter of a very old and twisted branch of the Tree that had fallen to the ground so many years ago that most of the bark was crumbling to pieces. The nests were arranged in neat piles, and each pile was labelled. Like this:
Nests. Top bough
Nests. Middle and lower boughs
Nests. Hedge
Nests. Eaves
Nests. Cuckoo-proof and Cat-burglar-proof
Nests. Ground floor
There was also a little catalogue hanging on a twig, with a label on the cover, bearing the words, ‘Nests, sites for …’
Judy had taken a great deal of trouble over these nests, and at first they had been a great success, because she had been able to supply the demand of almost any bird in the wood. Judy had only to go to the pile, find the right nest, and then turn to the catalogue to see what branches were ‘to let’. The index of the catalogue began with Acacias (white) and ended with Willows (weeping), and in a few moments she had found what was wanted.
But now, Judy was bound to admit, the nests did look rather dilapidated. She had been so busy in other departments that she had not had time to attend to them, and many of them were falling to pieces.
‘No self-respecting bird would buy any of these,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘Lots of them have holes in the floor so that the eggs would fall out.’
‘Oh dear! So they have!’ Judy picked one of them and turned it over in her hands. Then she had an idea. ‘Supposing I made some beautiful new ones, with a partition down the middle? Then we could put in a lovely advertisement: “Ultra-Modern Two-roomed Nests. Exclusive.”’
‘With central heating, I suppose,’ sniffed Mrs Judy sarcastically.
‘I don’t think we could quite run to that,’ replied Judy. ‘But I do think the two-roomed idea is a good one.’
Mrs Judy shook her head. ‘It’s downright pampering.’
‘But Grannie, we must move with the times.’
‘Very well. Have it your own way.’
*
Their next visit was to the Novelty Department, which was really Judy’s favourite. As they walked through it, she became so interested, and had so many new ideas, that for a time she forgot her troubles. She even forgot the wickedness of Sam.
There were all sorts of shelves and niches and pigeonholes, containing the strangest and most exciting objects, all at the most reasonable prices. For instance, if you had been looking over Judy’s shoulder, on that sunny morning, the first thing you would have noticed would have been a tiny hole labelled:
PORCUPINES – NEW QUILLS
And if you had pushed your finger into the hole, you would have pulled it out again very quickly, for it was stuffed full of the sharpest quills you can imagine. Mrs Porcupine used to say that she only wished she could meet a human when she was wearing them; she’d teach him a lesson!
Judy paused in front of a row of pale blue bottles labelled:
GARGLE FOR NIGHTINGALES
‘We haven’t sold much of this lately,’ she said, ‘although the nightingales have been giving concerts every evening. Do you think it’s too expensive?’
‘Can’t make it a penny cheaper,’ retorted Mrs Judy. ‘It takes ages to make. First I have to get a water lily and pour in an acornful of apple juice. Then I have to add thirty drops of liquid honey and the juice of nine nasturtium seeds. Then I have to collect three dew-drops off the petals of a yellow rose and drop them in, one by one, stirring it all the time with a corn-stalk. That takes time, I can tell you, apart from all the poetry I have to say.’