Knjigice
Fairy tale · Animal stories
The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin
How a cheeky little squirrel teased the old owl
Also in: Zgodba o veverčku Orešku (Slovenian) · Rozprávka o veveričiakovi Orieškovi (Slovak)
By a great lake stood a wood full of squirrels. In the middle of the lake lay an island with the finest hazel trees for miles around — and there, in a hollow oak, lived a big brown owl whom everyone called Old Brown. When autumn painted the leaves, the squirrels declared: "Nut time!" The youngest of them all was Nutkin — a little squirrel with the bushiest tail and the naughtiest eyes in the whole wood.
1
The squirrels wove little rafts out of twigs, spread their bushy tails like sails, and the morning wind carried them across the misty lake. In front paddled Nutkin's brother Twinkleberry, serious and hard-working; right at the back came Nutkin, splashing his paw in the water and singing at the top of his voice. "Do hold on to the raft," sighed Twinkleberry. But Nutkin only laughed.
2
On the island the squirrels bowed low and presented Old Brown with three fat mice. "Please, may we gather nuts on your island?" Old Brown opened one eye, shut it again — and gave his leave. Only Nutkin did not bow. He skipped about in front of the owl, shouting: "A little wee man in a red red coat, he hides a wee stone in his throat — riddle me that!" Old Brown said nothing at all.
3
All day the squirrels filled their bags with nuts and carried them to the rafts. Only Nutkin gathered nothing at all. He hunted for oak-galls, set them up like skittles and knocked them down with a fat acorn. That evening Twinkleberry shook his head: "Your tummy will rumble all winter, you'll see." But Nutkin was already fast asleep, curled up in his bushy tail.
4
On the second day the squirrels brought the owl a fat mole and politely asked leave again. But Nutkin picked a bunch of nettles, tickled Old Brown's beak and sang: "A green little thing by the path does grow — stroke it once and it stings you so!" Old Brown did not stir. He only shut his eyes a little tighter — like someone slowly counting to a hundred.
5
On the third day the squirrels brought seven silver minnows. Old Brown ate them up to the very last and nodded once more. This time Nutkin danced right in front of his door: "No legs has he, yet fast he flees; who is it that bends all the trees?" The owl was silent. He was silent so loudly that a sensible squirrel would have hushed. Nutkin was not a sensible squirrel.
6
The days went by, and every evening the rafts grew heavier with nuts. "Tomorrow is the last day," said Twinkleberry. "Nutkin, I beg you, leave the old owl in peace." — "Whatever for?" laughed Nutkin. "He isn't even listening!" And that was just what vexed him most of all: he had made up the finest riddles in the world, and Old Brown had never so much as twitched.
7
On the last day the squirrels brought one final gift: a fresh white egg in a little nest of moss. And that day Nutkin was bolder than ever before. He spun round, hopped right up to the owl and shouted: "A little white house with no window, no door, and a golden treasure hid in its core!" And then — hop! — he jumped straight onto Old Brown's head.
8
And then — snap! Old Brown was quicker than thought. He seized Nutkin and carried him into his hollow oak. Nutkin pulled and tugged with all his might — and when at last he tore free, his beautiful bushy tail stayed behind in the owl's claws. Through a little round hole he slipped out: without his tail, but alive and whole.
9
The squirrels paddled home with their rafts full of nuts. Right at the back sat Nutkin — quieter than ever, with a little stub where his bushy tail used to be. Twinkleberry said not a word; he just passed him the biggest nut. The winter was long and snowy that year, but in the warm nest there were nuts enough for both brothers.
10
Nutkin still leaps about the trees to this day, only his tail is short — barely enough for one jump. And if on a woodland walk you ever meet a squirrel with a short little tail and very politely ask him a riddle, he will stamp his hind feet, throw a twig at you and scold: "Prrr! Prrr!" He doesn't care for riddles any more, you see.
11The End
