CHAPTER IV

ANOTHER VISIT TO THE HERMIT

Little Metacomet liked to look into nature; his small mind probably did not know that the hidden force and wisdom of the universe was there. Blackstone, the hermit, studied nature in this broad way; he studied animals to discover the human nature in them.

As often as Little Metacomet went to timid Susan with one of his surprises, she took him and Roger over to Study Hill to see the hermit.

"He knows near upon everything," she would say. "There are few things in heaven and earth that he don't know; we must go over and ask him."

So the three would wander along the flowery ways of the green groves of Swansea toward Pawtucket Falls where the hermit lived.

Little Metacomet brought to Susan, one day, a fat woodchuck almost as big as himself. The lazy animal struggled to get away, but the boy held it fast.

[Illustration: LITTLE METACOMET BROUGHT A FAT WOODCHUCK ALMOST AS BIG AS HIMSELF.]

He put it down on the split wood of the house, shut the door, and said:

"He fats himself for winter, and he lives on his own fat all the winter long. Why do not _we_ do so?"

Timid Susan could not answer.

"The ground squirrel lays up two winters' stores of food," said the little prince. "He no fats himself. The woodchuck he is lean and hungry in the spring; the ground squirrel he is no lean and hungry. He come out of the ground all chipper, chipper. Why does the woodchuck fat himself, and sleep, and the ground squirrel and crow lay up food for themselves?"

Timid Susan lifted her hands, and rolled her eyes.

"The Lord only knows," she said, "except Mr. Blaxton. We will have to go to Study Hill, and ask the hermit all about these things. I will put on my slat sunbonnet, and we will go."

They went, and timid Susan propounded to the hermit these simple questions.

"You know everything," said she, "you and the Lord. I am a poor, simple creature, and I couldn't tell anyone how it is I think, and how I know my own thoughts, nor even how it is that I raise my hand to my head. How is it that you lift your hand to your head, Mr. Blaxton?"

The hermit lifted his hand to his head and said nothing.

"Wonderful, wonderful," said timid Susan, "now I know."

She then put to him the questions of Little Metacomet: why did the woodchuck fat himself for the winter and the crow make cribs in the trees, and the ground squirrel cellars under ground?

There was a blank look on the hermit's face.

"Come with me," he said.

He took them out to the stream which now bears his name. Some badgers were building a dam there. They were felling a tree, sawing it with their teeth in such a way that it would fall upon the half built dam.

"Do you see," said he, "that they are sawing more on this side of the tree than that, so that it will fall this way across the river? What taught them to do that? If you will answer me, I will answer you."

"Nature," said the little prince.

"No, it is the wisdom unseen in nature," said the hermit. "The spirit of the Eternal."

"But what makes the ground squirrel make cellars?"

"I can answer that," said timid Susan. "The ground squirrel is all hands--his feet are little hands--and he's just like some of the rest of us--he is _afore_-handed."

She lifted her hands, and counted four. The hermit dropped his head and laughed, as also did Roger; but Metacomet stood puzzled. He could not comprehend the _four_.

Having learned so much about nature, timid Susan and Roger returned to the green groves of Swansea, and Little Metacomet to Sowams where were bearded oaks and wild roses by the bright waterways.

* * * * *

The woodman, Mr. Barley, often came home from the forests worn with work.

"Susan," he would say, putting down his ax by his couch of hides, "the wood-choppers do say that war is coming."

"Never you mind," said Susan, "I have the heart of the little prince. If the war-whoop comes it will pass us by. Philip is true to his own."

There is a beautiful pond near Taunton called Winnecunett. This was one of King Philip's country resorts. Its borders are rocks, like an ancient ruin, but one interested in Indian lore ought to visit it, for it shows the love that King Philip had for what was lovely in nature. The wild geese flocked there. There grew the wild honeysuckle. There, the pond lilies. King Philip had poetry in his nature, or he would not have so loved the castle-like pond.

Roger took his mother to this beautiful pond one day. It was summer time.

"The king, if he loves such places as these," said she, "will not harm you and me, Roger. He has a better heart."