CHAPTER III.

BAD COMPANIONS.

THE beaver that Binney met in the woods did not look at all like Binney's friends in the village. His fur was ragged and dirty, and full of burrs and straws, as though it had not been combed in a long time. His eyes were partly closed, as if he were fast asleep, and he lounged along in a careless, lazy way, very different from the active, busy pace of the beavers in the town.

"Hollo, young one!" cried he, as he caught sight of Binney. "Who are you, and what are you about here?"

Binney was not used to being addressed in this rude way, for beavers are usually very polite to each other, and at first he did not know what to reply.

"Can't you speak?" said the newcomer. "Do you live in the town, hey?"

"Yes," said Binney, finding his voice at last; "I was sent out here for some birch twigs."

The stranger began to laugh in a very rude way. "O, sent for twigs, were you! If I were a smart young fellow like you, I would be above being sent here and there, and working like a slave for all the town. I would take to the woods; and live by myself, and for myself! That's what I would do."

"But my mother says the wood-beavers often go cold and hungry, and that no decent beaver would speak to them," said Binney.

"What's that you say?" said the stranger, turning fiercely upon Binney. "Do you know, young one, I have a great mind to bite your head off? How dare you come here and be saucy to me?"

Binney was much alarmed, for the stranger looked very big and savage.

"Please, sir, I did not mean to be saucy," he said, humbly. "I did not know that you were a wood-beaver."

"You are a fool!" said the wood-beaver roughly. "The wood-beavers are much better off than such poor sneaks as you. I would not go into their town—no, not to have the whole of it. But you dare not say your life is your own, you are so afraid of your ma-a!", and he drawled out the word, and laughed in a very disagreeable manner.

Binney felt very much vexed, and so he ought to have been; but it was not in the right way. Instead of being angry at the wood-beaver for speaking so disrespectfully of his kind friends, he was vexed to think he should be laughed at, and that the wood-beaver should suppose he was afraid to do wrong.

"I am not a slave either!" said he. "And I won't work unless I please."

"O yes, that is all well enough to say now," replied the wood-beaver; "but you dare not go over to the other stream with me, to save your life."

"How far is it?" asked Binney.

"O, not very far! Just beyond these woods, and across a meadow. There are plenty of lily roots there, and nice red raspberries besides; but they will never do you any good, because you are afraid to go after them."

"I am not at all afraid," said Binney. "I will go this minute, if you will only show me the way."

"Come along with me then," said the wood-beaver. "Now you show some spirit. I should not wonder if you turned out a fine fellow after all."

Binney was just silly enough to be vastly pleased at being flattered by his companion, and they walked along together through the woods, talking as they went.

It was a long walk, and Binney was very tired before they reached the place; but he dared not say so, for fear the wood-beaver should laugh at him. At last, however, they reached the meadow, where they were joined by several other wood-beavers, as ragged, dirty, and ill-bred as his guide, who stared at Binney in a very rude manner, saying "Hollo! What young one is this dressed up so very fine?"

"It is one of the town-beavers," said Binney's friend; "he wanted to see a little of life, so I brought him along."

"Yes, to be a spy upon us, and then run home and tell tales," said a very large and rough looking fellow. "Better bite his head off, and stop his tattling once for all."

"You shall do no such thing," said Binney's friend. "We were all town-beavers once, and he is as good as the rest. Never mind, Binney, he shall not hurt you; you shall live with us, and learn to be free and bold as we are."

Binney did not like the prospects of living with the wood-beavers; but he thought they would be going home presently, and then he could slip away and run home to the village. I am sorry to say he began to think what sort of a story he should tell to excuse himself to his father, for like most idlers, he had already learned to make false excuses. But he made a sad mistake, as you will see by and by.