OLD MOLE’S TOOTHACHE.
Old Mole and Goodwife Mole lived near Yellow Rock, on the edge of the clearing. They were a happy old couple, never discontented, never quarreling, save when the early summer came and Old Mole would forget his promise. Then Goodwife Mole would cry softly to herself, and wipe her eyes with the corner of her red flowered shawl, and Old Mole would stamp out of the house, raging that he had never made such a promise. But he had!
»Don’t I give you the best of food.« Goodwife cried. »Barley broth, rye rolls, seed cakes and what not? Some day you’ll be punished for eating the poor little innocents,« she wailed. »And you promised last time you never would again.«
Old Mole had the unhappy failing of being much too fond of baby rabbits and young nestlings. He just couldn’t resist them! After he had eaten them, he would cry and make a solemn promise to never do so again, but alas! he always broke it.
One summer night he sprang from his bed with a shriek of pain, and clutched his face. Between his yells, Goodwife Mole discovered he had a toothache. Poor fellow! First Goodwife ran with hot applications, then with cold; she put poultices outside and drops inside. Nothing seemed to help him in the least. Towards dawn, she tied his head up in a woolen muffler and brought him his pipe, and he quieted down a bit. After the first whiff of smoke, he began to talk, and Goodwife patiently settled herself for a long long listen.
»It’s queer about this toothache,« he said, »I dreamed about it before I woke up and had it. I dreamed I was over in the clearing, tied to that tall green pine tree. The moon was shining as calmly as the still eye of a fish, and the whole forest was quiet. But suddenly, I heard people talking to me, and I looked over the moonlit path and saw a great circle of the queerest things sitting beyond me! They were my teeth! My molars and incisors and eye teeth—they were all there holding court. The big molar was the judge, and he listened to the others complaining about me. Then he, too, added his bitter story, and they declared that I had caused them great pain when they were forced by me to crunch the tender bones. . .«
»Bones!« Goodwife Mole fairly shrieked it. »Bones! Oh, Mole, surely you haven’t been eating those poor little fledglings again.«
»Ow! Ow!« screamed Old Mole as he was about to answer »no« to her complaints. He flung his pipe across the doorsill and raced up and down the floor, his head rocking between his paws. Goodwife hurried with all the medicines in the house, and a drink of water as well, but nothing helped poor Mole.
»Ten thousand knives are drilling through my brain,« he screamed. »Oh, my teeth, my tooth, my teeth.«
At nine o’clock he went to see the dentist.
»This is really very strange,« he said. »There’s not a bad tooth in your head, sir. You must have been bad to your own teeth. Did you crunch anything not intended for Mole and molar teeth?«
Poor Old Mole! He confessed at last, telling Doctor Mole of the birds he had caught and the ones he intended getting, as well as the tiny bunnies down in the cornfield. The dentist listened carefully, looked very wise, and asked him just where those birds and rabbits lived. At last he said,
»My good friend, you must go home at once and go to bed. Yes, right to bed. No breakfast, mind, but for dinner you might have a little noodle soup and a handful of mushrooms. For supper, just a few early raspberries. Perhaps a stewed apple. But remember, no meat. NO MEAT.«
»Oh, I’ll eat whatever you say, Doctor, but must I stay in bed?« wailed poor Old Mole.
»Whatever you, do, don’t get OUT of bed,« said Doctor Mole sternly. »Stay there till to-morrow, then come over and see me again.«
As soon as the poor sick Old Mole disappeared beyond the pine tree, Doctor Mole chuckled to himself. At last he had learned where the nest was hidden in the clump of willows. At last he had learned where the young rabbits romped through the cornfield. He cared never a bit for his patient, but he did care for the fine feast he looked forward to having by himself. That is why he ordered Old Mole to bed. He wanted no interruptions in the marauding expeditions.
Early next morning, Old Mole went to see Doctor Mole, happy that his aches and pains had completely disappeared, and willing to pay whatever the dentist asked. When he entered the office, there sat Doctor Mole, his head bound in poultices and mufflers, his eyes red with pain, and his throat swollen and sore. He never looked at Old Mole, but kept groaning and moaning, »My tooth! My teeth! My tooth!«
Old Mole was amazed. Who ever heard of a doctor being sick! He tried to comfort him, and finally decided to give him the advice he had taken.
»My good friend,« he said, »you must go to bed at once. For dinner, eat sparingly of noodle soup; for supper, take a handful of raspberries, and end up the day with an apple. Remember, no meat, and when you get out of bed to-morrow, step over and see me.« He was so very serious that even the sick Doctor Mole smiled at him. Yet for all that, he took the advice.
The following morning, Doctor Mole felt so well he put on his best black coat, slipped a golden daisy in his buttonhole, and went across the clearing to Yellow Rock. Goodwife Mole was just serving dinner when he entered the neat little home, and Doctor Mole noted that the food was very plain. It smelled so good! That soup! Would he have a bowlful? Well, he hadn’t come for dinner, but perhaps. . . just a little. . . In a few seconds the three Moles were eating and laughing merrily, all pain forgotten.
»I see my advice worked,« ventured Old Mole. »What could have been the cause of your illness, I wonder?«
»Sounds like my good man’s,« said Goodwife Mole. »Of course he crunched too many little bones. Even in his sleep his dreams bothered him, reminding him of his broken promise.«
»Dream!« gasped the Doctor, »what dream?«
Old Mole recounted his dream of the teeth. Doctor Mole was silent a moment, then he said, »I, too, had a dream before I awoke with my toothache.
I was in the clearing tied to the same tree, but about me sat circle after circle of little rabbits, pestering, teasing, tormenting me. They told me what they thought of us moles, and in no gentle style either.«
»But I hardly understand,« questioned Goodwife. »Now Mole here ate two nestlings, and had a right to such a dream, but surely you, Doctor Mole, would never—« and she went no further. Doctor Mole looked down, and his fingers crumbled a bit of seed cake nervously into his raspberry pudding.
»It’s hard to admit it, but I ate the other two fledglings,« he said. »The little rabbits were too quick for me. All I could see of them were the little tails flicking away in the grasses. But I guess we Moles had better keep to fruit and grains, and let our neighbors and their children alone.«
No one spoke a minute, then Goodwife laughed. »Well, you cured each other by tricking each other, at least,« she said. »You, Doctor, ordered something to keep Old Mole out of the way. And you, good man, only prescribed that which had cured you, as you thought. But really those dreams did the real curing. That I know. How about another slice of apple tart, or will you try the noodle and mushroom soup first, Doctor Mole?«
