He was further annoyed by the jay bird which followed him persistently. It flew from tree to tree
and scolded, warning every rabbit within hearing that either a cat or a fox was coming up the plantation.
Once when it flew screaming over his head — Mr. Tod snapped at it, and barked.
He approached his house very carefully, with a large rusty key. He sniffed and his
whiskers bristled. The house was locked up, but Mr. Tod had his doubts whether it was empty. He turned the
rusty key in the lock; the rabbits below could hear it. Mr. Tod opened the door cautiously and went
in.
The sight that met Mr. Tod’s eyes in Mr. Tod’s kitchen made Mr. Tod furious. There was
Mr. Tod’s chair, and Mr. Tod’s pie-dish, and his knife and fork and mustard and salt-cellar and his
tablecloth that he had left folded up in the dresser — all set out for supper (or breakfast) — without doubt
for that odious Tommy Brock.
There was a smell of fresh earth and dirty badger, which fortunately overpowered all
smell of rabbit.
But what absorbed Mr. Tod’s attention was a noise — a deep slow regular snoring
grunting noise, coming from his own bed.
He peeped through the hinges of the half-open bedroom door. Then he turned and came
out of the house in a hurry. His whiskers bristled and his coat-collar stood on end with rage.
For the next twenty minutes Mr. Tod kept creeping cautiously into the house, and
retreating hurriedly out again. By degrees he ventured further in — right into the bedroom. When he was
outside the house, he scratched up the earth with fury. But when he was inside — he did not like the look of
Tommy Brock’s teeth.
He was lying on his back with his mouth open, grinning from ear to ear. He snored
peacefully and regularly; but one eye was not perfectly shut.
Mr. Tod came in and out of the bedroom. Twice he brought in his walking-stick, and
once he brought in the coal-scuttle. But he thought better of it, and took them away.
When he came back after removing the coal-scuttle, Tommy Brock was lying a little more
sideways; but he seemed even sounder asleep. He was an incurably indolent person; he was not in the least
afraid of Mr. Tod; he was simply too lazy and comfortable to move.
Mr. Tod came back yet again into the bedroom with a clothes line. He stood a minute
watching Tommy Brock and listening attentively to the snores.
1 comment