"I see you're afraid of the cyclone," he called. "But what you're doing won't help you any. The wind will blow away those sticks easily enough…. What you ought to do is to dig a house like mine in the bank. Then you won't have to worry about any cyclone."
So Brownie set to work and made him a house like Tired Tim's. On
Monday he had finished it. But he didn't like his new home at all.
"It's no better than a rat's hole," he said. "My family have never lived in such a place and I'm not used to it. I prefer my house that's built of sticks and mud. And I'm going to see if there isn't some way I can make it safe."
So Brownie went to Grandaddy Beaver again and asked him what he ought to do.
The old gentleman said he would try to think of a plan to save
Brownie's house.
"I wish you would hurry," Brownie urged him. "To-day is Monday; and tomorrow the cyclone will be here…. What are you going to do to your own house, Grandaddy?"
"My house——" said Grandaddy Beaver—"my house is very old. It has had mud and sticks piled upon it every season for over a hundred years. You can see for yourself that it's much bigger than yours. And I reckon it's strong enough to stay where it is, no matter how hard the wind blows. But your house is different…. Let me think a minute!" the old gentleman said.
Brownie waited in silence while the old gentleman thought, with his eyes shut tight. Brownie watched him for a long time. Once or twice he thought he heard something that sounded like a snore. But he knew it couldn't be that—it was only the thoughts trying to get inside Grandaddy's head.
At last Grandaddy sat up with a start.
"Have you thought of something?" Brownie inquired.