"I know there isn't," spoke Johnnie, "but then, you see, on account of there being none yesterday, when Professor Rat had the toothache in his spectacles, I thought maybe he'd make us come this morning."
"I didn't hear the bell ring, so I'm sure there's no school," said Toodle. "And if it's just the same to you, Billie and Johnnie, I wish you wouldn't speak about yesterday. I want to forget all about how Noodle and I rolled the big stones down the mud slide and broke the dam, making a lot of trouble for Grandpa Whackum."
"All right, we won't speak any more about it," said Johnnie, pleasantly. "But I'll tell you why I'm so glad there's no school today. It's because Billie and I are going after chestnuts."
"Chestnuts!" exclaimed Toodle, the beaver boy, looking at his tail to be sure there were no stickery bramble briars on it. "Where are they?"
"Oh, they grow on a tree like hickory nuts," said Johnnie, "only they come all wrapped up in a big burr, with sharp points on, and we have to wait for the frost to open the burr before we can get the nuts out."
"And when we do get them! Oh, yum-yum!" cried Billie. "How good they are—even better than ice cream!"
"Oh, now I know what you mean," said Toodle. "I have seen chestnuts, but I always thought they came roasted, and grew on a wagon that an Italian gentleman pushed around the street, on two wheels. So chestnuts grow on trees, eh?"
"To be sure," said Billie, "and if you like you may come with Johnnie and me when we gather some today."
"I'd just love to!" cried Toodle and he felt so happy that he tried to stand up on the end of his tail. But it was too broad and flat, and, though it was, as are all beavers' tails, good to sit on, like a stool, Toodle could not stand upon its end.
So, the consequence was, Toodle fell over backward, but his coat of fur (getting ready for winter) was so thick that he never felt his tumble any more than if he had landed in a feather bed, or in a basket of soap bubbles, which are as soft as anything I know of.