The Wishing-Stone Stories

by Thornton W. Burgess

On one side of one of these little ponds was the house, a great house of sticks bound together with mud and turf, the house in which Tommy lived with others of his family. It was quite the finest beaver-house in all that region. But Tommy didn’t think anything about that. It was summer now, the season of play, of having a good time without thought of work. It was the season of visiting and of exploration. In company with some of his relatives he made long journeys up and down the brook, and even across to other brooks on some of which were other beaver colonies and on some of which were no signs that beavers ever had worked there.

But when summer began to wane, Tommy found that life was not all a lazy holiday and that he was expected to work. The home settlement was rather crowded. There was danger that the food supply would not be sufficient for so many hungry beavers.

So it was decided to establish a new settlement on one of the brooks which they had visited in their summer journey, and Tommy was one of a little company which, under the leadership of a wise old beaver, started forth on a still night to found the new colony. He led the way straight to one of the brooks on the banks of which grew many aspen trees, for you must know that the favorite food of beavers is the bark of aspens and poplars. It was very clear that this wise old leader had taken note during the summer of those trees and of the brook itself, for the very night of their arrival he chose a certain place in the brook and announced that there they would build their dam.

“[Isn’t it a great deal of work to build a dam?]” asked Tommy, who knew nothing about dam-building, the dam at his old home having been built long before his time.

“[ISN’T IT A GREAT DEAL OF WORK TO BUILD A DAM?]”

“It is. Yes, indeed, it certainly is,” replied an old beaver. “You’ll find it so before we get this dam built.”

“Then what’s the use of building it?” asked Tommy. “I don’t see the use of a dam here anyway. There are places where the banks are steep enough and the water deep enough for splendid holes in which to live. Then all we’ve got to do is to go cut a tree when we are hungry. I’m sure I, for one, would much rather swim around and have a good time.”

The other looked at him out of eyes that twinkled, and yet in a way to make Tommy feel uncomfortable. “You are young,” said he, “and the prattle of young tongues is heedless. What would you do for food in winter when the brook is frozen? The young think only of to-day and the good times of to-day, and forget to prepare for the future. When you have learned to work, you will find that there is in life no pleasure so great as the pleasure of work well done. Now suppose you let us see what those teeth of yours are good for, and help cut these alders and haul them over to the place where the dam is to be.”

Tommy had no reply ready, and so he set to work cutting young alders and willows as the rest were doing. These were floated or dragged down to the place chosen for the dam, where the water was very shallow, and were laid side by side with the big ends pointing up stream. Turf, and stones, and mud were piled on the brushy ends to keep them in place. So the foundations of the dam were laid from bank to bank. Then more poles were laid on top and more turf and mud. Short sticks were wedged in between and helped to hold the long sticks in place. Tommy grew tired of working, but no one else stopped and he was ashamed to.