File:The adventures of Peter Peterkin (1916) (14566208368).jpg

Identifier: adventuresofpete00bear (find matches)
Title: The adventures of Peter Peterkin
Year: 1916 (1910s)
Authors: Bear, Gilly Gabriel, Gilbert W
Subjects: Children's stories Whales
Publisher: New York : Sam'l Gabriel Sons & Co.
Contributing Library: New York Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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ods andfields and tumble from the hills in frothy white. The musicof our laughter was like the music of these brooks—neverslowing, never saddening. We were the happiest of all theFour Kingdoms. Then, one spring day, when the brooks were swollenand roaring with gladness, there came into our midst, fromI dont know where, a strange and toothless man. He wasa farmer, like ourselves, he told us—and he was forevermuttering low words between his empty gums. The toothless villain again! thought Peterkin. We gave him shelter for the night, continued the oldman with his writing. But long before the moon was up,he had stolen off to the fields where the brooks were whitein the darkness—up the steeps to where the waterfalls weresplashing into quiet pools with a cheery murmur. Hereached over the low banks, listening greedily to the music EARS TOO SHARP 89 of the water. He knelt, bent his face close to the gurglingeddies—and began to drink! We were all in bed by now and most of us asleep. It
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was so easy to fall asleep in those good days, with the mur-mur of the softly playing brooklets in our ears—not at alllike to-day, when night is a black stretch of silent terror.Suddenly, in every household, someone sat up straight 90 THE ADVENTURES OF PETERKIN in bed. In every household, someone had noticed that thesound of the water was growing fainter and fainter. Firstone brook and then another seemed to die down—as if itwere suddenly drying up! We rushed out into the village square, across the fields,up the hills. The moon came out and showed us, gleamingbare, the dry and empty beds of many of our beloved brooks.Yes, nothing but dry, pebbled ruts, where no stream trickledand no water sang. Where was the villain who had workedthis trick of tricks? We found him soon bending down at the edge of one ofthe last of our brooks. He was drinking, drinking, drink-ing. He was sucking the pearly water up, up into hispuffed cheeks. He struggled to his feet as we surroundedhim; he brushed

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