Freddy and the Flying Saucer Plans (20 page)

So they set out, up the slope from the barnyard, and leaving the Big Woods on the left, on toward Otesaraga Lake. At the top of the hill overlooking the next valley they turned and looked back. Nothing could be seen of the farm, but from out of the blackness where it lay, a little speck of light marked where Uncle Ben was working away in the loft over the stable.

They turned and rode slowly down into the valley. And as they rode, Freddy slung his guitar around and after a preliminary twangle, struck into the song that they had sung on the road to Florida, so many years ago.

“
Oh, the sailor may sing of his tall, swift ships,

Of sailing the deep blue sea
,

But the long, long road where adventure waits

Is the better life for me.

Not the broad highroad that runs dead straight,

With never a loop nor bend
,

But the narrow road, the gypsy road—

The road that has no end.

The road of adventure's the gypsy road,

Where ghosts and goblins lurk
,

Where rounding a curve you may see tall towers,

Or a sign saying “Dwarves at Work.
”

Each one would sing a verse, while the others hummed an accompaniment. Sometimes it was a brand new verse, composed on the spur of the moment, or if the singer couldn't think of anything, he repeated a verse from the old song, which by now had nearly a hundred verses. Then they would join in on the chorus, which went like this:

“
Oh, the winding road is long, is long,

But never too long for me
.

And we'll cheer each mile with a song, a song,

A song as we ramble along, along,

So fearless and gay and free.
”

Cy was the only one who didn't sing. He had tried a few times, but the other animals always asked him to stop. Most horses are poor singers. It isn't so much that they can't carry a tune, as that they carry it off into a tuneless screeching where nobody could follow them, even if he wanted to. That left only Jinx, Bill, and Freddy.

Their voices blended pleasantly, but on the second chorus, Freddy thought he heard a fourth voice, softly singing a very capable, deep bass. He listened carefully. It was not Jinx, whose high wailing tenor was easy to distinguish. Nor was it Bill, whose baritone was true, but a good deal like a bleat. He glanced at Cy, but the horse's mouth was closed.

The bass accompaniment grew louder. It was a fine, true tone, and gave some unexpected, but very pleasing twists to the harmony. Then suddenly Freddy looked around. And there was Samuel Jackson, his head sticking out of the saddlebag, his mouth wide open as he reached for a deep one. “Well, for goodness' sake!” said Freddy.

He nodded encouragingly at Samuel. “Your verse,” he said.

And Samuel sang:

“
Or a fleet of saucers from far-off Mars

Coasting in for a landing
,

Or a group of animals from the farm

With Frederick Bean commanding.
”

The others all turned and stared at the mole, and it wasn't until he had started the second line that they resumed their humming accompaniment. Then they stood still, all facing Samuel, as they sang the chorus.

Then they began congratulating him. “Hey,” said Jinx, “why didn't you tell us you could sing like that?”

“You must have had a lot of lessons,” said Bill.

“All moles can sing,” said Samuel. “And I did tell you. I say I did tell you. When I asked if I could go on the trip, I said I had a lot of songs and stories. But you never asked me any more about them.”

The animals looked a little embarrassed, and after a minute Freddy said: “You see, Samuel, we don't know much about moles. We hardly ever see one. Did you know moles could sing, Jinx?”

“Didn't know anything about them,” said the cat.

“Trouble with you barnyard animals,” said Samuel, “you don't know much of anything about what goes on outside your own little circle. Cows and pigs and dogs and horses and chickens and goats—you just got a tight little club here, and folks that ain't in it, you just don't know that they exist. Take us moles singing. When we aren't hunting, about all we do is get together and sing. There isn't anything else to do underground in the evening. Our eyes aren't very good, and so we don't care to go sight-seeing. We've been singing here for a hundred years or more, and I bet you there isn't an animal on this farm that even knows we're here.”

“I don't see how you can blame us for that,” said Bill. “If we don't see you and we don't hear you, how could we know?”

“Maybe you're right,” said Samuel. “But after I told you—well, you didn't seem very anxious to have me go along on this trip. You just think because you never knew a mole before, that he won't be good company.”

“Look, Samuel,” said Freddy, “if we really hadn't wanted you, we wouldn't have let you come. We're glad to have you with us. And, I'll admit, we're doubly glad when we know you have such a fine voice, because we like to sing, too. Is that right, animals?”

“Sure,” they said. “Sure.” And they all went up and shook hands with Samuel and congratulated him.

“O.K.,” said Freddy. “Now let's get going. And have another song. How about “Down By the Old Mill Stream”? Got a good bass for that, Samuel?”

“Try me,” said the mole.

So Freddy started. “Down by the—” And the others came in: “—old mill stre-e-eam. Where I first met you-u-u—”

Samuel's bass was magnificent. “Golly,” Freddy thought, “we've got a full quartet now. We can give concerts and probably pay all the expenses of the trip.” He turned and looked at Jinx with raised eyebrows (of course they were the painted gypsy ones that hadn't been scrubbed off yet). And Jinx winked and nodded, and raised clasped forepaws above his head and shook them.

And so they went on, singing song after song, up around the east end of Otesaraga Lake. It got to be two o'clock, and three. Lights went on in lonely farmhouse windows, and heads were poked out, wondering where the lovely music was coming from. Deer and rabbits and woodchucks raised their heads to listen, and even porcupines, who are not a musical race, grunted appreciation.

But at last Freddy said he guessed they'd better get a little sleep. So they found a sheltered spot in a fence corner, and then they sang “Good Night, Ladies.” And when they'd all lain down and squirmed around until they were comfortable, Samuel sang a lullaby. He sang very softly, and by the time he reached the end of the second verse the others were sound asleep. So Samuel curled up in the saddlebag and closed his eyes and smiled happily. “Now,” he thought, “I'm one of the gang.”

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1957 by Walter R. Brooks

ISBN: 978-1-4976-9231-2

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