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  Peter acted as General Superintendent and chief trouble shooter, and occasionally as messenger to the pantry to order more refreshments. When it was time for the guests to depart he sat on the Admiral’s shoulder while they all sang, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”

  A grand time was had by all – except Mrs. Pepperell. Spending a long evening with five ill-assorted, uncongenial and impatient wives had been quite a strain and not at all her idea of a good time. It is not to be wondered at that she was a trifle irritated with the workshop and its attractions, but her irritations never lasted long.

  So the months and then the years went happily by, while Peter continued to grow slowly but steadily smaller. This change was so slow and everyone was so used to it that it all seemed perfectly natural and not at all strange to anyone, even when he had become only ten or twelve inches tall. It was only occasionally when Mrs. Pepperell saw a snapshot of Peter when he was his largest that she realized how small he had actually grown. At these times she sometimes sighed slightly, thinking what a handsome Colonel or General he might have made. Then she would realize that after all he might only have been a Major and then she would be happy again.

  CHAPTER 3

  You’re in the Army Now

  It was about this time that Peter began getting well acquainted with the small animals. Living in the country as they did there had always been many squirrels, rabbits, woodchucks and skunks around the place. Also, though not so numerous, a few foxes, raccoons, opossums and deer. Peter liked all these animals and had always tried to make friends with them, but when he was a large and rather clumsy boy they had been afraid of him. However, as he became smaller and smaller they gradually lost their shyness. Now that he was their own size, in fact smaller than many, they became his closest friends and playmates.

  This was most fortunate, for Peter was now far too small to play with other boys, and while his life could not be called at all a lonesome one, still there were some pretty long afternoons. Mornings, of course, were occupied by lessons with Barbara; evenings, Saturdays, Sundays and holidays were mostly spent in the workshop with Mr. Pepperell. The afternoons were the only times that were apt to be at all boring. Now all this was changed and the afternoons became almost the happiest and most exciting part of the day.

  His special pal was Buck, a big, powerful, rangy rabbit. It was Buck who suggested that Peter ought to take up riding. Mr. Pepperell obligingly manufactured a small Western saddle, complete in every detail. He also made a small pair of cowboy chaps to protect Peter’s legs from brush and briars. They were of lovely soft leather and had the monogram P.P.P. III worked in silver wire. No bridle, of course, was necessary; Peter merely guided Buck by pulling the tips of his ears. Besides, Buck went pretty much as he pleased anyway.

  Of course it took some time and many falls before Peter learned to ride really well, but soon he developed into a perfect centaur. No jump, no matter how high or how long, disturbed his balance in the least.

  Every afternoon, directly after lunch, Buck was waiting out by the terrace. Quickly Peter would saddle up and then they were off. They had glorious rides all over the countryside. It was a pretty sight to see, for usually they were accompanied by a half dozen of the younger rabbits and were sometimes joined by the fox or the red deer. Up and down hills, across fields and pastures the whole cavalcade would pound, soaring over walls and ditches, circling thickets, Peter’s bright neck-handkerchief streaming out behind, as he shrieked and shouted with glee.

  One day tragedy almost overtook them. They were returning home after a long run when they were suddenly set upon by a pair of screaming beagles. Ordinarily Buck could have easily outrun them, but in his present tired state and handicapped by Peter’s weight, things looked serious. The younger rabbits tried valiantly to distract the hounds, circling and crossing under their very noses, the fox even snapped and snarled at their flanks, but they refused to be diverted. They wanted Buck and he knew it.

  Peter, terrified, crouched low and tried to make himself as light as possible, but it was no use; the hounds gained steadily. Their gaping jaws and lolling tongues were now but a few feet from Buck’s laboring flanks.

  At this moment Peter realized that the deer was running most peculiarly, his head bent low, his small antlers threatening to interfere with Buck’s progress. He was about to shout a warning when the deer snorted, “Grab hold, grab hold.”

  Then Peter understood. The next time the bobbing antlers came close he rose in the saddle and threw both arms around one tine, at the same time kicking his feet free of the stirrups. For one awful moment it seemed that he would lose his grip, then he managed to swing his legs up and settle tightly into a crotch of the horn. The deer raised his head and set out across the field at a pace that left the yapping hounds far behind. Buck, his load lightened, put on extra speed and gained the shelter of a briar patch. The fox and the younger rabbits scattered in every direction.

  They all finally gathered at the terrace. Peter was exhausted from the scare, Buck’s sides still heaved and the saddle was all awry. One of the young rabbits had lost a large tuft of fur. Otherwise all were safe.

  Mr. Pepperell, when told, looked grave and forbade any further riding until he had taken steps. It happened to be a Friday so he could spend the whole week end in the workshop. On Monday he presented Peter with the result of his labors; two beautifully made little six-shooters, complete with ammunition, belts and holsters. The cartridges were only blanks, but in spite of their small size they made a very impressive bang.

  Peter was delighted and Buck couldn’t wait to see them put to use. “Come on,” he urged, directly after lunch, “let’s go get them blasted hounds.”

  They rode out to the place where the beagles lived and cavorted around until the hounds came bellowing forth. Buck lolloped around most tantalizingly, decoying them over to a hillside pasture where was waiting an enthusiastic audience of young rabbits, as well as the deer and the fox. Then his progress became even more leisurely. The hounds were practically on his heels when Peter, turning in the saddle in best Western style, blazed away directly into their faces with both six-shooters. The hounds slid to a stop, one of them turning two surprised somersaults. With tails between their legs they ran, shrieking, for home.

  While Buck and the young rabbits rolled on the ground in glee Peter fired another volley. Then they all returned home in triumph. They never saw the beagles again.

  Perhaps it was an inheritance from his mother’s Army family which started Peter on training his animal friends in military exercises. The first attempt was made with two miniature field guns, gladly loaned by Mr. Pepperell. Twelve chipmunks were broken to harness and, six to each gun, drew them with great dash. The gunners were field mice who were taught to sit rigidly upright on the caissons, arms folded on chests, while the guns rattled and bounced over the lawn. The gunners quickly learned to unlimber the guns, load, fire and limber up again with perfect speed and precision. They performed almost every evening for Mr. and Mrs. Pepperell and Barbara, as they had coffee on the terrace. To the army were soon added three supply wagons and two ambulances, all drawn by meadow mice and driven by stolid but very profane hoptoads.

  Peter’s crowning achievement, however, was the organization and training of the Mephitis Old Guards. With much care and considerable diplomacy he managed to select eight perfectly matched skunks from a great number of eager applicants. These were formed into a squad which was drilled and drilled until their perfection would have put a West Point drill team to shame. Napoleon watching the march-past of the Old Guard could never have felt his heart swell more proudly than did Peter as, mounted on Buck, he barked out his orders and watched their precise execution.

  It was pride of his men, rather than any personal vainglory, which led Peter to plan his GRAND MILITARY EXHIBITION AND DISPLAY. To make it more impressive he decided to keep it a military secret which, as it turned out, was a slight tactical error.

  Mr. and Mrs. Pepperell were plan
ning a large garden party and since many of the guests were to be military, Air Force and naval personages it seemed to offer a suitable occasion and a perfect setting.

  Peter worked out his plans with the greatest thoroughness and rehearsed his army strictly for many days. He had also organized an Air Force which, although perhaps not quite as well drilled as the ground forces, still could put on an impressive show. At one end of the lawn was a semicircle of evergreens making a stagelike area that was an ideal field for the maneuvers. Behind the screen of evergreens he persuaded Sam, the butler, to place an old phonograph on which was a record of the “Caisson Song.”

  The exact schedule for G. P. Day (Garden Party Day) was as follows: At X hour + 09 Peter would start the phonograph, mount Buck and take his place at the head of the Mephitis Old Guards, behind evergreens, at center. At X hour + 10, one shot from his six-shooter would be the signal for the two field guns to dash in from left and right, unlimber and fire a salute. Another shot would signal the grand entrance of the Mephitis Old Guards, center. They would be followed by the wagon train and two ambulances. After these had ranged themselves in the background the Mephitis Guards would perform their drill. When that was completed another salute from the guns would start the Aerial Review.

  Three squadrons of heavy bombers (crows) would swoop low over the field, escorted by Combat Groups A, B, C and F. Groups A and F were composed of swallows, B of nightjars and C of blue jays. After this the troops would form column and, headed by the Mephitis Guards, make a circuit of the lawn and exit, center.

  It was a lovely afternoon and the garden party was well attended. Three of Mrs. Pepperell’s Colonel and General brothers were present, Peter’s friend the Admiral was there, an Assistant Secretary of the Army and the Secretary for Air. There were a couple of Cabinet Members and a great many others, all, of course, with wives and many daughters. Sam and two or three dusky assistants passed trays of refreshments. Barbara and Mrs. Pepperell went graciously from group to group commenting on the beauty of the weather and their guests’ party frocks. Mr. Pepperell engaged in his usual argument with the General and wondered idly where Peter was.

  Peter was behind the evergreens, busied with last minute details and carefully listening to the rising tide of chatter. When it had reached a deafening pitch he decided that X hour had arrived. Glancing at his wrist watch he started the phonograph, leaped into the saddle and took his place at the head of the Guards. At exactly X hour + 10 he raised his six-shooter and fired the starting signal.

  The eager chipmunks sprang into their collars and, rattling and bouncing, the two tiny field guns dashed through the evergreens into the open, the gunners rigid as statues, arms folded on chests.

  At the sound of the music, followed by the shot, the conversation had died away. Now the audience watched in openmouthed astonishment as the two guns executed thrilling two-wheeled turns and skidded into position. The gunners leaped down and unlimbered, the teams trotted the caissons briskly to the rear. The section commander raised one paw, dropped it, and the two salutes rang out, so perfectly timed that they seemed one explosion.

  A dazed General slapped a Colonel on the shoulder. “By George,” he exclaimed, “old A Battery never could equal that, never!”

  Again Peter raised his six-shooter and fired a shot. He glanced around at the rigid ranks of his splendid Guards, swept his arm in a half circle and shouted “Forr-a-a-a-a-rd HARCH!”

  As they emerged from the arching evergreens it was indeed a thrilling moment. Buck sidled and caracoled to the stirring music like a spirited Arabian. Behind him came the rhythmic tramp and the perfectly aligned ranks of the Mephitis Old Guards, their brilliantly striped tails, proudly arched, tossing like plumed shakos.

  It was a thrilling moment for anyone who understood matters – unfortunately most of the guests did not understand. Sam took one look. His jaw dropped and his tray of glasses dropped – into the lap of the Admiral’s wife. He stepped hastily backward, into the lily pool. The Assistant Secretary for War, a dainty sandwich halfway in his mouth, remained in a state of suspended animation. One of the Cabinet Members, tripping over a chair, joined Sam in the lily pool. Tables overturned, glasses crashed, trays scattered their lovely contents to be trampled by the fleeing throng.

  Barbara, more quick-witted than most, sped over to Peter. “Oh, Peter darling,” she cried. “Sound the retreat, do sound the retreat!”

  Peter’s eyes flashed. “The Old Guard NEVER retreats!” he snapped. “By the right flank . . . HARCH!” Unperturbed by the general tumult the Guards continued their flawless drill.

  Barbara and the Pepperells rushed about, reassuring the milling guests. The Admiral in his best quarterdeck voice roared commands and orders and gradually the panic was somewhat quieted. Most of the guests returned, although timidly. The Assistant Secretary finally finished his sandwich. At the completion of the drill there was even a scattering of applause. Sam, a dripping lily draped around his neck, sheepishly began to gather up trays and glasses.

  Now Peter raised his right arm, dropped it, and again the field guns crashed out a simultaneous salute. It was the signal for the Aerial Review.

  Almost at once could be heard the rush of a multitude of wings, a great sound of cawing, chirping and cackling, and a moment later the first Bomber Squadron swept in over the surrounding trees. Their formation was perfect, but it was unfortunate that their training period had been so short.

  Their orders had been to swoop low over the field, but the squadron leader badly misjudged his distance and, followed obediently by the rest of the armada, swept entirely too low. Several party hats were dislodged from the heads of terrified ladies. Also, discipline among the fighter groups was lamentably bad. Many of the irresponsible young pilots took to dive bombing and stunting, especially the blue jays, who indulged in an indiscriminate looting of the scattered cakes and sandwiches.

  To make things worse the meadow mouse team of one of the supply wagons stampeded and despite the valiant efforts of the toad driver dashed madly among the quivering ankles of jittery guests. It was all too much for still shattered nerves; this time the panic was uncontrollable. Except for the Admiral, who stuck it out bravely, and the Cabinet Member, who was still in the house changing his wet clothes, the party was definitely over.

  But through all the confusion the Mephitis Old Guards had stood rigidly at attention. Not a head had turned, not a whisker quivered. The gunners too, and the battery teams, had been models of statuelike steadfastness. Peter was tremendously proud of them and told them so in a short speech before they were dismissed.

  Later Mrs. Pepperell told Peter a few things too, in a somewhat longer speech. However, she was so pleased over the tray of glasses in the lap of the Admiral’s wife ( whom she disliked intensely) and the Cabinet Member in the lily pool (whom Mr. Pepperell disliked even more) that her talk was not at all a severe one. In fact she ended by praising the handsome appearance and exemplary conduct of the Mephitis Old Guards.

  CHAPTER 4

  Gus

  When Peter was thirteen years old he had grown down to a height of about four inches, which made him an extremely small boy. Mr. Pepperell, however, was not at all upset, for he found him a wonderful help in the workshop. Peter’s tiny skillful hands could accomplish all sorts of delicate operations that were quite impossible for normal-sized fingers. When it came to rigging model ships he was invaluable and he was able to walk about among the tracks of the Pepperell Central Railroad making repairs and alterations that formerly were most difficult.

  It was about this time that he took up sailing, and it was through sailing that he met Gus, a fortunate meeting that was to have a great influence on his future, as well as the future of the whole world.

  One of Mr. Pepperell’s larger models was a reproduction of the America Cup defender Resolute. It was almost three feet on the waterline, making it an ideal sailboat for Peter. He trained a crew of field mice who soon became exceptionally smart and sure-footed sailo
rs. There was a small lake on the Pepperell property and here, when there was any sort of a breeze, Peter and his crew had splendid sailing.

  On this particular afternoon, a warm sunny June afternoon, the breeze had faded out completely, leaving the Resolute becalmed in the middle of the pond. Most of the crew were sleeping about the deck and Peter, at the wheel, drowsed now and then. Gradually he became aware that a large gray-backed sea gull had landed on the water and was paddling gently over to the boat.

  “Hi,” Peter hailed.

  “Howdy,” the gull responded, “Wouldn’t want a tow would you?”

  “I don’t think so, Peter said, “thanks just the same. We’ll probably get a breeze pretty soon and it’s sort of nice just sitting here.”

  “Sure is a swell day,” the gull agreed. The field mice, who regarded the huge visitor with some misgiving, had unobtrusively gone below. “Tell ’em they needn’t to worry,” the gull laughed. “I ain’t goin’ to bother them none. Fish is my meat, as they say.” His neck suddenly snapped out, there was a quick gulp, and the tail of a sizeable minnow slid down his throat. “Not much to these here fresh-water ones though.”

  “Do you live around here?” Peter asked.

  “Nope. Baltimore,” was the answer. “Down around the docks there is where I live mostly. Like to travel around though; see the world, as they say. That’s a neat rig you got there.”