Читать книгу The Sins of Silvertip the Fox онлайн

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“Yes, go call the doctor,” said the Red Cow.

You just ought to have seen Doctor Muskrat wake up when he heard Nibble squeal for him so excitedly. “I’m coming! I’m coming!” he called in his high, thin voice, and he flopped along through Nibble’s tunnel as fast as ever he could, for his webby paws aren’t meant for running.

“What is it?” he asked. And then he saw the little calf. And it sniffed its turned-up nose at him with a cunning pink tongue-tip showing. He walked all around it, inspecting it very carefully. It seemed strange to him, too, because baby muskrats are born as blind and helpless as baby rabbits.

“Is there anything the matter with it?” asked the Red Cow, anxiously.

“I think not,” he said, sensibly, “excepting that it’s pretty cold and shivery. You must lick it hard and get its blood to circulating.”

So she licked it and licked it. And her tongue was very strong and very gentle, because that’s one of the things all cows’ tongues are made for. And the baby calf grew livelier and livelier. And pretty soon it got up on its spindly legs, waving its little tail that was still too new to have a tassel on it. “Now what’ll I do?” asked the Red Cow.