houldn't be pleasant." And then he would laugh--somewhat harshly--just
to show that he knew how.

There was a good deal of truth in what Mr. Crow said. Timothy Turtle was
grumpy. But it was not old age that made him so. He had been like that
all his life. There never was a time when he Wasn't snappish, when he
wouldn't rather bite a body than not.

And that was the reason why he had not more friends. To be sure, many
people knew him. But usually they took good care not to get too near
him.

For Timothy Turtle had a most unpleasant way of shooting out his long
neck from under his shell and seizing a person in his powerful jaws. In
spite of his great age he was quick as a flash. And one had to step
lively to escape him.

If Timothy had bitten you just for an instant, and then stopped, this
trick of his wouldn't have been so disagreeable. But he was not content
with a mere nip. When he had hold of you he never wanted to let you go.
And it was no joke getting away, once you found yourself caught by him.

As for Timothy Turtle, he never could understand why his neighbors
objected to this little trick of his. He always said that it was more
fun than almost anything else he could think of. And it is true that he
never seemed so happy as he did when he had caught some careless person
and was biting him without mercy.

"Anybody that wants to may bite _me,"_ Timothy used to declare. But
perhaps he never stopped to think that one might almost as well bite a
rock as his hard shell. And anybody might better chew a piece of leather
than try to take a mouthful out of his legs, or his neck, or his head.

So no one paid any heed to Timothy Turtle's kind offer. Even Peter Mink,
who was himself overfond of biting people, wisely let Mr. Turtle alone.

There is no doubt that it was the safer way.

II

AN OLD-TIMER

It was pleasant for Timothy Turtle that he lived in Black Creek, for he
was very fond of fishing. If he had happened to make his home among the
rocks on the top of Blue Mountain he would have had to travel a long way
to find even a trout stream. But in Black Creek there were fish right in
his dooryard, one may say.

It was lucky for him, too, that he liked fish to eat. And whenever he
wanted a change of food the creek was a good place in which to find a
frog, or perhaps a foolish duckling who had not learned to be careful.

It was no wonder that all the mother birds in the neighborhood used to
warn their c