"I can say all I need to," Timothy Turtle grunted. "And I know that if I dropped your paw you'd run off."

"Hurry, then!" Fatty Coon begged him piteously. "Hurry and tell me what you have to say. And please talk fast!"

Timothy Turtle almost smiled.

"Am I hurting you?" he inquired.

"Yes, you are!" cried Fatty Coon.

"Good!" Mr. Turtle snorted. "I meant to, because I've a grudge against you."

Fatty Coon couldn't think what he meant.

"I've never done a thing to you," he declared.

"Perhaps not!" Timothy Turtle admitted.p. 14

"But you stole Mrs. Turtle's eggs—twenty-seven of them—and you can't deny it."

Now, it was true—what Timothy Turtle said. Hidden among the reeds one day, Fatty Coon had watched Mrs. Turtle bury her eggs in the sand, to hatch. And when she had gone he had crept out from his hiding-place, dug up her precious, round, white treasures, and eaten them, every one.

Well, Fatty Coon dropped his head in front of Mr. Turtle. He was somewhat ashamed, and frightened, too. And he did not like to look into Timothy Turtle's blinking eyes. "How did you know?" he asked Mr. Turtle.

"Mrs. Turtle told me," said Timothy, shifting his hold slightly, for a better one.

"How did the old lady know who took her eggs?" Fatty persisted.p. 15

"Mr. Crow saw everything that happened—and don't you call my wife an old lady!" Timothy Turtle spluttered.

"Very well! She's a young one, of course," Fatty said hastily. "But I don't know how I've harmed you."

"You don't, eh?" Timothy Turtle snarled. "Then I'll explain. I meant to have those eggs myself, young man!"