Faline cried impulsively, “You are right, of course. I have known it all along.”
“Of course you have.” Bambi nuzzled her affectionately. “Now let’s take another look at these new children of ours.”
Gurri returned with the two brothers. Faline understood the meaning of Bambi’s possessive “ours” and was happy, both for herself and for her adopted sons.
“So,” Bambi said to them, “you have been adopted by Faline. I am afraid there is nothing for it, then, except for me to adopt you too. Do you call her Mother?”
“Yes, sir,” murmured Nello.
“Then you’ll have to call me Father whether you like it or not. You see, I nearly always do what your mother wants me to.”
“Oh, sir . . .” stammered Membo.
“Oh, what?” Bambi demanded with assumed fierceness.
“Oh . . .” Poor Membo could hardly get the word out. “Oh—F-father . . . !”
“That’s it. It’s a very easy word.”
“But what a deal it means when it is said to Bambi,” said Nello proudly.
“A very pretty speech, my boy. Now, I want all three of you to come with me.”
Without a word Geno and the brothers followed him to a stout, low-branching shrub.
“Now, strip the covering from your antlers,” he ordered Geno.
Clumsily Geno tried to obey, but his efforts were without much success. Patiently, Bambi taught him. Finally, Geno found the right way.
“There,” Bambi exclaimed when the tiny horns shone clean as a fox’s tooth, “we make progress. Now, Nello and Membo, when your crowns have grown as big as Geno’s is now, act in the same way. Do not keep your antlers covered a moment longer than you need to.
“Your growing antlers,” Bambi continued, “are proof of your intimate place in the forest, for of all the things that live and grow only the trees and the deer shed their foliage each year and replace it more strongly, more magnificently, in the spring. Each year the trees grow larger and put on more leaves. And so you too increase in size and wear a larger, stronger crown.”
“It is so,” marveled Geno.
“Remember it,” Bambi counseled them. “Be glad that you, and you only, are allied to the mighty oak and the spreading maple. Now I must go. I welcome you, Membo and Nello, to our family. Let us all strive to be worthy of each other. Goodbye.”
They watched him dart through the sunshine and the shadow, his great muscles rippling, his antlers proud and gleaming.
“He is wonderful!” Nello murmured at last.
“Of course he is,” Geno said with pride, “and we are his sons.”
Aglow with their new maturity they returned to Faline and Gurri.
The oriole glittered as he flew from tree to tree crying his everlasting praise:
“I’m so happy!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
RESTLESSNESS BEGAN TO STIR IN Geno like those hidden currents of a stream which, unseen though they may be, still bear insistently toward their goal.
He began to leave his mother’s side, to undertake long explorations either in company with Nello and his brother, or, more often, alone.
He drew great excitement from these solitary wanderings, seeming to discover each tree and bush and plant, each herb and blade of grass, anew.
He visited his friends, discussing the affairs and events of the forest, feeling that now he played a real and personal part in them.
He made new friends, introducing himself to other roe-deer, young bucks generally more mature than he who, nevertheless, because he was the son of Bambi, treated him with much respect.
The nests built with so much labor when spring was new were now occupied by nesting birds. Geno visited these also, observing their habits, their troubles and their joys.
He saw the cock pheasants hustle their hens from their nests when twilight fell, urging them to take some exercise and get some food. He listened to the hens during their span of freedom as they gossiped together of their hopes and fears.
When the marauding crows and magpies came to rob the nests, he suffered with the hens who strove to drive them off. Yet even while he condemned the cruelty of these invaders, he could not help but admire the dexterity and cunning with which their forays were conducted.
He spoke of this to the screech-owl when he discovered him sitting sleepily on a branch. The screech-owl shrugged.
“The best line of defense,” he muttered, “is attack. That is the first law of strategy.”
“Perhaps so,” admitted Geno, “but if the mother birds spent their time attacking, who would hatch out their broods?”
“I have no idea,” said the screech-owl and promptly lapsed into slumber.
Geno turned away just as Lana emerged from behind a near-by bramble. Without thinking he greeted her.
She stopped at once.
“I thought you weren’t speaking to us,” she said.
Confronted with a direct accusation, Geno felt rather foolish.
“I?” he said, “I didn’t think I had very much to do with it.”
“Oh, I suppose you want to blame it all on Boso!”
Geno remembered Bambi’s words of counsel. “No. Oh no, I don’t want to blame anyone.”
“Then why do you behave like such a boor?”
“Do you think me discourteous?”
“I don’t think of you at all!” Lana lifted her head very high and stared at Geno hard and haughtily.
It was impossible for Geno to think of any retort to this bald statement, so he just stared back at her. If she hadn’t such a bad temper, he thought, she would be quite good-looking. Her new red coat was sleek and smooth.
“Where are you going?” she demanded when she thought the silence had lasted long enough.
“Nowhere. I’m just wandering around.”
“You do waste your time, don’t you?”
“How can you waste time? You have only so much to use, and no matter what you do, it still passes.”
“Why don’t you come to see us?”
“I thought I wouldn’t be welcome.”
“I sometimes think males shouldn’t think. They need all their heads for growing antlers.” She stopped. “Yours are quite long, aren’t they?”
Her voice was suddenly so soft that Geno was startled.
“Long enough, I guess,” he muttered.
“How is Gurri?”
“Very well.”
“You have some new brothers, too.”
“Yes.”
“I saw them. They are very handsome.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“But not,” again that softness invaded her voice, “not so handsome as you, Geno.”
Geno felt his chest expand. “I’m glad you think so, Lana.”
“I sometimes think you’re the handsomest one in the forest.”
“Lana!”
“Except of course for Boso,” she concluded in a dreamy voice.
“Boso!” His voice flamed with scorn. “Why let me tell you . . .”
“Tell her what?”
Geno spun around. Unheard, Boso had advanced and now stood to one side of him. The young bucks faced each other.
“Tell her—what?” repeated Boso.
“Nothing,” said Geno.
“Very well. Then we’ll fight.”
“Fight? What for?”
“Because I don’t like your looks. That’s reason enough.”
Boso lowered his head and pawed the ground with his front hoof.
Geno said, “But I don’t want to fight.”
“I’m coming!” roared Boso, and charged.
Geno spun on his hind hoofs and fled. The screech-owl wakened.
“He who fights and runs away,” he said, “may live to fight another day.”
“Coward!” Boso yelled after the flying Geno.
Lana said furiously, “Leave him alone, will you! You’re just a bully.”
The screech-owl intoned, “Happy is the ma
n whose cause is just, but happier he who gets his blow in fust!”
“That’s an awful rhyme,” stormed Lana.
“I didn’t make it up,” replied the screech-owl, and closed his eyes again.
Back in the clearing, Geno told his mother and Gurri what had happened.
“But, Geno,” Gurri remonstrated, “why did you run away? You’re not a coward, are you?”
“I don’t know why I ran away. All I know is I didn’t want to fight Boso.”
“Was it Boso you didn’t want to fight, or was it Lana’s brother?” queried Faline softly.
“I can’t see any difference,” Geno muttered.
All the same, he spent considerable time asking himself why he had run away. Could it be that he was a coward? It seemed terrible to imagine that the son of Bambi could be anything but brave.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
FROM THEN ON, BOSO TRIED to throw himself in Geno’s path. His instinct was to increase the advantage he had gained over Geno, either by defeating him in battle or by causing him to seek refuge again in flight.
He had not bargained on meeting his adversary in the company of his two newly acquired brothers, but when this happened he decided not to back down until he had exchanged a satisfactory number of insults with them. He was by this time so convinced of Geno’s cowardice and of his own outstanding courage that nothing could daunt him.
Membo was the first to see Boso moving through the undergrowth toward them.
“G-geno,” he cried, his stammering made worse by excitement, “B-boso is c-coming.”
Geno stopped dead.
“Oh,” he said uncertainly.
“Don’t worry,” Nello urged him. “We are with you.”
“I’m not worrying,” asserted Geno.
Boso came within hailing distance.
“So,” he said tauntingly, “you brought a few friends along today, eh? Well, do you think the three of you can stand still and take what’s coming to you?”
“S-s-see h-h-h-,” began Membo; but before he could get the words out, Geno said mildly:
“Boso, I don’t want to fight you.”
“Oh, you don’t. Well, I have a different idea.”
“Geno,” Nello whispered, “I’m afraid there’s no way out. You’ll have to teach this fellow a lesson.”
Geno stared down at the ground.
“No,” he said stubbornly, “I don’t want to fight.”
With that determined statement, he turned and trotted away. Membo and Nello watched his retreat with astonishment.
“Huh!” Boso sneered. “Maybe I’d better send the hare to do my fighting. It seems I’m too big for your friend.”
“You’re not too big for me,” Nello quietly advised him, “and you’d better be careful.”
“It’s easy for you to talk,” Boso said. “There are two of you. Anyhow, I’ve no quarrel with either of you. My quarrel is with Geno. If he’s too cowardly to fight, that’s all there is to it.”
In fairness, Nello could find nothing wrong with this argument. He signaled to Membo and the two of them walked forlornly after Geno.
That evening Geno was aware of the distrust in the hearts of all about him. Even Faline was subdued. The roe-deer were still sleeping at night, and Membo and Nello only waited for the females to go off to sleep before they demanded an explanation from their adopted brother.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” they argued. “You’re at least as big and as strong as Boso.”
“I’m sorry,” Geno said.
“But listen,” Nello, who usually said little, found speech rushing to him: “this has gone beyond the personal question of whether you will or will not fight Boso. Your reputation throughout the forest is at stake. Perhaps . . .” he hesitated . . .“perhaps even Bambi’s!”
“What difference would a fight between Boso and me make to my father’s reputation?” queried Geno scornfully.
“It might be quite important. None of us can afford to take the risk of damaging it.”
Gurri said softly, “I’m sure Geno will work his problem out.”
The brothers were surprised to hear Gurri’s voice. They had believed her asleep. Geno said nothing, but he was grateful for her intervention.
Next morning he got up early, but not earlier than Gurri.
“I’d like to walk with you today,” she said.
“By all means.”
“Where are you going?”
“Oh, just around. Nowhere in particular.”
“That’s what I feel like. A lazy day.”
“Let’s go, then.”
They drifted slowly along, admiring the foliage of the trees, the flowers that bloomed on the sunny side of grassy banks. Geno told his sister what his father had said about the likeness that existed between the trees and the deer.
“What a splendid idea!” Gurri said enthusiastically.
“I thought so,” Geno concurred. “I wish we could see more of Father.”
“You will, soon,” Gurri assured him.
They came to the meadow and the pool. Metal-colored dragon-flies shuttled back and forth, or spread their shimmering wings in rest upon a broad dock leaf. Frogs sprang from the banks as they passed, diving into the water and swimming vigorously below the surface until they reached the other side. Both Geno and Gurri drank of the water before they continued on their way.
They watched a nest of ants purposeful about their business, and stood quietly while a spider spun its intricate, deceiving web.
They poked black noses into bushes where nesting birds sat quietly on their eggs: thrushes, tomtits, sparrows, robins, all concerned with the intimate cares of preparing for the baby birds.
Once Geno glanced up into a half-dead elm. Two huge black birds sat on a broken bough. He had a sudden feeling that he knew them. He was right.
One of them said, “It’s young never-say-die.”
“So it is. He looks well, doesn’t he?”
“How do you do?” said Geno. “This is my sister.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said the second crow.
“You look well, too,” Geno told them.
“I should think so,” the first one said. “Would you like to know what we’ve eaten since yesterday?”
Gurri shuddered. “No thank you.”
“Just as you say. But talking of food reminds me. I know where there’s a nice little snack to be picked up.” He whispered hoarsely to his companion. The two of them flapped off their supporting bough. “Goodbye. We’ll see you again, perhaps!”
“Birds and He are alike in some ways,” Gurri murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“They seem to be capable of so much harm and so much good. I wish I could understand why He both feeds us and kills us. I think I should then have the answer to a lot of things that puzzle me.”
Without noticing where they were going, they had wandered back to their clearing. Neither Faline nor the brothers were there. It lay peaceful and empty under the sun, seeming to stretch before their thoughtful eyes.
Gurri said abruptly: “There’s Perri. She seems to be in a terrible hurry.”
They watched the squirrel swing nimbly from tree to tree until she had arrived at her private branch on the oak.
“What’s the matter?” Gurri asked.
“There’s trouble on the way again,” she said excitedly. “I just heard the news. There’s a young fox in the district.”
“A young fox! Does the hare know?”
“I’ll give him the bad news as soon as I see him. Much worse from my point of view is the marten.”
“Is there a marten, too?”
“Yes. A big creature. If I could only understand what good martens are in the scheme of things!”
“I was just saying much the same thing about Him.”
“Well, Gurri, He kills martens sometimes. Really, when I come to think of it, I have little to grumble at in Him.”
“I never thought of that befo
re.” Gurri looked puzzled. “When you consider the matter, there are only a few of us who have to be frightened of Him.”
“Whereas martens do no good to anything.”
“I guess we’re getting to be too big for either the fox or the marten to do us much harm.”
“You’re lucky,” grumbled Perri. “If I were only as big as you, now, I’d give the marten what for—I give you my word.”
“You haven’t seen Lana or Boso around, I suppose,” Geno asked casually.
“Boso, no, but Lana was not so far from here a little while back. I saw her myself.”
“Thank you.” Geno was just turning away, when Perri called him closer.
“Listen, Geno,” she whispered hurriedly, “of course it’s none of my business, but if it’s Lana who is holding you back from whipping Boso, forget it. I’ve lived longer than you, my boy, and she won’t hold it against you for long.”
“There’s my father, too,” Geno objected. “He wanted me to make it up with Boso.”
“Well, I’ll tell you about that too. A fellow like Boso must have his fight before he can get around to thinking about making peace. And that’s another funny thing you’ll learn as you get older. You can’t just have a state of peace. You’ve got to have war first and then make peace.”
“I see,” said Geno. “Well, thank you for your advice. I think I’ll be getting along.”
At this moment there was a rustle behind the elder bush and a young buck ran up to them. He was older than Geno, if not fully mature. His name was Até, and Geno had met him during his lonely wanderings through the woodlands.
“Hello, Geno,” he said, “it’s nice to see you.”
Gurri, who had wandered away to give Perri a chance to talk in private with Geno, looked up. Até noticed her at once.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“That’s my sister. Gurri,” called Geno, “I’d like to have you meet Até, a friend of mine.”
Gurri came over and the two met.
“You are very lovely, Gurri,” Até murmured, his eyes flashing.
“Really?” Gurri replied coldly. “I’m glad you think so.
Até was not in the least abashed.