Suddenly they saw Aunt Ena coming and rushed towards her. “Aunt Ena,” cried Bambi. He had seen her first. Faline was beside herself with joy and bounded around her. “Mother,” she cried. But Ena was weeping and nearly dead from exhaustion.
“Gobo is gone,” she cried. “I’ve looked for him. I went to the little place where he lay when he broke down in the snow … there was nothing there … he is gone … my poor little Gobo. …”
Old Nettla grumbled, “If you had looked for his tracks it would have been more sensible than crying,” she said.
“There weren’t any tracks,” said Aunt Ena. “But … His … tracks were there. He found Gobo.”
She was silent. Then Bambi asked despondently, “Aunt Ena, have you seen my mother?”
“No,” answered Aunt Ena gently.
Bambi never saw his mother again.
XI
At last the willows shed their catkins. Everything was turning green, but the young leaves on the trees and bushes were still tiny. Glowing with the soft, early morning light they looked fresh and smiling like children who have just awakened from sleep.
Bambi was standing in front of a hazel bush, beating his new antlers against the wood. It was very pleasant to do that. And an absolute necessity besides, since skin and hide still covered his splendid antlers. The skin had to come off, of course, and no sensible creature would ever wait until it split of its own accord. Bambi pounded his antlers till the skin split and long strips of it dangled about his ears. As he pounded on the hazel stems again and again, he felt how much stronger his antlers were than the wood. This feeling shot through him in a rush of power and pride. He beat more fiercely on the hazel bush and tore its bark into long pieces. The white body of the tree showed naked and quickly turned a rusty red in the open air. But Bambi paid no attention to that. He saw the bright wood of the tree flash under his strokes and it heartened him. A whole row of hazel bushes bore traces of his work.
“Well, you are nearly grown now,” said a cheerful voice close by.
Bambi tossed his head and looked around him. There sat the squirrel observing him in a friendly way. From overhead came a short, shrill laugh, “Ha! Ha!”
Bambi and the squirrel were both half frightened. But the woodpecker who was clinging to an oak trunk called down, “Excuse me, but I always have to laugh when I see you deer acting like that.”
“What is there to laugh at?” asked Bambi politely.
“O!” said the woodpecker, “you go at things in such a wrongheaded way. In the first place, you ought to try big trees, for you can’t get anything out of those little wisps of hazel stalks.”
“What should I get out of them?” Bambi asked.
“Bugs,” said the woodpecker with a laugh. “Bugs and grubs. Look, do like this.” He drummed on the oak trunk, tack! tack! tack! tack!
The squirrel rushed up and scolded him. “What are you talking about?” he said. “The Prince isn’t looking for bugs and grubs.”
“Why not?” said the woodpecker in high glee. “They taste fine.” He bit a bug in half, swallowed it and began drumming again.
“You don’t understand,” the squirrel went on scolding. “A noble lord like that has far other, far higher aims. You’re only casting reflection on yourself by such talk.”
“It’s all the same to me,” answered the woodpecker. “A fig for higher aims,” he cried cheerfully and fluttered away. The squirrel bustled down again.
“Don’t you remember me?” he said putting on a pleased expression.
“Very well,” answered Bambi in a friendly way. “Do you live up there?” he asked pointing to the oak.
The squirrel looked at him good-humoredly.
“You’re mixing me up with my grandmother,” he said. “I knew you were mixing me up with her. My grandmother used to live up there when you were just a baby, Prince Bambi. She often told me about you. The ferret killed her long ago, last winter, you may remember it.”
“Yes,” Bambi nodded. “I’ve heard about it.”
“Well, afterwards my father settled here,” the squirrel went on. He sat erect and held both forepaws politely over his white chest. “But maybe you’ve got me mixed up with my father, too. Did you know my father?”
“I’m sorry,” Bambi replied. “But I never had that pleasure.”
“I thought so,” the squirrel exclaimed satisfied. “Father was so surly and so shy. He had nothing to do with anybody.”
“Where is he now?” Bambi inquired.
“O,” said the squirrel, “the owl caught him a month ago. Yes. … And now I’m living up there myself. I’m quite content, since I was born up there.”
Bambi turned to go.
“Wait,” cried the squirrel quickly, “I didn’t mean to talk about all that. I wanted to say something quite different.”
Bambi stopped. “What is it?” he asked patiently.
“Yes,” said the squirrel, “what is it?” He thought a little while and then gave a quick skip and sat erect, balancing with his splendid tail. He looked at Bambi. “Right you are,” he chattered on. “Now I know what it was. I wanted to say that your antlers are almost grown now, and that you are going to be a remarkably handsome person.”
“Do you really think so?” said Bambi joyfully.
“Remarkably handsome,” cried the squirrel, and pressed his forepaws rapturously against his white chest. “So tall, so stately and with such long bright prongs to your antlers. You don’t often see the like.”
“Really?” Bambi asked. He was so delighted that he immediately began to beat the hazel stems again. He tore off long ribbons of bark.
All the while the squirrel kept on talking. “I must say that very few have antlers like those at your age. It doesn’t seem possible. I saw you several times from a distance last summer, and I can hardly believe that you’re the same creature, you were such a thin little shaver then.”
Bambi suddenly grew silent. “Goodbye,” he said
