BrownieBeaveralmostwishedhehadn’tspentsomuchtimewaitingforGrandaddytotellhimtotiedownhishousesoitwouldn’tbecarriedawaybythebigwindonthefollowingday. Withnorope—oranythingelse—totiethehousewith,BrowniecouldnotseethatGrandaddy’sadvicewasofanyusetohim. Anyhow,hewasgladhehaddoneasTiredTimhadsuggestedanddugahouseinthebank,wherehecouldhideuntilthestormpassed. Buthefeltsadatthethoughtoflosinghiscomfortablehome. AndsincehecouldhardlybeartolookatitandimaginehowdreadfulitwouldbetohaveitblownoverthetopofBlueMountainintoPleasantValley,Browniewentforastrollthroughthewoodstotrytoforgethistrouble. Hefoundhimselfatlastinaclearing,whereloggershadbeenatwork.Theyhadchoppeddownmanytrees.AndthesightmadeBrownieBeaverangry. “Thisisanoutrage!”hecriedaloud. “I’dliketoknowwhohasbeenstealingourtrees. Isupposeit’sFarmerGreen;fortheysayhe’salwaysuptosuchtricks.”Hetookagoodlookaround. Andthenheturnedtogobacktothevillageandtellwhathehaddiscovered. Justasheturnedhetrippedonsomething.Andsomethingclinkedbeneathhisfeet.Itdidn’tsoundlikeastone.SoBrownieBeaverlookeddowntoseewhatwasthere. Now,inhisangerhehadquiteforgottenthegreatstorm.Butashesawwhathadtrippedhimheremembereditagain.Buthewasnolongerworried. “Hurrah!”Browniecried.“Here’sjustwhatIneed!” Andthenhehurriedbackhomeagain—butnottotellaboutthetreesthathadbeenstolen. Hehastenedhometochaindownhishouseandsaveitfromthegreatwind. ForBrownieBeaverhadfoundachain,whichtheloggershadusedtohaulthelogsoutofthewoods,andhadforgotten. ItwasalmostdarkwhenBrowniereachedhishouseinthevillageinthepond.Hewasneveraverygoodwalker. Anddraggingthatheavychainbehindhimthroughtheforestonlymadehimslowerthanever. Sometimesthechaincaughtonabushandtrippedhim. ButBrowniewassopleasedwithhisfindthatheonlylaughedwheneverhefell,forhewasnothurt. Thewholevillagegatheredroundhishousetowatchhimwhilehetiedthechainonitandanchoredtheendsofthechaintothebottomofthepondwithabigstone. “Whydoyoudothat?”peopleasked. “He’safraidofthecyclonetomorrow,”TiredTimpipedup,withoutwaitingforBrownietoanswer. “Youknow,oldGrandaddyBeaversaysthatthere’sgoingtobeagreatwind. Thisyoungfeller—”saidTim—“he’salreadydugahouseinthebanknearmine—ha!ha!HethinksGrandaddyknows. ButIsaythatGrandaddyBeaverisa—afine,noble,oldgentleman,”TiredTimstammered. Hehadhappenedtoglancearoundwhilehewastalking;andtohissurprisetherewasGrandaddyfloatinginthewaterclosebehindhim. “Hecertainlyis,”everybodyagreed.“Butwehopehe’smistakenaboutthegreatwind.” WhenTuesdaycame—whichwastheverynextday—BrownieBeavercreptintohistunnelinthebankatsunrise.Andhenevercameoutsideagainuntilthesunhadset. Whenhesawthathishousewasstillthere,inthemiddleofthepond,heshoutedwithjoy. “Hurrah!”hecried.“Thechainsavedmyhouse!” Thenhenoticedthatalltheotherhouseswerestillthere,too.“How’sthis?” heaskedTiredTim,whostoodonthebankbesidehim.“Didmychainsavethewholevillage?” TiredTimgrinned—forhewasnottoolazytodothat. “Therewasn’tanycyclone,”hesaid.“Therewasn’tabreathofwindallday.AndoldGrandaddyBeaverissoupsetthathe’sgonetobedandwon’ttalkwithanybody.” 
