The Wild Robot

CHAPTER 29 THE BEAVERS

Every day, the beavers swam along their dam, inspecting and repairing it. The wall of wood and mud allowed only a trickle of water to pass through, and it had turned a narrow stream into the wide pond that many animals now called home.

As Roz and Brightbill walked around the pond, they passed hundreds of chewed-up tree stumps, proof that the beavers needed a constant supply of wood. And this gave Roz an idea.

The robot swung her flattened hand, and the sounds of chopping wood echoed across the water. They were soon replaced by the sounds of footsteps and shaking leaves as the robot carefully walked along the beaver dam with a gosling on her shoulder and a freshly cut tree in her hands. The beavers floated beside their lodge and stared at the bizarre sight with open mouths until Mr. Beaver slapped his broad tail on the water, which meant “Stop right there!”

The robot stopped. “Hello, beavers, my name is Roz, and this is Brightbill. Please do not be frightened. I am not dangerous.” She held out the tree. “I have brought you a gift! I thought perhaps you could use this in your beautiful dam.”

“No, thanks,” said Mr. Beaver. “I have a strict policy never to accept gifts from monst—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” interrupted Mrs. Beaver. “We can’t let a perfectly good birch go to waste!”

“I’m afraid I must insist!” said Mr. Beaver.

Mrs. Beaver turned to her husband. “Remember how you asked me to point out when you’re being stubborn and rude? Well, you’re being stubborn and rude!” Then she turned back to Roz. “Thank you, monster. If you’d be so kind as to drop the tree in the water, we’ll take it from there.”

“I am not a monster.” Roz tossed the tree like a twig. “I am a robot.” The tree smacked against the water and sent the beavers bobbing up and down.

Just then, Brightbill started peeping. “Mama! Hungry!” So Roz dropped a ball of grass into the nest.

“The gosling thinks you’re his mother?” came a quiet voice. It was Paddler, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver’s son.

“His real mother is dead,” said Roz. “So I have adopted him.”

There was a brief silence. Then Paddler looked up at Roz and said, “You’re a very good robot to take care of Brightbill.”

Mr. Beaver sighed. “Yes, yes, that’s very good of you, Roz. But I don’t understand what any of this has to do with us.”

“My son and I need a home, and Loudwing said you would help us build one.”

“Of course she did,” Mr. Beaver muttered to himself. “Loudwing gets me out of one lousy jam, and I spend the rest of my days doing her favors.”

Mrs. Beaver glared at her husband.

“Sorry,” he said, realizing he was being stubborn and rude again. “Stay right there, Roz. We need to have a family meeting.”

The three beavers slipped under the water, and a moment later their muffled voices could be heard inside the lodge. The robot stood on the dam and patiently waited with her son.

“Mama! Mama!”

“Yes, Brightbill, I am trying to act like a good mother.”

A ripple, and Mr. Beaver’s head appeared above the water. “If you bring us four more trees—good, healthy ones—maybe I’ll have time to help you and the gosling.”

“That is wonderful!” said the robot. “We will be right back!”