Birds and Beasts 7

Birds and Beasts 7

As if by the irony of fate, the window had been left wide open, and he

could plainly see the green of the nearest trees, in which the birds,

his more fortunate brethren, were squabbling. He saw the sun slowly sink

and the shadows of the house-roofs lengthen. Then a frenzy of madness

seized him; with quick, frantic pecks he tore at the chain riveted round

his leg, and by sheer fury burst its rings.

 

To dart to the window, to sail away for the paling blue of the sky, was

the work of an instant; but next minute he fell to earth again, so weak

was he with hunger. Luckily, not far from the foot of the tree where he

had dropped, a flock of pigeons was enjoying a feast of oats at the door

of a stable. He joined the band, and in a very short while had plumped

his crop to such good purpose that he felt his full strength come back

to him.

 

A long time had passed since he had quitted his bonny bride, and he

trembled to think what changes the days might have brought with them in

her life. Still the longing to see her again grew so irresistible after

he had been free an hour that, even if she had forgotten him, he was

fain to bid her farewell.

 

And pr-r-r-rt! he was off like the wind.

 

All the world was asleep when he arrived—even the tomtits, those

inveterate gossips, who love to loiter at their doors long after dark,

talking scandal of their neighbours.

 

“Little bride! little bride!” he breathed softly.

 

A yellowhammer answered him in a cross voice—

 

“Third tree to the left in the next orchard!”

 

Why, actually the goldfinches had removed! He hurried to the tree

indicated, and once again, “Little bride!” he whispered.

 

A faint cry answered, and next moment his sweetheart appeared.

 

“I was waiting for you,” she cried.

 

Ah! these were happy moments that made up for all their sufferings. He

told her all his adventures; she told him how her faith in him had never

faltered. They woke the parents, who warmly welcomed the returned

prodigal.

 

“Just think,” said the mother, “those odious chaffinches positively

forced us to leave the neighbourhood. Life was become unbearable;

morning, noon, and night it was nothing but insulting remarks. But now

you are come back again! So these spiteful folks will be finely

confounded.”

 

Another old hen-goldfinch was there, who was gazing at him with wet eyes

and wings all a-tremble.

 

“Ah!” cried our hero, “why, it is mamma, my poor mother I had forgotten

so long!”

 

Yes, it was his mother indeed: his little bride, after his

disappearance, had never wearied till she found her, telling herself

that, with her for company, there would be two of them to wait for his

return.

 

Their happiness was complete.

 

Two days after, but soberly this time, without drum or trumpet, the

wedding was solemnised.

 

The story has its moral, as every story should. It was the goldfinch’s

father-in-law who undertook to draw it for his young friend’s benefit.

 

“Son-in-law,” he said, “I hope you will teach your little ones two

lessons. The first is—never forget your mother; the second—beware of

traps in the hedgerows.”

 

[Illustration: STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A LITTLE WHITE RABBIT]

 

 

 

 

Strange Adventures of a Little White Rabbit

 

 

Four little rabbits had seen the light in a hutch snugly stuffed with

straw, where they lived cosy and warm by their mother’s side.

 

They were pretty, plump little things, all four as fat as butter, and

just as well-liking one as the other; but while three of them had white

bellies and dappled backs, one was white all over from head to foot, and

his mother was mighty proud of his beauty, you may be sure.

 

You could not have found so exquisite a rabbit, no, not for three

leagues round, and every day he grew handsomer and handsomer, like a

king’s son. Two great rubies glittered in his fine eyes, and his teeth

were just like the edge of a saw; yes, and he had a moustache—three

hairs, which made him, oh! so conceited.

 

Mother Rabbit loved them all tenderly; but she loved Jannot, her

firstborn, best of all.

 

To begin with, he was the eldest; then she had had more trouble to rear

him, and ill-health always draws a closer bond between mother and child;

besides, she was inordinately proud of his white coat, and dreamt he was

destined for greatness. What form would it take? This she could not

tell. Perhaps he would take first prize at a show—perhaps he would found

a breed of white rabbits like himself. She lavished every delicacy upon

her darling, and his prospective honours consoled her for the triviality

of everyday existence.

 

They would soon be two months old, and that is the age when young

bunnies are taken from their mothers. She dreaded the moment of parting;

Jannot would have to go with the rest.

 

In fact, all four were weaned by this time; they were beginning to gnaw

at carrots now, and would often try to get out through any gaps they

could find, for they longed to see the great world. The hutch had open

bars, and they could look out into a kitchen-garden with lettuce-beds,

and beyond that see a flock of ducks paddling about beside a brook.

There was an apple-tree to the right, with a cloud of sparrows always

squabbling round it. To the left an outhouse door gave a glimpse of cows

and horses, dimly outlined in the gloom of the interior. There were

cats, too, stretching themselves in the sun or stalking sedately up and

down.

 

At peep of day the whole farmyard woke up; noon brought a momentary

silence; then, as the sun grew hotter, sparrows chirped, ducks quacked,

cows lowed, and the din went on uninterruptedly till dusk.

 

The little bunnies would fain have joined the other animals; they would

gaze wistfully at the birds flying high in the air, and the sight of the

cattle marching off cheerfully for the pastures gave them a craving for

the green fields.

 

How big the farmyard seemed, to be sure! and how amazed they were when

Mother Rabbit told them there were other places bigger still which they

could not see. She described the woods and ravines and burrows, for she

knew these well enough from hearsay; why, they could not have travelled

round the world in a whole day, so enormous it was! Squatted round their

mother, the youngsters listened to all this, and their hearts almost

failed them.

 

But not so Jannot; _his_ imagination was stimulated by what he heard.

 

“Ah!” he would cry, “will they never let me out, that I may have _my_

chance of seeing all these wonderful things?”

 

Then his mother was alarmed; but he would kiss her and promise he would

come back again directly, once he had seen the world. But she only shook

her head, and could not make up her mind to let him go.

 

“The world is full of cruel beasts; you will never, never escape its

dangers.”

 

“I have teeth and claws.”

 

“So have they, child; but their teeth are longer and their claws sharper

than yours. Restrain your eagerness; time enough yet to go forth into

the wide, wide world.”

 

He would shake his head impatiently and fall to gnawing at the woodwork

of the hutch; in fact his mind was full of guilty thoughts of escape. At

last, one fine morning, when his mother was tidying the litter, he made

a bolt for it.

 

Scarcely had he gone a hundred steps when he was arrested by a startling

sight. He beheld half-a-dozen hairy brown skins nailed up in a row. They

still retained the shape of the bodies they had once clothed, and little

trickles of blood ran down the wall where they hung. There was no

mistaking; they had belonged to rabbits like himself.

 

“Oh, dear!” he thought, “so they kill rabbits, do they?”

 

But this sinister sight was quickly forgotten in the variety of new

wonders he encountered. A pig was grunting on a dunghill, with a young

foal kicking at him and destroying his peace of mind, and a goat

gambolling near by; one after the other he saw a rat, a dog, a calf, and

a flock of pigeons that suddenly took wing.

 

They rose in the warm morning air, glittering in the sun, flying so high

he soon lost sight of them altogether. Looking down again, he noticed a

cat watching him, and remembered he had seen her in the garden, prowling

among the lettuces.

 

The width of the yard was between them, and he had a barn behind him.

The cat lay crouched on the kitchen steps; she never moved, but her eyes

were wide open and glittered cruelly. Then she got up slowly.

 

Jannot believed his last hour was come; he thought of his mother, and

shut his eyes. A furious barking made him open them again. The cat was

gone; with one bound Jannot sprang into a cart round which a bull-dog

was racing with his mouth wide open, and leapt from there into the barn.

 

Inside the straw was piled up mountains high, so close to the wall he

had some difficulty in forcing a passage; still, it was only betwixt the

wall and the straw he could hope to find a safe refuge. He durst not

come out again, and stayed there in hiding till nightfall.