The Pond Part 15

"Children! Children! Your father is dead!"

The four looked at her in dismay, when she brought the news; the fifth stared vacantly and stupidly, as usual. The uproar continued, out in the pond. The six reed-warblers sat in a row on the edge and were at their wits' end what to do.

Then, gradually, it became quiet again.

The smoke of the powder lifted and the water calmed down. The men with the guns sat up above in the wood and ate their lunch; and the woman of the pond counted the money she had made.

"That was a terrible business," said the water-lily.

"My husband is dead," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler and sang a dirge that would have moved a stone.

"My respectful condolences, madam," said the eel and came up out of the mud. "But will you admit that I was right? Think how much care and sorrow one escapes by keeping out of all this domesticity. I don't know my wife, as I once had the honour of telling you; I have never seen her.

It wouldn't occur to me to shed a tear if anyone told me that she was dead."

"You horrid, heartless person!" said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "To talk like that to a widow with five children, all unprovided for, and one of them a cripple too!"

"Oh, those women!" said the eel and disappeared.

That evening, little Mrs. Reed-Warbler sat and thought things over.

"We must go," she said, "this very night. There's nothing else for us to do. If we fly and hop as well as we can and work hard and behave sensibly, we shall be all right."

"I can't keep up with you," said the crippled child.

"I was forgetting you," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

She looked at the poor child for a while. Then she shook her wings and took a quick resolve:

"No, you can't keep up with us," she said. "And we can't stay here and be ruined for your sake. If I leave you behind, you'll be eaten by a fox or a cat or those greedy ants. It would be a pity for you to be tortured, you poor little fellow. It's better that I should kill you myself and have done with it."

Then and there, she rushed at the youngster and pecked away at his head until he was dead:

"Now let's be off!" she said.

"Madam," said the eel, "you must not go without allowing me to say good-bye to you. You are a charming woman and you know how to adapt yourself to circ.u.mstances. You were incensed at the horrid robbers in the pond; and you yourself ate innocent flies from morning till night.

You loved poetry; but you ate the poor May-fly, though you promised her that she should be allowed to live her poetic life for an hour. You were furious with the spider who ate her mother, and with the cray-fish, who ate her children; and now, of your own accord you have pecked your sick child to death, so that you may go to Italy."

"Thank goodness, I sha'n't see you any more, you detestable, spiteful fellow!" said Mrs. Reed-Warbler. "But I may as well tell you that I killed my child for pity."

"And the spider ate her mother from hunger and the cray-fish her children from love," said the eel. "And I let mine s.h.i.+ft for themselves from common sense!"

"My dears," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler, "that eel was positively created to live in this horrible pond!"

Then they flew away.

"I don't think I shall stay here, for all that," said the eel. "I am longing for the sea."

He looked round warily, then crept up into the gra.s.s and wriggled and twisted quickly to the nearest ditch.

CHAPTER XII

The End

[Ill.u.s.tration]

November came and was no different from what it usually is.

The trees stood with bare branches. The leaves rustled over the earth or floated on the pond. The reeds were all cut down; the water-lily's leaves withered away, with stalks and all, while she, deep down at the bottom, slept her winter sleep and dreamt of her next white spring costume.

And down at the bottom lay all the frogs, buried deep in the mud, so that only their noses stuck out. It looked as though the pond were paved with frogs' noses. The plants in the water were as leafless as the plants on land. Hidden among the stalks and withered leaves, under the stones and in the mud lay animals sleeping, or eggs waiting for the spring to come and hatch them.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

All the birds had flown, except the chaffinch and a few others, who hopped about and managed as best they could. The flies were all gone and the dragon-flies and spiders and midges and b.u.t.terflies and all the rest. There were only a few grumpy fish left in the pond.

And the storm raged among the trees, till they cracked and creaked, and whipped the pond up into tall waves with foam on their crests.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"It is really horrid here in winter," said the woman of the pond, as she stuffed her windows with moss. "Such a howling in the chimney and a creaking and cracking in the wood and a roaring and rus.h.i.+ng in the pond!

I wish we had the glorious summer again. That is a happy time and peaceful time. Then it's pleasant living by the pond."

A poet, accompanied by seven ladies, walked on the path around the pond.

He wore a fur-lined coat and turned the collar over his ears; and the ladies were wrapped up so that nothing showed but the tips of their noses. For it was very cold.

"Ladies," said the poet, "when you look at that wild unsightly pond now, you have simply no idea how charming it can be in summer. Now, all these elements have been let loose. Waves rage against waves, the storm rushes round and the trees stand naked and disconsolate. It is a real picture of strife and sorrow and cruelty. But, ladies, come out here on a summer's day and you shall see a different sight. Then the reeds grow along the banks in all their elegance; water-lily and spear-wort float side by side upon the surface of the water and nod smilingly to each other with their white flowers. The midges hover in the air and the frogs croak and glad birds sing. Deep in the water swim beautiful fish disporting themselves gaily. The mussels in the mud dream of beautiful pearls, the cray-fish crawl slowly round and round and enjoy life and happiness. Ladies, you simply cannot imagine what a picture of peace and happiness the pond offers. It is, as it were, an abstract of all the wonderful harmonies of Nature, the sight of which consoles us poor mortals, who strive and wrangle from morn till dewy eve and envy and slander and persecute one another. Remember, ladies, to come out to the pond when summer is here. It braces a mortal for his bitter fight to see the peace and gladness in which G.o.d's lower creatures live ... those of His creatures which have not received our great intellectual gifts, but a purer and deeper happiness instead."

Thus spake the poet. And seven ladies listened respectfully to his words ... and n.o.body laid violent hands upon him.

THE END

BRISTOL: BURLEIGH LTD., AT THE BURLEIGH PRESS