Featherland Part 5

"Well," said Mrs Flutethroat, "I'm very glad he's a prisoner, for the nasty, great, cruel-looking thing must be ten times worse than Hookbeak, the hawk, and if it were let loose here we should all be killed.

Pink-tc.h.i.n.k-c.h.i.n.k," she cried in alarm; for just then the man, who was a falconer, took his bird's hood off, and shouted at the heron by the pond. The great flap-winged bird immediately took flight, and then, with a dash of its wings, away went the falcon, leaving Mrs Flutethroat s.h.i.+vering with fear.

Flip-flap, flap-flip-flop went the heron's wings over the water; flip and skim went the falcon's, and then away and away over the woods and fields went the two birds, circling round and round, and higher and higher; the falcon trying to get above the heron, so as to dart down upon him and break his wings; and the heron, knowing that as long as he kept up the falcon could not touch him, trying his best to keep the higher. At last the swift-winged bird darted upwards, and hovering for a moment over the poor heron, who cried out with fear, darted down with a rush, and went so close that he rustled through the quill feathers of the heron; and so swift was the dart he made, that he went down--down far enough before he could stop himself, and then when he looked up again, he saw that the heron had risen so high that there was no chance of catching him again; so off he flew, and perched in the cedar-tree at Greenlawn, where he sat cleaning and pruning his feathers, and sharpening his ugly hooked beak till it had such a point that it would have been a sad day for the poor bird who came in his clutches; while his master, who had lost sight of him, was wandering away far enough off, whistling to him to come back to his perch.

CHAPTER TEN.

FLAYEM, THE FALCON.

However, he was not left there long in peace, for the birds of Greenlawn did not like such visitors; and the first notice they had of the stranger was from Specklems, the starling, who flew up into the tree, and then out again as though a wasp had stuck in his ear.

"Chur-chair-chark," he shouted, flying round and round, spitting and sputtering, and making his head look like a hedgehog.

"Chur-chair-r-r-r," he cried, and very soon the whole of the birds in the neighbourhood were out to see what it all meant.

"Now then, what's the matter?" said the magpie, coming up all in a hurry. "Whose eggs are broken now? Anybody's little one tumbled out of the nest into Mrs Puss's mouth, for me to get the blame?"

"Look--look in the cedar," shouted the birds; and up in the cedar went the magpie with his long tail quivering with excitement, and down he came again with his tail trembling with fright.

"Why didn't you say who it was in the tree?" said the magpie. "Oh! my stars and garters, how out of breath I am. Going about in such a hurry always puts me in a tremble. Oh no! I'm not afraid, not the least bit in the world, it's being out of breath."

"Well, go up and drive the old hook-nosed thing away," said the blackbird; "he's no business here, and we _are_ all afraid; ain't we birds?"

"Yes! yes! scared to death," chorused all the birds.

"Come, up you go," said the blackbird; "there's a good fellow."

But the magpie stood on one leg and put a long black claw by the side of his beak in a very knowing manner, and then he said, with his head all on one side, "How do I know that he won't bite?"

"Why, we thought you said that you were not afraid," said the birds.

"Not the least in the world, gentlemen," said Mag; "but my wife's calling me, and I must go, or really I should only be too happy to oblige you. Another time you may depend upon me. Good-bye, gentlemen, _good-bye_."

And before the birds had time to speak again, the cowardly magpie gave three or four hops across the lawn, and then spread out his wings, and went off in a hurry--telling a story into the bargain, for his wife might have called for a week, and he could not have heard so far-off.

But Maggy was dreadfully afraid, and, like many people in the world, he was ashamed to show it, and so made a very lame-legged excuse, and ran away.

"Ha-ha-ha," said the birds, "why, that's worse than being afraid and showing it. Why, he's ever so much bigger than we are, and has claws sharp enough for anything. Why, he pinched one of old mother Muddle-dab's ducklings to death with his great black nails."

"Well, what's to be done now?" said Specklems, "I'm not going to have him in my tree, and I won't either. I've a good mind to run at him with my sharp bill and stick it into him; and I would, too, if I was sure he wouldn't hurt me. Wouf!" said the starling, fiercely, and making a poke at nothing; "wouf! couldn't I give it him!" And then he stuck his little pointed feathers up again, and stood on the tips of his toes with a look as fierce as a half-picked chicken.

"Of course, gentlemen, it isn't for such a quiet mournful body as me to say anything," said the dove, "but I can't help thinking that the tree is as much mine as Mr Specklems'; but we won't quarrel about that, for just now it belongs to somebody else, and I feel very uncomfortable about my young ones. Suppose Mr Specklems goes and gives the great staring, goggle-eyed thing a poke; I'm sure I wish he would."

"I should just like to pickaxe him with my mortar-chipper," said an old c.o.c.k-sparrow. "I'd teach him to come into other people's trees without being asked."

"Let's ask him civilly to go," said the wren.

"Let's shout at him, and frighten him," said the owl.

"Say 'Ta-ta' to him, and then he'll go," said the jackdaw.

"Why, we're not afraid, after all," said all the birds together; "let's all have a fly at him at once and beat him off."

"Who'll go first?" said the jackdaw.

"Why, I will," said the tomt.i.t.

And then all the birds burst out laughing so heartily at the tiny little fellow's offer, that he grew quite cross, and told the birds to come on; and then he flew into the cedar, and before the great falcon knew what he was going to do, Tom-t.i.t dashed at him, and gave him such a peck with his little sharp beak, that the falcon jumped off his perch and stared about him; and then, before he could find out what was the matter, the jackdaw flew up above him, and came down head over heels on his back; the owl shouted "Who-o-who-o" in his ear; the blackbird and thrush stuck their beaks in his stomach; the sparrows poked him in the back; and the martins and swallows darted round and round him, and under and over, and all the other birds whistled and chattered and fluttered about him at such a rate, that at last the falcon didn't know whom to attack, and was regularly mobbed out of the garden, and flew off with a whole stream of birds after him, and he, in spite of his sharp claws and beak, glad to get out of the way as fast as he could.

At last the birds all flew back again, and settled down amongst the bushes on Greenlawn, and chirruped and laughed to think how they had driven away the great hook-beaked enemy, when who should come down into their midst but the magpie, all in a hurry and bustle, and looking as important as if all the place belonged to him.

"Now, then, here I am again," said he. "She only wanted my opinion about our last eggs, and I've hurried back as fast as I could to drive away this great hook-beaked bird that frightened you all so. I suppose I had better go up at once, hadn't I? But where shall I send him to?"

And there the great artful bird stood pretending that he had not seen the falcon driven off, and that he had come back on purpose to scare it away. But it would not do this time, for although there were some of the little birds who believed in the magpie, and thought him a very fine fellow, yet the greater part of those present burst out laughing at him, and at last made him so cross that he called them a pack of idiots, and flew off in a pet, feeling very uncomfortable and transparent, and cross with himself as well, for having been such a stupid, deceitful thing.

While the wiser birds made up their minds never to be deceived by the sly bird again; for before this he had had it all his own way, because he was so big, and everybody thought that he was brave as well; but now that he had been put to the test, he had proved himself to be an arrant coward, and only brave enough to fight against things smaller than himself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE LITTLE WARBLER.

"Sky-high, sky-high, twitter-twitter, sky-high-higher-higher," sang the lark, and he fluttered and circled round and round, making the air about him echo again and again with the merry song he was singing--a song so sweet, so bright and sparkling, that the birds of Greenlawn stopped to listen to the little brown fellow with the long spurs and top-knot, whistling away "sweet and clear, sweet and clear," till he rose so high that the sounds came faintly, and nothing could be seen of him but a little black speck high up against the edge of the white flecky cloud; and still the sweet song came trilling down so soft and clear, that the birds clapped their wings and cried "Bravo!" while the jackdaw said he would take lessons from the lark in that style of singing, for he thought it would suit his voice, and then he was quite offended when the thrush laughed, but begged pardon for being so rude. And then, while the birds were watching the lark, he began to descend; slowly, and by jerks, every time sending forth spurts from the fountain of song that gushed from his little warbling throat; and then down, lower and lower still, singing till he was near the ground, when, with one long, clear, prolonged note, he darted down, falling like a stone till close to the gra.s.s, when he skimmed along for some distance, and then alighted in a little tussock of gra.s.s that stood by itself in the field, which came close up to Greenlawn, and ran right down to the farther edge of the pond. And what was there in the tussock of gra.s.s but a tiny cup-like nest in the ground, lined with dry gra.s.s, and covered snugly over by the lark's little brown wife, who was keeping the little ones warm, while her husband had been up almost out of sight in the bright sunny air singing her one of his sweetest songs,--a song so sweet that the birds had all stayed from their work to listen.

And this is what he sang--the song that made his little mate's black beady eyes twinkle and s.h.i.+ne as she sat in the tussock; for she felt so proud to think how her mate could warble:--

"Low down, low down, sitting in the tussock brown, Little mate, the sky is beaming; little mate, earth wears no frown.

Higher, higher; higher, higher; toward the cloudflecks nigher, nigher, Round and round I circle, singing; higher, higher ever winging; Over meadow, over streamlet, Over glistening dew, and beamlet Flas.h.i.+ng from the pearl-hung gra.s.ses, Where the sun in flashes pa.s.ses; Over where sweet matey's sitting; Ever warbling, fluttering, flitting; Praising, singing--singing, praising; Higher still my song I'm raising.

Sky-high, sky-high; higher--higher--higher--higher, Little matey, watch your flier; Sweet--sweet--sweet--sweet--sweet--sweet--sweet--sweet; Here the merry breezes meet, Where I twitter, circling higher, Watch me flying higher, higher.

Low down, low down, nestling in the tussock brown, Little mate, I'm coming down."

"Well, that beats the owl hollow," said Mr Specklems to his wife. "I think I could sing as well myself though, if it was not for this constant feeling of having a cold. There must have been a draught where I was hatched, and I've never recovered it. I can't think how he manages to sing and fly too at the same time: I can't. Why, I should be out of breath in no time."

"There, don't be a b.o.o.by," said his wife; "you are not a song-bird at all. I heard the crow say we were distant relations of his, and no one would for a moment think that he was a singer."

"Hark at her now!" said Specklems, "not a singer; why, what does she call that?" And then the vain little bird whistled and sputtered and cizzled away till he was quite out of breath, when his wife laughed at him so merrily, but told him that she liked his whistle better than the finest trill the skylark ever made; and so then Specklems said that after all he thought the crow might be right, but, at all events, the Specklems could do something better than cry "Caw-waw" when they opened their beaks.

Just then who should come buzzing along but a wasp, a regular gorgeous fellow, all black and gold, and with such a thin waist that he looked almost cut in two.

"Now then, old spiketail," said the starling, "keep your distance; none of your stinging tricks here, or I'll cut that waist of yours in two with one snip."

"Who wants to sting, old peck-path?" said the wasp. "It's very hard one can't go about one's work without being always sneered and jeered and fleered at by every body."

"Work," said the starling, "ho-ho-ho, work; why, you don't work; you're always buzzing about, and idling; it's only bees that work and make honey."

"There now," said the wasp, "that's the way you people go on: you hear somebody say that the bees are industrious and we are idle, and then you believe it, and tell everybody else so, but you never take the trouble to see if it's true; and so we poor wasps have to go through the world with a bad name, and people say we sting. Well, so we do if we are touched; and so do bees too, just as bad as we do, only the little gluttons make a lot of sweet honey and wax, and so they get all the praise."

And then away went the little black-and-yellow fellow with his beautiful gauzy wings s.h.i.+ning in the sun, and he flew over the garden wall, and was soon scooping away at a ripe golden-yellow plum that was hanging from the wall just ready to pick; and then off he flew again to his nest, where dozens more wasps were going in and out of the hole in a fallen willow-tree, all soft like touchwood, and in it the wasps had scooped out such a hole, where they had been working away quite as hard and industriously as the bees their cousins; and here they had made comb, and cells, and stored up food, and instead of their cells being made of wax, they were composed of beautiful paper that these busy little insects had made. There were grubs, too, and eggs that would turn to grubs, and afterwards to wasps; and here the wasps worked away, in and out all day, as busy as could be. But they had a very hard life of it, for everyone was trying to kill the poor things, and set traps for them to tumble into and be smothered in sweet stuff. But though people did not think so, the wasps did a great deal of good, and among other things they killed a great many tiresome little flies that were always buzzing and humming about; and the wasps went after them and caught them by the back, and then snipped off their wings and head, and flew off and ate the best parts of them up.