Chapter 8. The Pet Bird

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_ CHAPTER EIGHT. THE PET BIRD

"O mamma! granny! Mrs Maclean! see what a beautiful bird old Alec has given me!" exclaimed Fanny, as she ran into the drawing-room, and went round exhibiting the little prisoner, first to one and then to the other. "He has been so kind too, he showed us all his other birds, and gave us such an interesting account of the way he got one of them, but I would rather have this one than all the others."

The bird was duly admired.

"Where is Norman?" asked Mrs Vallery.

"He ran into the house before me, I suppose he will soon be here."

Norman, however, did not come immediately, and at last Mrs Vallery went to look for him. She found him in his room rubbing away at his clothes.

"What has happened?" she asked; "why did you not come into the drawing-room at once?"

"I tumbled down in the mud and dirtied my clothes, so I wanted to clean them," answered Norman, and he said no more.

"That was awkward of you, but as they appear dry, you might have come in to see us all as soon as you returned," observed Mrs Vallery; "how did you manage to tumble down?"

"That stupid little brat Robby ran after me, and Fanny would not come home. I can take very good care of myself, and so I don't want her to go out with me any more."

"I am afraid, Norman, you were not behaving well. I must learn from Fanny what occurred," said Mrs Vallery. "I will assist you to change your clothes; these are certainly not fit to appear in at dinner."

Norman was very taciturn while his mamma was dressing him. As soon as she had done so she led him downstairs.

To his grandmother's questions he made no reply, and she consequently guessed that something had gone wrong. When Fanny who had gone upstairs to dress, returned, Mrs Vallery inquired how Norman had managed to tumble into the mud.

"I wish to have the whole account from you, Fanny, for his is not very clear," she observed. "He says that little Robby ran after him."

"Oh, how can you say that?" exclaimed Fanny indignantly. "If it had not been for little Robby you know perfectly well that you might have lost your life;" and then without hesitation she gave the exact account of what had occurred.

"I am deeply grieved to find that instead of expressing your gratitude to the little fellow, you should have wished to throw blame upon him," said Mrs Leslie, looking very grave as she spoke; "you were wrong in running away without your sister, but that fault might easily have been overlooked. I feel ashamed of acknowledging you as my grandson in the presence of my old friend here, and I grieve that they should find you capable of acting so base a part."

Norman could say nothing in his defence. He did not like being scolded by his grandmamma as he called it, but still he did not see his behaviour in its proper light, and instead of being sorry, he felt only vexed and angry and more than ever disposed to vent his ill-feeling on Fanny.

His poor mamma was very unhappy, but she did not know what to say to him more than what his grandmamma had already said.

"I will talk to him in his room by-and-by, and point out to him the sin he has committed," she observed to Mrs Leslie.

The laird soon after came in, and the party went to dinner. He saw that something was wrong, but refrained from asking questions.

Norman ate his dinner in silence, and no one felt disposed to speak to him. He did not like this, and it made him feel more and more angry with Fanny.

"Why should she say all that about me! why could not she let my story be believed! It could not have done that little brat any harm, if they had thought I tumbled down because he ran after me. He did, he did run after me, for I saw him. But I am determined that Fanny shall not tell tales about me; I will punish her in a way she does not think of. She will grow very fond of that stupid little bird, but I will take care that she does not keep it very long. Perhaps some day the door of the cage will be open, and it will fly away. Ah! ah! Miss Fanny, I am not going to let you tell tales of me."

Such were the thoughts which passed through the mind of the little boy. He had never been taught to restrain his evil feelings, and to seek for help from God's Holy Spirit to put them away immediately they came to him. Instead of doing that, he allowed them to remain and to grow and grow, and a bad thought, however small it may appear at first, must always grow till it becomes so great, that it makes a slave of the person who allows it to spring up within him.

Poor Fanny had no idea of the harm which her brother was meditating against her and her bird, nor indeed had any one else at table. After dinner, the whole party went into the grounds. The kind-hearted laird was sorry to see Norman looking so dull.

"He is a manly little fellow, and ought to have boy companions. I will do what I can to amuse him," he thought. "Come along, Norman, with me, and we will try to find something to do." The laird kindly took him by the hand, and led him along.

"When I am old enough, papa promises to give me a gun, that I may go out and shoot tigers," said Norman. "Have you got any tigers here?"

"No, I am glad to say we have not. We should find them very troublesome, as they would commit great havoc among our sheep and cattle, and perhaps carry off the little boys and girls on their way to school as well as grown-up people."

"We have plenty of tigers in India, and I think it a much finer country than England on that account," remarked Norman in a contemptuous tone.

Mr Maclean laughed and replied--

"There were once wolves in the wilder parts of the country, but they have long since been killed, because they did so much mischief. The only large animals which now remain in a wild state, are deer, and they belong to the proprietors of the land, so that those alone to whom they give permission may shoot them."

"But have you not got some deer?" asked Norman, "I should so like to see you shoot one."

"My days for deer-stalking are over," answered the laird. "There are a few on my estate, but I do not allow them to be shot. They are beautiful creatures, and I like to see them bounding across the hills and moors, and enjoying the existence God has given them."

"I should like to shoot one though," said Norman, giving his head a shake in an independent way. "Won't you lend me your gun."

"A gun would tumble you over oftener than you could bring down a deer, laddie," answered the laird, laughing heartily. "As you are so determined to be a sportsman you shall come with me on the loch this evening, and we will try and catch some fish, only you must promise me not to fall overboard again."

"I will take good care not to do that; I did not like it the last time," said Norman.

"I suspect that what the boy wants is careful training to turn out better than he promises to do at present," thought the laird. "He has been allowed to do what he chooses, and has not been shown by the argument of the rod, as Solomon advises, when he has chosen to do wrong. I wish his father would let me take him in hand for a few months, I think something might be made of him."

"Come along, laddie," said the honest laird aloud, "we will get my fishing-tackle, but we will not carry a big basket this time. I will show you how to string up your fish to carry them home without one."

The laird was quickly equipped, for his fishing-tackle was always kept in readiness for use, and Norman being allowed the honour of carrying his landing-net, they took their way down to the loch. The laird told Norman to jump into the boat, and lifting the grapnel which held her to the bank, he stepped in after him, then taking the oars he pulled away up the loch.

"What! can you row?" exclaimed Norman. "I thought only sailors and boatmen could do that."

"You have a good many things to learn, laddie. I could pull an oar when I was no bigger than you are. It is what every English boy ought to be able to do, and I will teach you if you try to behave yourself properly."

"I should like to learn; can you teach me now?" asked Norman.

"I cannot teach you and fish at the same time," said the laird. "Besides these oars are too heavy for you, but I will get a small one made that you can handle. Remember, however, that I make the promise only on condition that you are a good boy, and try to please not only me but everybody else."

"I will try," said Norman, but still he did not forget his evil intentions against Fanny and her bird.

People often promise that they will be good, but they must have an honest desire to be so, and must seek for help from whence alone they can obtain it, in order to enable them to keep their promise. Norman had never even tried to be good, but had always followed his own inclinations, regardless of the pain or annoyance he inflicted on even those who were most kind to him. He could appear very amiable when he was pleased, and had everything his own way, but that is not sufficient. A person should be amiable when opposed, and even when hardly treated should return good for evil.

He sat in the boat talking away very pleasantly to Mr Maclean, who began to think that he was a much nicer boy than he had supposed, and felt very glad that he had brought him out with him that evening.

The laird rowed on for some distance, till he came to the spot where he proposed fishing. He then put his rod together, and told Norman to watch what he did, that he might imitate him as soon as he had a rod of his own.

"I must get a nice light one which you can handle properly," observed the laird kindly.

"Oh, but I think I could hold yours, it does not seem very heavy," said Norman.

"You might hold it upright, but you could not move it about as I do, and certainly you could not throw a fly with it," answered Mr Maclean. "However, I like to see a boy try to do a thing. It is only by trying that a person can succeed. But trying alone will not do, a person must learn his alphabet before he can read; unless he did so, he might try very hard to read, and would not succeed. In the same way you must learn the a, b, c of every handicraft, and art, and branch of knowledge, before you can hope to understand or accomplish the work. The a, b, c of fly-fishing is to handle your rod and line, and I must see you do that well, before I let you use a hook, with which you would otherwise only injure yourself or any one else in the boat."

"But I should feel so foolish throwing a line backwards and forwards over the water," answered Norman, "I should not like that."

"You would be much more foolish throwing it backwards and forwards and not catching anything," remarked the laird. "Will you follow my advice or not? I want your answer."

"I will do as you wish me," said Norman, after some hesitation.

"Then I will teach you how to become a fly-fisher, and perhaps another year when you pay me a visit, you will be able to catch as many fish as I am likely to do this evening."

The good laird had now got his tackle in order, and applied himself to the sport, telling Norman to sit quiet in the stern. Norman watched him eagerly.

"I cannot see what difficulty there is," he said to himself. "I think in ten minutes or so I should be able to make the fly leap about over the water just as well as he does. Ah! he has caught a fish, I should like to do that! I must try as soon as he will let me have a rod."

The laird quickly lifted the trout into the boat, and in half-an-hour caught five or six more.

It was now growing dusk, and observing that the fish would no longer rise, he wound up his line, and again took to his oars. They soon reached the shore. Norman begged that he might be allowed to carry the fish, which the laird had strung through the gills with a piece of osier which he cut from the bank.

Norman felt very proud as he walked away with the fish, persuading himself that he had had some part in catching them. They were, however, rather heavy, and before he reached the house his arms began to ache. He felt ashamed of acknowledging this, but continued changing them from hand to hand. The laird observed him, and with a smile, asked if he should take them. Norman was very glad to accept his offer.

"You will find playing a fly much harder work than carrying the fish you catch with it, young gentleman," he remarked.

Before entering the house, Norman begged that he might have the fish again, to show them to the ladies in the drawing-room. He rushed in eagerly holding them up.

"See mamma! see Mrs Maclean! see granny! what fine fish the laird and I have caught," he exclaimed.

"I congratulate you, my dear," said his grandmamma, "which of them did you catch?"

"Oh, the laird hooked them, and I sat in the boat, and brought them some of the way up to the house!" answered Norman.

Fanny burst into a merry laugh.

"You are always grinning at me," exclaimed Norman, turning round and going out of the room.

Again his evil feelings were aroused.

"I won't be laughed at by a girl," he said to himself, as he made his way towards the kitchen to deliver the fish to the cook. "I will pay her off, and she will be sorry that she jeered at me."

"Well, young gentleman. These are fine fish," said the cook, "did you catch them all?"

"No I didn't," answered Norman turning away, for he was afraid the cook would laugh at him, as Fanny had done, if he boasted of having caught them.

"Fanny, you should not laugh at Norman," observed Mrs Vallery, "he cannot endure that sort of thing, as he has not been accustomed to it."

"But, my dear Mary, don't you think it would be better that he should learn to endure it, and get accustomed to be joked with?" said Mrs Maclean. "When he goes to school he will be compelled to bear the jokes of his companions, if he gets angry on such occasions, they will only joke at him the more, and he will have a very uncomfortable time of it."

"Poor boy! I am afraid what you say is true, but still, I do not consider that his sister should be the person to teach him the unpleasant lesson," answered Mrs Vallery.

"I did not intend to hurt his feelings, and will find him and try to comfort him as well as I can," said Fanny, putting up her work.

Fanny found Norman just going into his room to get ready for tea. "I am so sorry I laughed when you told us about the fish just now, Norman," she said putting her hand on his arm; "I did not intend to laugh at you, but only at what you said."

"I do not see why you should have laughed at all, I don't like it, and won't stand it, and you had better not do it again," he answered, tearing himself away from her, and running into his room. She attempted to follow, but he slammed the door in her face, and shot the bolt, so that she could not enter.

"My dear brother, do listen to me, I am very very sorry to have offended you, and will not, if I can help it, laugh at you again," she said, much grieved at his petulant behaviour.

Norman made no answer, but she heard him stamping about in his room and knocking over several things.

Finding all her efforts vain, she got ready for tea, and went to the dining-room, where that meal was spread in Highland fashion.

Norman who was hungry, at last made his appearance. He went to his seat without speaking or even looking at her. Mr Maclean who knew nothing of what had passed, talked to him in his usual kind way, and promised to take him out the next morning that he might commence his lessons in fly-fishing. Norman being thus treated, was perfectly satisfied with himself, and considered that Fanny alone was to blame for the ill-feeling in which he allowed himself to indulge towards her. She made several attempts to get him to speak, but to no purpose.

How sad it was that Norman should have been able to place his head on his pillow and not experience any feeling of compunction at doing so without being reconciled to his gentle sister.

Next morning he was up betimes, and went off soon after breakfast with Mr Maclean to the loch.

Fanny amused herself for some time with her little bird. It now knew her so well that when she opened the door of its cage, it would fly out as she called it, and come and perch on her finger, and when she put some crumbs on the table, it would hop forward, turning its head about, and pick them up one after the other, watching lest any stranger should approach. If any one entered the room it immediately came close up to Fanny, or perched on her hand, and seemed to feel that it was perfectly safe while under her protection. It would not, however, venture out if any one else was in the room. Fanny kept its cage hung up on a peg near the window of her bedroom. She brought it down that morning to show to Mrs Leslie.

"I must give it a name, dear granny," she said; "can you help me? Do you recollect the pretty story you used to read to me when I was a very little girl, about the three robins--Dickey, and Flapsey, and Pecksy. I have been thinking of calling it by one of those names, but I could not make up my mind."

"Which name do you like the best, my dear?" asked Mrs Leslie.

"I think Pecksy. Pecksy was a good, obedient, little bird, and I am sure my dear little bird is as good as a bird can be."

"Then I think I would call it Pecksy, dear," answered Mrs Leslie; and Fanny decided on so naming her little favourite.

"Now you shall see, granny, how Pecksy will come out when I call it, if you will just hold up your shawl as you sit in your arm-chair, so that it may not see you; yet I am sure it would not be afraid of you if it knew how kind you are, and I shall soon be able to teach it to love you;" so Fanny placed the cage on a little table at the farther end of the room, and, opening the door, went to some distance and called to Pecksy, and out came Pecksy and perched on her fingers. She then, talking to it and gently stroking its back, brought it quietly up to her granny. Greatly to her delight, Pecksy did not appear at all afraid.

"There, granny! there! I was sure Pecksy would learn to love you," she exclaimed; and Pecksy looked up into the kind old lady's face, and seemed perfectly satisfied that no harm would come to it.

"Oh, I wish Norman would be fond of the little bird too," she said, "but he does not seem to care about it, and thinks it beneath his notice; and yet I have heard of many boys--not only little ones, but big boys, and even grown-up men--who were fond of birds, and have tamed them, and taught them to come to them, and learn to trust and love them."

"I do, indeed, wish that Norman was fond of your little bird," observed Mrs Leslie; "many noble and great men have been fond of dumb animals, and have found pleasure in the companionship even of little birds. It is no sign of true manliness to despise even the smallest of God's creatures, or to treat them otherwise than with kindness. You remember those lines of the poet Cowper which begin thus--

"'I would not enter on my list of friends
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility) the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.'

"They refer rather to cruelty to animals, but they occurred to me just now when thinking of Norman, and we must try to get him to learn them, as I am afraid that he does not consider that all God's creatures have feeling, and that he would carelessly injure them if they came in his way."

"I fear that at present he would do so, but then, he is very little," said Fanny, "and perhaps if he learns those lines they may teach him to be kinder than he now is to dumb animals; still, I am sure he would not have the heart to hurt little Pecksy."

Poor Fanny judged of Norman by herself, notwithstanding the way he had so constantly behaved. She little thought of what he was capable of doing, still less of what he would become capable as he grew older, unless he was altogether changed.

Fanny had just returned Pecksy to his cage when the laird and Norman entered. Norman boasted of the way in which he had handled his rod.

"Mr Maclean says that I shall soon become a first-rate fly-fisher," he exclaimed. "I should have caught some fish to-day if I had had a hook. He would not let me put one on for fear I should hook him or myself, but I am determined to have one next time, and then you will see I shall bring back a whole basketful of fish."

Fanny did not laugh at what Norman said, though she felt much inclined to do so. She remembered too well the effect her laughter had produced on the previous evening, and she was most anxious not to irritate his feelings.

The laird had now, as he called it, taken Norman in hand, and for several days allowed the boy to accompany him when he went fishing on the loch. On each occasion he made him practise with his little rod and line, but would not permit him to put on a hook, in spite of the earnest request Norman made that he might be allowed to use one.

"No, laddie, no; not till I see that you can throw a fly with sufficient skill to entice a fish shall you use a hook while you are with me," he answered.

His refusal greatly annoyed Norman, who one day, losing his temper, declared that unless he was allowed to have a hook he would not go out any more in the boat.

"Very well, laddie, ye maun just stay at home and amuse yourself as best you can," was the answer he received from the laird, who, taking up his rod, went off, accompanied by old Sandy, without him.

Norman walked about the grounds in a very ill-humour, wishing that he had kept his agreement with his good-natured host. At last, growing tired of his own company, he returned to the house, thinking that a game of some sort or other, even with Fanny, would be better than being all alone. She, supposing that he had gone off with the laird, did not expect to see him, and having brought Pecksy down to the library, was amusing herself by playing with her little favourite. Having collected some crumbs after breakfast in a paper, she brought them with her, and seating herself in a large arm-chair at the library table, placed the cage by her side, and took Pecksy out of it. Having given him one or two crumbs, she thought she would make him run round and round the table, and then from one end to the other, so she placed the crumbs at intervals round the edge, and then in a line down the centre.

"It would amuse granny to see Pecksy at my word of command hop round the table, and then come back to me, and as she would not observe the crumbs, she would wonder, till I told her how very obedient he has become. But I would tell her directly afterwards, for I would not really deceive her even in that way," Fanny said to herself.

Fanny, having placed the crumbs, was delighted to find how well her plan succeeded, for as soon as Pecksy had picked up one crumb, seeing another before him, he hopped forward and picked that up, and so on, till he had gone round the whole circle.

Fanny had made him go through his performance once or twice, for she had wisely put down very small crumbs indeed, so that his appetite was not satisfied. Having placed Pecksy at the further end of the table where she had left him a few crumbs to occupy his attention, she had just resumed her seat, when, unperceived by her, Norman stole into the room. A large book lay on a chair near him. On a sudden an evil thought entered his mind. Pecksy was in his power, and he had an opportunity of venting the ill-feeling he had long entertained against Fanny and her little pet.

Taking up the book, he stole round behind a high-backed chair, which was placed against the table. Fanny was so engaged with her bird that she did not see him. Rising up suddenly with the book in his hands, the cruel boy let it fall directly down on the little bird. Perhaps he was scarcely aware of the fatal consequences of his act, perhaps he thought that the falling book would only frighten the bird, which would fly away and save itself. We cannot bear to suppose that, ill-tempered as he was, he could have meditated the destruction of his gentle sister's little favourite. People often do not consider the sad results of their evil temper and bad conduct.

The book fell directly on poor little Pecksy. Fanny gave a cry of grief and terror.

"Oh, what have you done, Norman!" she exclaimed, as she saw his face just above the chair, with an expression, oh how different to what she could have supposed that of her little brother could wear.

He did not utter a word, but gazed intently at the book. She lifted it up. There lay her dear little Pecksy motionless. She took the bird up in her hands, examining it anxiously, while the tears fell fast from her eyes.

Norman, conscience-stricken for the first time in his life, could not bear to look at her any longer, and rushed out of the room.

"Oh, what have I done! what have I done!" he exclaimed; "it cannot be dead! the book was not so very big--that could not have killed it all in a moment."

He was afraid of meeting anybody, and he hurried out into the grounds. At first he ran very fast, supposing that some one would come after him, then finding that he was not pursued, he went at a slower pace. On reaching the woods he turned off the path and plunged into them to hide himself. First he crouched down beneath some thick bushes, thinking that no one would discover him there, but he felt too uncomfortable to stay long quiet--he must keep moving on. Slowly he made his way through the woods. He thought he heard footsteps. He tried to push deeper into the woods. On and on he went--he tore his clothes, and scratched his face and hands, he did not know where he was going, he did not care-- provided he could keep out of the way of everybody. Never before had he been so miserable, his feelings at last became intolerable.

"Perhaps after all the bird is not dead," he thought.

The idea brought him some relief. "I must go back and try and find out," he said to himself. "If I hear Fanny crying, and making a noise, I will run off again. I could not face mamma and granny and the rest of them if they were to know that I had killed Fanny's bird."

To his surprise, as he went on through the woods, he suddenly saw the house directly before him. He ran towards it. He met the gardener, who, however, took no notice of him. "He at all events knows nothing about what has happened," he thought. At a little distance off was Mrs Maclean with scissors in hand, trimming; her roses, but she only looked up for a moment, wondering why Norman should be running about without his hat.

"It's all right, the bird cannot have been killed after all," he thought.

He entered the house, and went into the library. There sat Fanny in the arm-chair, hiding her weeping eyes with one hand, while in the other, which rested on the table, lay poor little Pecksy. Norman, stealing up close to her, gazed at the bird. It lay on its back with its delicate little legs in the air, its feathers were ruffled, and a drop of blood was on its beak.

"It does not move, but perhaps it is sleeping," thought Norman; "yet I never saw a bird sleep in that way. I am afraid it must be dead; and if it is, what will Fanny do to me? She will box my ears harder than she ever did, and then she will tell the laird, and he will whip me, to a certainty."

Norman moved a little nearer. Fanny heard him, and, lifting up her head from her hand, she looked at him for a moment, and said in a low voice--

"O Norman, poor Pecksy is dead," and then again burst into tears. _

Read next: Chapter 9. Sorrow Is Not Repentance

Read previous: Chapter 7. The Sailor's Story

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