Chapter 5. How My Uncle And I Put Humpty Dumpty Together Again

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_ CHAPTER FIVE. HOW MY UNCLE AND I PUT HUMPTY DUMPTY TOGETHER AGAIN

My uncle stood by me very bravely when Aunt Sophia entered the tool-house with an exclamation of surprise. For a few minutes she could not understand what we had been about.

"Feathers--a bird--a parrot!" she exclaimed at last. "Why, it is like poor Polly."

I looked very guiltily at my uncle and was about to speak, but he made me a signal to be silent.

"Yes, my dear," he faltered, "it--it was poor Polly. We--we found her in the lumber-room--all in ruins, my dear, and we--we have been examining her."

"I don't believe it," said my aunt sharply. "That mischievous boy has been at his tricks again."

"I assure you, my dear," cried my uncle, "I had to do with it as well. I helped him. Nat wants to understand bird-stuffing, and we have been to the museum and then we came home."

"Well, of course you did," said my aunt tartly; "do you suppose I thought you stopped to live in the museum?"

"No, my dear, of course not," said my uncle, laughing feebly. "We are studying the art of taxidermy, my dear, Nat and I."

He added this quite importantly, putting his eyeglasses on and nodding to me for my approval and support.

"Bless the man! Taxi what?" cried my aunt, who seemed to be fascinated by Polly's eyes; and she began to softly scratch the feathers on the back of the head.

"Taxi-dermy," said my uncle, "and--and, my dear, I wouldn't scratch Polly's head if I were you; the skins are preserved with poison."

"Bless my heart!" exclaimed my aunt, snatching back her hand; and then holding out a finger to me: "Wipe that, Nat."

I took out my handkerchief, dipped a corner in the watering-pot, and carefully wiped the finger clear of anything that might be sticking to it, though, as my own hands were so lately in contact with Polly's skin, I don't believe that I did much good; but it satisfied my aunt, who turned once more to Uncle Joe.

"Now then, Joseph; what did you say?"

"Taxi-dermy, my dear," he said again importantly; "the art of preserving and mounting the skins of dead animals."

"And a nice mess you'll both make, I dare say," cried my aunt.

"But not indoors, my dear. We shall be very careful. You see Polly had been a good deal knocked about. Your large black box had fallen right upon her, and her head was off, my dear. The glass shade was in shivers."

"Poor Polly, yes," said my aunt, "I had her put there because of the moths in her feathers. Well, mind this, I shall expect Natty to repair her very nicely; and you must buy a new glass shade, Joseph. Ah, my precious!"

This was to Nap, who, in reply to her tender speech, made three or four bounds to get to me, but aunt caught him by the ear and held him with the skin of his face pulled sidewise, so that he seemed to be winking at me as he lolled out his thin red tongue, and uttered a low whine.

"But mind this, I will not have any mess made indoors."

As she spoke my aunt stooped down and took Nap in her arms, soiling her handsome silk dress a good deal with the dog's dirty feet. Then she walked away saying endearing things to Nap, who only whined and struggled to get away in the most ungrateful fashion; while my uncle took off his glasses, drew a long breath, and said as he wiped his face with his red silk handkerchief:

"I was afraid she was going to be very cross, my boy. She's such a good woman, your dear aunt, my boy, and I'm very proud of her; but she does upset me so when she is cross."

"I was all of a fidge, uncle," I said laughing.

"So was I, Nat, so was I. But don't laugh, my boy. It is too serious a thing for smiles. It always puts me in such a dreadful perspiration, Nat, for I don't like to be angry too. Never be angry with a woman when you grow up, Nat, my boy; women, you see, belong to the weaker sex."

"Yes, uncle," I said wonderingly; and then he began to beam and smile again, and rubbed his hands together softly as he looked at our work.

"But you will have to put Polly together again, Nat," he said at last.

"Put her together again, uncle!" I said in dismay. "Why, it's like Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall--all the king's horses and all the king's men--"

"Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again," said my uncle quite seriously. "But we must put Polly together again, Natty. There's your aunt, you know."

"Yes, uncle, there's Aunt Sophia," I said ruefully; "but the feathers are all out of the skin, and the skin's all in pieces. I'm afraid she will never look decent, try how I may."

My uncle rubbed his head softly.

"It does look as if it would be a terrible job, Nat," he said; "but it must be done, and I'm afraid if you made her look as well as she did when we found her, your aunt wouldn't be satisfied."

"I'm sure I couldn't make her look as well as she did then, uncle," I replied despairingly; "but I'll try."

"Yes, do, my boy. That's right, try. And look here, Nat--I'll help you."

I was very glad to hear Uncle Joseph say that, though I did not think he would be able to help me much; and so as to lose no time we began at once to think the matter out, and uncle said _yes_ to all I proposed to do, which was his idea of helping me; for he said I drove in the nails and he clinched them.

After a bit of thinking I came to the conclusion that I have since learned was the very best one I could have arrived at, that the proper thing to do was to fix on Polly's wire legs as neatly made a body as I could, and then to stick the feathers all over it in their proper places. But then what was the body to be made of? Clay or putty could be easily moulded into shape, but they would be too heavy. Papier-mache would have been the thing, but I did not know how to make it, so at last I decided to cut out a body from a piece of wood.

"The very thing, Nat," said my uncle. "Stop a minute, my boy, till I've lit my pipe, and then we'll begin."

I waited till my uncle said he was ready, and then we did begin, that is to say, he went on smoking while I sawed off a piece of wood that I thought would do.

I need not tell you all about that task; how laboriously I carved away day after day at that piece of wood with my pocket-knife, breaking one in the work; how I mounted the piece of wood at last on wires, and then proceeded, by the help of a little glue-pot that my uncle bought on purpose, to stick Polly's feathers on again. By the way, I think I fastened on her wings with tin tacks. It was a very, very long job; but at every stage my uncle sat and expressed his approval, and every spare hour was spent in the tool-house, where I patiently worked away.

I grew very tired of my task, but felt that I must finish it, and I have often thought since what a splendid lesson it proved.

And so I worked on and on, sticking little patches of skin here, feathers there, and I am afraid making such blunders as would have driven a naturalist frantic, for I am sure that patches of feathers that belonged to the breast were stuck on the back, and smooth back feathers ornamented Polly's breast. The head was tolerably complete, so that was allowed to hang on the nail in the wall, where it seemed to watch the process of putting together again; but the tail was terrible, and often made me feel ready to give up in despair.

But here my uncle really did help me, for when ever he saw me out of heart and tired he used to say:

"Suppose we give up now for a bit, Nat, and have a run."

Then when the time came for another try at Polly we used to laugh and say that we would have another turn at Humpty Dumpty.

At last--and I don't know how long it took--the time had come when Polly's head was to cease from staring down in a ghastly one-eyed way at her body, and it was to come down and crown the edifice.

I remember it so well. It was a bright, sunny half-holiday, when I was longing to be off fishing, but with Humpty Dumpty incomplete there was no fishing for me, especially as Aunt Sophia had been asking how soon her pet was to be finished.

"Come along, Nat," said Uncle Joseph, "and we'll soon finish it."

I smiled rather sadly, for I did not feel at all sanguine. I made the glue-pot hot, however, and set to work, rearranging a patch or two of feathers that looked very bad, and then I stared at uncle and he gazed at me.

I believe we both had some kind of an idea that the sort of feather tippet that hung from Polly's head would act as a cloak to hide all the imperfections that were so plain. Certainly some such hopeful idea was in my brain, though I did not feel sanguine.

"Now then, my boy, now then," cried my uncle, as at last I took Polly's head from the nail, and he rubbed his hands with excitement. "We shall do it at last."

I fancy I can smell the hot steaming glue now as I went about that day's work, for I kept on stirring it up and thinking how much I ought to put in the bird's neck and upon its skull to keep from soiling and making sticky all its feathers. It took some consideration, and all the while dear Uncle Joe watched me as attentively as if I were going to perform some wonderful operation. He even held his breath as I began to glue the head, and uttered a low sigh of relief as I replaced the brush in the pot.

Then as carefully as I could I fixed the head in its place, securing it the more tightly by driving a long thin stocking-needle right through the skull into the wood.

And there it was, the result of a month's spare time and labour, and I drew back to contemplate this effort of genius.

I can laugh now as I picture the whole scene. The rough bench on which stood the bird, the wall on which hung the garden tools, Uncle Joe with his pipe in one hand, his other resting upon his knee as he sat upon an upturned tub gazing straight at me, and I seem to see my own boyish self gazing at my task till I utterly broke down with the misery and vexation of my spirit, laying my head upon my arms and crying like a girl.

For a few minutes Uncle Joe was so taken aback that he sat there breathing hard and staring at me.

"Why, Nat--Nat, my boy," he said at last, as he got down off the tub and stood there patting my shoulders. "What is the matter, my boy; are you poorly?"

"No--no--no," I sobbed. "It's horrid, horrid, horrid!"

"What's horrid, Natty?" he said.

"That dreadful bird. Oh, uncle," I cried passionately, "I knew I couldn't do it when I began."

"The bird? What! Humpty Dumpty? What! Polly? Why, my boy, she's splendid, and your aunt will be so--"

"She's not," I cried, flashing into passion. "She isn't like a bird at all. I know how soft and rounded and smooth birds are; and did you ever see such a horrid thing as that? It's a beast, uncle! It's a regular guy! It's a--oh, oh!"

In my rage of disappointment at the miserable result of so much hard work I tore the lump of feathered wood from the bench, dashed it upon the ground, and stamped upon it. Then my passion seemed to flash away as quickly as it had come, and I stood staring at Uncle Joe and Uncle Joe stared at me. _

Read next: Chapter 6. A Piece Of Deceit That Was Not Carried Out

Read previous: Chapter 4. The Remains Of Poor Polly

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