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Nat the Naturalist: A Boy's Adventures in the Eastern Seas, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 6. A Piece Of Deceit That Was Not Carried Out |
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_ CHAPTER SIX. A PIECE OF DECEIT THAT WAS NOT CARRIED OUT For a few minutes neither of us spoke. Uncle Joe seemed to be astounded and completely taken off his balance. He put on his glasses and took them off over and over again. He laid down his pipe and rubbed his hands first and then his face with his crimson silk handkerchief, ending by taking off his glasses and rolling them in the handkerchief, flipping them afterwards under the bench all amongst the broken flower-pots. And all the time I felt a prey to the bitterest remorse, and as if I had done something so wicked that I could never be forgiven again. "Oh, uncle! dear Uncle Joe," I cried passionately. "I am so--so sorry." "Sorry, Nat!" he said, taking my outstretched hands, and then drawing me to his breast, holding me there and patting my back with both his hands. "Sorry, Nat! yes, that's what I felt, my boy. It was such a pity, you know." "Oh, no, Uncle Joe," I cried, looking down at my work. "It was horrible, and I've been more ashamed of it every day." "Have you, Nat, my boy?" he said. "Oh, yes, uncle, but I kept on hoping that--that somehow--somehow it would come better." "That's what I've been hoping, my boy," he said, "for you did try very hard." "Yes, uncle, I tried very, very hard, but it never did come better." "No, my boy, you are quite right; it never did come any better, but I hoped it would when you put on its head." "So did I, uncle, but it only seemed to make it look more ridiculous, and it wasn't a bit like a bird." "No, my boy, it wasn't a bit like a bird," he said weakly. "Then why did you say it was capital, uncle?" I cried sharply. "Well, my boy, because--because I--that is--I wanted to encourage you, and," he cried more confidently, "it was capital for you." "Oh, Uncle Joe, it was disgraceful, and I don't know what aunt would have said." "I don't know what she will say now," said my uncle ruefully, as he gazed down at Humpty Dumpty's wreck, where it lay crushed into the dust. "I'm afraid she'll be very cross. You see I half told her that it would be done to-day, and I'm afraid--" "Oh, uncle, why did you tell her that?" I said reproachfully. "Well, my boy, you see she had been remonstrating a little about our being out here so much, and I'm afraid I have been preparing her for a surprise." "And now she'll be more cross than ever, uncle," I said, picking up the bird. "Yes, my boy, now she'll be more cross than ever. It's a very bad job, Nat, and I don't like to see you show such a temper as that." "I'm very sorry, Uncle Joe," I said humbly. "I didn't mean to fly out like that. It's just like Jem Boxhead at our school." "Does he fly out into tempers like that, Nat?" "Yes, uncle, _often_." "It's a very bad job, my boy, and I never saw anything of the kind before in you. It isn't a disease, temper isn't, or I should think you had caught it. You couldn't catch a bad temper, you know, my boy. But don't you think, Natty, we might still manage to put Humpty Dumpty together again?" "No, uncle," I said, "it's impossible;" and I know now that it was an impossibility from the first, for my hours of experience have taught me that I had engaged upon a hopeless task. He took out his crimson handkerchief, and reseating himself upon the tub began wiping his face and hands once more. "You've made me very hot, Natty," he said. "What is to be done?" "I don't know, uncle," I said dolefully. "But are you very cross with me?" "Cross, my boy? No. I was only thinking how much you are like my poor sister, your dear mother, who would go into a temper like that sometimes when we were boy and girl." "Please, uncle," I said, laying my hand upon his arm, "I'll try very hard not to go into a temper again like that." "Yes, yes, do, my boy," he said, taking my hand in his and speaking very affectionately. "Don't give way to temper, my boy, it's a bad habit. But I'm not sorry, Nat, I'm not a bit sorry, my dear boy, to see that you've got some spirit in you like your poor mother. She was so different to me, Nat. I never had a bit of spirit, and people have always done as they pleased with me." I could not help thinking about my aunt just then, but I said nothing, and it was Uncle Joe who began again about the parrot. "So you think we could not put Humpty Dumpty together again, Nat?" "No, uncle," I said despairingly, "I'm sure we could not. It's all so much lost time." "There's plenty more time to use, Nat, for some things," he said dreamily, "but not for doing our work, and--and, my boy, after your aunt has let us be out here so much, I'm afraid that I dare not tell her of our failure." "Then what's to be done, uncle?" I said. "I'm afraid, my boy, we must be very wicked and deceitful." "Deceitful, uncle?" "Yes, my boy, or your aunt will never forgive us." "Why, what do you mean, uncle?" I said. "I've been thinking, my boy, that I might go out somewhere and buy a grey parrot--one already stuffed. I dare not face her without." I felt puzzled, and with a strong belief upon me that we were going to do a very foolish thing. "Wouldn't it be better to go and tell Aunt Sophia frankly that we have had an accident, and spoiled the parrot, uncle?" "Yes, my boy, much better," he said, "very much better; but--but I dare not do it, Nat, I dare not do it." I felt as if I should like to say, "I'll do it, uncle," but I, too, shrank from the task, and we were saved from the underhanded proceeding by the appearance of my aunt at the tool-house door. My unfortunate attempt at restuffing poor Polly made me less a favourite than ever with Aunt Sophia, who never let a day pass without making some unpleasant allusion to my condition there. My uncle assured me that I was in no wise dependent upon them, for my mother's money gave ample interest for my education and board, but Aunt Sophia always seemed to ignore that fact, so that but for Uncle Joe's kindness I should have been miserable indeed. The time slipped away, and I had grown to be a tall strong boy of fifteen; and in spite of my aunt's constant fault-finding I received sufficient encouragement from Uncle Joe to go on with my natural history pursuits, collecting butterflies and beetles, birds' eggs in the spring, and stuffing as many birds as I could obtain. Some of these latter were very roughly done, but I had so natural a love for the various objects of nature, that I find the birds I did in those days, rough as they were, had a very lifelike appearance. I had only to ask my uncle for money to buy books or specimens and it was forthcoming, and so I went on arranging and rearranging, making a neatly written catalogue of my little museum in the tool-house, and always helped by Uncle Joe's encouragement. I suppose I was a strange boy, seeking the companionship of my school-fellows but very little, after my aunt had refused to let any of them visit me, or to let me go to their homes. I was driven thus, as it were, upon my own resources, and somehow I did not find mine to be an unhappy life; in fact so pleasant did it seem that when the time came for me to give it up I was very sorry to leave it, and felt ready to settle down to aunt's constant fault-finding for the sake of dear tender-hearted old Uncle Joe, who was broken completely in spirit at my having to go. "But it's right, Nat, my boy, quite right," he said, "and you would only be spoiled if you stayed on here. It is time now that you began to think of growing to be a man, and I hope and pray that you'll grow into one of whom I can be proud." _ |
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