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Overview
"Put it back, Jim. Do put it back."
"Why?" Jim whispered, with a startled glance along the wood path. "Is the master in sight, Ned?"
"We are in sight of the Master, Jim."
Jim drew a long breath of relief, and put his finger into the open mouth of one of the unfledged blackbirds. "You frightened me for a moment," he said, "but I see you were only talking Sunday-school stuff. Of course, as Squire's forbid us to touch the nests here, we must mind he doesn't see, that's all."
"Put it back, Jim, lad," pleaded the elder boy, without resenting his companion's sneer. "It's as much a home, you know, as your own cottage; and those four little blackbirds can no more live and grow if you destroy it, than your baby sisters could live and grow if they had no home and no mother."
"I ain't harmin' the mother," muttered Jim.
"Suppose your mother came home one night, after her work, feeling happy, and thinking of the rest she should have in her own snug little house, where you would all be looking out for her, and just when she came close up to your cottage�just at the old lilac-tree by the gate, you know�she looked up and saw there were no little ones to meet her, no bright little room to rest in, no sign, even, of where the dear old home had been: if you could see her then, Jim, would[Pg 354] you say that anybody who'd taken it all away hadn't harmed her?"
"I don't know nothin' 'bout that," stammered Jim, moodily. "It ain't got to do with a nest. The old bird can make another."
"I suppose your mother could find another cottage, but would it be the same without you and the babies?"
"It's very different," grumbled Jim, but a little less defiantly now.
"Father says the mother birds often die of grief when they find their nests gone. You'll put it back, Jim?"
"Not very likely, when I've had all this fuss to get it."
"Just put it back for ten minutes," pleaded Ned.
"And take it again after?"
"Yes, and take it again after�if you like."
"What good would that do?" inquired Jim, with a laugh.
"Just put it back for ten minutes, while I tell you a story."
"You'll promise not to talk Sunday-school stuff when I take 'em back again, or tell the master, or serve me any sneaky trick like that?"
"I promise. Stay, I'll help you put the nest back in exactly the old spot."
"I'll do it myself," returned Jim, ungraciously. "I fetched it myself first, and I'll fetch it again when your tale's over. There, I've put it."
"Look, Jim! look!" cried Ned, joyfully. "That blackbird flying straight to the tree is sure to be the mother. Aren't you glad the nest's there now?"
"Ten minutes ain't very long," observed Jim, as he threw himself at full length on the turf, looking longingly up at the branch on which the nest was built, while the white blossoms of the hawthorn fell upon his upturned face. "I'm safe to have 'em in ten minutes to do what I like with. Now, then, for the tale. Is there a giant in it?"
"Not this time," said Ned, gently. "It's only about myself and the children and mother. That won't be like Jack the Giant-Killer or Robinson Crusoe, will it? But the story isn't long, Jim. I was a very little chap, and the twins were dots of things, and baby only a month or so old. Father worked for the master here, and loved him as all the men do now; but I didn't love him, because he wouldn't have us boys take the eggs or nests. But one day, when I was going through this very wood, and nobody was by to see me, I took a thrush's nest with five tiny throstles in it. I hid it in the basket I was bringing to mother, and went off so cheerfully, remembering we had an old wicker cage at home, and thinking how I'd put the birds in it, and watch how they'd manage to fledge; and how I'd burn the nest�it was dry and crisp, and would burn beautifully�that I mightn't be found out. Mother was sitting by the fire nursing baby (poor mother was sick that time, and baby hadn't ever been well), and I went behind her to the cage, and put my birds in without her seeing, for I knew well enough how she'd tell me I was wrong to disobey the master, and cruel to the little creatures I'd stolen. I didn't care to be told that, for I wasn't sorry, and I didn't want to give mother the chance of spoiling my fun by any of her quiet speeches about the other Master�up there beyond the blue�who cares for every little bird in every tree. I had plenty of opportunities for slipping away to the dim corner where the cage was, for I was let stay up waiting for father; but at last mother sent me to bed. I slept in a little bed in a corner of the kitchen, so it wasn't the same as going up stairs; and I watched the hand of the clock go round, for I couldn't sleep for thinking how queer my orphan birds looked, and how jealous some of the lads at school would be. I saw mother get to look whiter and whiter, and tireder and tireder; but father didn't come home. Then baby began to moan, and mother got up a
"Why?" Jim whispered, with a startled glance along the wood path. "Is the master in sight, Ned?"
"We are in sight of the Master, Jim."
Jim drew a long breath of relief, and put his finger into the open mouth of one of the unfledged blackbirds. "You frightened me for a moment," he said, "but I see you were only talking Sunday-school stuff. Of course, as Squire's forbid us to touch the nests here, we must mind he doesn't see, that's all."
"Put it back, Jim, lad," pleaded the elder boy, without resenting his companion's sneer. "It's as much a home, you know, as your own cottage; and those four little blackbirds can no more live and grow if you destroy it, than your baby sisters could live and grow if they had no home and no mother."
"I ain't harmin' the mother," muttered Jim.
"Suppose your mother came home one night, after her work, feeling happy, and thinking of the rest she should have in her own snug little house, where you would all be looking out for her, and just when she came close up to your cottage�just at the old lilac-tree by the gate, you know�she looked up and saw there were no little ones to meet her, no bright little room to rest in, no sign, even, of where the dear old home had been: if you could see her then, Jim, would[Pg 354] you say that anybody who'd taken it all away hadn't harmed her?"
"I don't know nothin' 'bout that," stammered Jim, moodily. "It ain't got to do with a nest. The old bird can make another."
"I suppose your mother could find another cottage, but would it be the same without you and the babies?"
"It's very different," grumbled Jim, but a little less defiantly now.
"Father says the mother birds often die of grief when they find their nests gone. You'll put it back, Jim?"
"Not very likely, when I've had all this fuss to get it."
"Just put it back for ten minutes," pleaded Ned.
"And take it again after?"
"Yes, and take it again after�if you like."
"What good would that do?" inquired Jim, with a laugh.
"Just put it back for ten minutes, while I tell you a story."
"You'll promise not to talk Sunday-school stuff when I take 'em back again, or tell the master, or serve me any sneaky trick like that?"
"I promise. Stay, I'll help you put the nest back in exactly the old spot."
"I'll do it myself," returned Jim, ungraciously. "I fetched it myself first, and I'll fetch it again when your tale's over. There, I've put it."
"Look, Jim! look!" cried Ned, joyfully. "That blackbird flying straight to the tree is sure to be the mother. Aren't you glad the nest's there now?"
"Ten minutes ain't very long," observed Jim, as he threw himself at full length on the turf, looking longingly up at the branch on which the nest was built, while the white blossoms of the hawthorn fell upon his upturned face. "I'm safe to have 'em in ten minutes to do what I like with. Now, then, for the tale. Is there a giant in it?"
"Not this time," said Ned, gently. "It's only about myself and the children and mother. That won't be like Jack the Giant-Killer or Robinson Crusoe, will it? But the story isn't long, Jim. I was a very little chap, and the twins were dots of things, and baby only a month or so old. Father worked for the master here, and loved him as all the men do now; but I didn't love him, because he wouldn't have us boys take the eggs or nests. But one day, when I was going through this very wood, and nobody was by to see me, I took a thrush's nest with five tiny throstles in it. I hid it in the basket I was bringing to mother, and went off so cheerfully, remembering we had an old wicker cage at home, and thinking how I'd put the birds in it, and watch how they'd manage to fledge; and how I'd burn the nest�it was dry and crisp, and would burn beautifully�that I mightn't be found out. Mother was sitting by the fire nursing baby (poor mother was sick that time, and baby hadn't ever been well), and I went behind her to the cage, and put my birds in without her seeing, for I knew well enough how she'd tell me I was wrong to disobey the master, and cruel to the little creatures I'd stolen. I didn't care to be told that, for I wasn't sorry, and I didn't want to give mother the chance of spoiling my fun by any of her quiet speeches about the other Master�up there beyond the blue�who cares for every little bird in every tree. I had plenty of opportunities for slipping away to the dim corner where the cage was, for I was let stay up waiting for father; but at last mother sent me to bed. I slept in a little bed in a corner of the kitchen, so it wasn't the same as going up stairs; and I watched the hand of the clock go round, for I couldn't sleep for thinking how queer my orphan birds looked, and how jealous some of the lads at school would be. I saw mother get to look whiter and whiter, and tireder and tireder; but father didn't come home. Then baby began to moan, and mother got up a
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940149490523 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Lost Leaf Publications |
| Publication date: | 04/19/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 959 KB |
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