girlie sat down under a tree in the meadow after they had gone. it was very pleasant resting there in the shade, and she felt quite happy and contented, and was just making up her mind to gather some of the large marguerites, of which there were a great many growing amongst the grass, when a loud “s-q-u-a-a-k” above her head made her look up. a large crow was sitting up in the tree gazing down at her.
“i thought that would make you look up,” he said. “if it hadn’t i should have dropped an acorn down on to your nose.”
108
“‘now let’s go to sleep.’”
109girlie felt very glad that he had not found it necessary to do so, and civilly asked him what he wanted.
“well, you see,” he said, “my spectacles have got very dull, and i thought that, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind lending me your handkerchief to polish them up with.
“oh! certainly, with pleasure,” said girlie amiably. “i wonder how he keeps them on?” she thought. “i’ve never heard of a bird wearing glasses before.”
but by this time she had got so used to strange things happening, that she was scarcely surprised at anything.
“thanks,” said the crow, “bring it up here, please.”
“how can i?” said girlie. “i can’t climb right up there.”
“of course not,” replied the crow; “you must fly up.”
“how absurd!” laughed girlie. “i can’t fly, i’ve no wings.”
“can’t fly!” repeated the crow in a tone of surprise, gazing curiously down at her. “why, then, you must be a pig,” he said decidedly, after a minute or two.
“i’m sure i’m not,” said girlie, feeling very indignant.
“but you must be,” said the crow. “pigs can’t fly, you know, and if you can’t either, you must be a kind of pig. oh, you needn’t get so angry about it,” he continued, 110when girlie began to remonstrate, “pigs are very nice in their way, if it wasn’t for their pride.”
“i didn’t know that pigs were proud before,” said girlie; “i’m sure they’ve nothing to be proud of.”
“it’s just the people that have nothing to be proud of who usually fancy themselves most,” said the crow; “look at the king’s minstrel, for instance.”
“well, yes, he’s proud enough, certainly,” said girlie, laughing in spite of herself. “do you know him?”
“know him?” replied the crow, “i should rather think i do. why, i’ve known him ever since he was a boy, and he was as proud and stuck-up as an old tin kettle then.”
“as an old tin kettle,” repeated girlie, “why, however can an old tin kettle be proud.”
“haven’t you ever heard of the pride of a kettle?” said the crow, who seemed surprised; “why, they’re the proudest things out. i knew one once,” he continued, “who came to a terrible end through his pride and folly. shall i tell you about it?”
“i should like you to very much,” said girlie, “if you wouldn’t mind coming down here, for it is making my neck ache dreadfully to keep looking up at you.”
the crow obligingly flew down and, perching on the 111stump of a tree near to where she sat, he repeated the following story:—
“pride.
“in a ditch at the back of the house there dwelt
a preserved meat tin and a kettle.
they were both very ancient, and battered, and bent,
in the kettle’s left side was a terrible dent,
and the tin was of rusty old metal.
“but haughty and proud to the last degree,
they both of them greatly desired
to be thought very grand, so they practised deceit,
they called their old ditch ‘a suburban retreat,’
and spoke of themselves as ‘retired.’
“if any one happened to pass by that way,
the kettle with infinite scorn
would turn up its spout and would haughtily stare,
the preserved meat tin with an ‘awful bored’ air
would lift up its lid and then yawn.
“they flattered each other through thick and thin,
and the kettle would frequently say—
‘such an elegant vessel i rarely have seen,
and your label in yellow, and crimson, and green,
is got up in a charming way.’
“and the tin, in return, would reply to its friend
in terms that were dignified,
would speak of its lid as ‘unique in design’
and would never allude by a word or a sign
to the dent in the kettle’s left side.
112“but alas and alack, for the pride of the two,
just fancy their horror and fright
when they heard some one shout in a very cross way,—
‘john, pick up this rubbish and take it away,
don’t let it remain in my sight.’
“they were carried off that very day,
and thrown on the rubbish heap.
the preserved meat tin was completely smothered
in ashes and dirt, while the kettle was covered
with cinders about a foot deep.”
“poor things,” said girlie, laughing; “but it served them right, though, didn’t it, for thinking such a lot of themselves?”
“certainly it did,” replied the crow, “and, besides that, the kettle had had one warning before. pride always has a fall, you know, and he had had one—that was how he came to get the dent in his left side. were you ever on speaking terms with a kettle?” he inquired.
“no, never,” said girlie, laughing at the idea.
“no, i suppose not,” said the crow in a pitying voice; “they are rather particular to whom they speak, and i suppose they would draw the line at a pig.”
“i tell you——” began girlie; but the crow didn’t allow her to finish the sentence.
“it’s their voices they are so proud of,” he went on. “i suppose you’ve heard them sing, haven’t you?” he asked.
113
“girlie kindly ran to his assistance.”
114“no, i haven’t,” said girlie.
“never heard a kettle sing?” asked the crow in surprise.
“oh, yes, i have,” said girlie.
“i was going to say,” remarked the crow, “why, i’ve known them to simply boil over with indignation when their singing hasn’t been properly appreciated. you might as well give me that handkerchief now,” he added, holding out his claw.
girlie gave it to him and watched him while he rubbed away at his glasses, which he held in his beak.
“what do you use them for?” she asked presently.
“oh! i’m out hunting for a goo,” answered the crow, “and, being rather short-sighted, i am obliged to wear glasses.”
“oh, do you know what a goo is?” asked girlie eagerly.
“yes,” said the crow, “our family have come to the conclusion that it is a kind of worm, an enormously large worm, because everybody is so very anxious to find it, and a worm being the only thing in the world worth troubling about, it must be a worm. if it isn’t, it isn’t worth looking for, that’s all,” he added.
“o’ugh! i am sure i shouldn’t like to find one, then,” said girlie, shuddering.
115the crow lifted up his eyebrows (such as he had) in surprise.
“there’s no accounting for taste,” he said presently, in a sarcastic voice; “and pigs—but there, no matter! i won’t finish it. hush! what’s that?” he went on, as a great bell tolled in the distance. “the curfew,” he said, after listening for a minute, “now we shall all have to go to bed.”
“but how can we?” cried girlie in alarm.
“there are plenty of trees,” suggested the crow.
“but i can’t sleep in a tree,” said girlie.
“oh, can’t you? well, you’ll have to to-night, anyhow,” said the crow. “the watchman will be along presently and, if he catches you awake, he will extinguish you, and then where will you be?”
girlie thought that sounded very terrible, so she began looking about for a tree with branches low enough for her to climb into.
she found one presently that she thought she could manage, and, after several efforts, she succeeded in reaching one of the lower branches. on the branch that she had selected were two owls huddled close together.
“i say, further up there!” shouted the crow, giving one of them a poke as he settled down beside him.
116the owl immediately opened his eyes very widely and tried to look as though he had not been to sleep at all.
“what’s that?” he said, staring hard at girlie, who was sitting uncomfortably on the branch.
the crow whispered something in his ear and girlie could just catch the word “pig.”
“is she really?” said the owl, looking surprised.
“well, pig! do you happen to have any mice about you?” he said, peering at her curiously.
“good gracious, no!” said girlie, frightened at the very idea.
“one would think you didn’t care for mice by the way in which you speak,” said the owl crossly.
“i shouldn’t be at all surprised if she didn’t,” remarked the crow; “her tastes are most peculiar.”
“she’s perching very awkwardly, too,” said the owl, staring at her with a puzzled air. “what’s the matter with her?”
“i suppose pigs can’t perch properly,” remarked the crow.
“you’re very rude, both of you,” said girlie, completely losing her temper.
“yes, four perches make one rood,” said the crow, counting them.
117“i suppose you think that’s clever,” said girlie, “but it isn’t, for four perches don’t make one rood—it’s forty.”
“it’s the same thing,” said the crow, “isn’t it?” he asked, turning to the owl, who had shut his eyes again.
“precisely,” he replied, opening one eye only, which made him look exactly as if he was winking.
“how do you make that out?” asked girlie.
“i could show you, if i had a piece of paper and a pencil,” said the crow. “how do you write forty?” he asked.
“four and a nought,” said girlie promptly.
“and what does nought stand for?” asked the crow.
“nothing,” replied girlie.
“well, then, what’s the use of making a fuss about nothing?” said the crow; “and, besides, if you’re not a pig, prove it by perching properly.”
girlie felt that she ought to do something to show them that she really was not a pig, so she drew her feet up under her and tried to sit as much like the owl as she could. she felt dreadfully uncomfortable, however, and was afraid every moment that she should fall to 118the ground. “oh, i really can’t do it any longer,” she said after a little while, resuming her former position.
the owl and the crow looked at each other meaningly.
“‘precisely,’ he replied.”
“i said she was,” nodded the crow, “and that settles it. now let’s go to sleep, or we shall have the watchman catching us talking,” and he took off his spectacles and tucked them under one wing, and then, popping his head under the other, was soon fast asleep.
girlie nestled up as close to the owl as she could 119for he looked so soft and warm, and, resting her head cosily against his fluffy feathers, was soon asleep herself. perhaps it was because of the strange position in which she was sleeping, but certainly from some cause or other, she had a most alarming dream. she thought that she had fallen from the tree and couldn’t get up again, and that the watchman (who seemed to be a dreadful old man with an enormously long nose, wearing a long coat with ever so many little capes to it, and carrying a lantern in one hand and an immense extinguisher in the other) came along and found her sitting there. he seemed to be very angry that she was not asleep, and, crying out in a loud voice, “lights out,” popped the great extinguisher over her head. girlie felt half-suffocated and was just wondering whether she would really go out like a candle, and was thinking that she should know now what people meant when they spoke about being very much put out, when she suddenly awoke and found, to her great relief, that it was only a dream. it was broad daylight again and the crow had disappeared, carrying girlie’s pocket-handkerchief away with him.
“i suppose i ought to wake these owls up,” she thought, looking at them snuggled close to her. she 120gave the one on her right a little shake and he immediately opened his eyes very widely, as before.
the watchman.
“well, what is it?” he asked sharply.
“it’s time to get up,” said girlie.
“it isn’t,” said the owl. “fluffy and i are going to sleep all day.”
121“oh, is that his name—fluffy?” repeated girlie, looking at the other owl. “what’s yours?”
“stuffy,” said the owl, yawning.
“oh!” said girlie. “shall i tell you mine?” she asked, wishing to be sociable.
“you can, if you like,” said the owl.
this didn’t sound very encouraging. “but, perhaps, he isn’t quite awake yet,” thought girlie, remembering that people are often rather cross if spoken to before they are quite awake. “my name is girlie,” she said aloud.
“h’m! what a stupid name!” said the owl. “what does it mean?”
“i’m sure it isn’t stupid,” cried girlie indignantly; “it’s a very pretty name.”
“it’s a silly name for a pig,” persisted the owl.
“but i tell you i’m not a pig,” said girlie, getting quite cross.
“yes, i know you say so,” said the owl sarcastically; “but i can’t see the difference myself. you can’t perch, you can’t fly, you haven’t feathers, and you don’t like mice. if you’re not a pig, i should just like to know what you are. not that it matters in the least, though,” he went on, before girlie could reply. “and now do 122leave off talking, for i want to get to sleep again.” and he settled his head down between his shoulders and closed his eyes.
“ran to the gate and looked over the top.”
he evidently did not wish to continue the conversation, so girlie scrambled down from the tree and began to walk towards the gates at the farther end of the meadow, gathering some marguerites on her way.
“i wonder what day it is?” she thought. “let’s see, it was wednesday afternoon when i first came here; then i had tea (or breakfast—which was it?) at the crocodile’s; then late dinner at the wallypug’s; and then it was daylight when i got into the conservatory, so i suppose that must have been thursday; and now i’ve 123been to sleep; so this must be friday. what a short day thursday must have been, though,” she thought—“about an hour and a half long,” she decided, after thinking it over; and then, hearing a noise in the roadway, she ran to the gate and looked over the top.
