Chapter Seven.

Chapter Seven.The Sailor’s Story.Norman having done nothing to tire himself, thought he should like best to play outside the cottage instead of going in to rest. He followed his sister, therefore, in a discontented mood.Old Alec begged Fanny to sit down in his arm-chair near the table, on which he placed the bird-cage, so that she could see it, and watch its little occupant hopping about, while it now and then uttered its sweet song. He offered a stool to Norman, who sat down with his hat on looking very grumpy and somewhat angry. Old Alec, however, did not appear to remark this, but busied himself in pouring out some cups of milk, which he brought to Fanny and him, and then offered them the bannock of which he had spoken.“You see that Robby and I are not all alone,” he observed, as he pointed round the room to the birdcages. “I like to listen to their talk more than I do to what many of my fellow-creatures say. It always seems to me that birds are praising God, when I hear them singing, and that is more than many people do, when they talk. But perhaps, young lady, you think it is cruel in me to keep them shut up, when they might be flying about in freedom amid the woods and over the moors; I think I should be cruel, if I took them after they had been accustomed to a free life, but every one of those birds has been brought up from a fledgling. I have never taken more than one or two from the same nest, and in truth have saved the lives of most of them which would otherwise have been killed by careless boys or cats or dogs, or shot by the farmers who think they rob them of their grain. Here they have air and sunlight and food and the company of their kind, and are safe from danger, and if I part with them, I know that they go into kind hands. But I must show you my oldest friend; I keep him in another room, as he is apt to talk too much, and my little songsters there don’t understand him. I got him from foreign lands years ago, and he and I have never parted company.”“Oh, I should so like to see the bird,” said Fanny. “Can we come and look at him?”“I will bring him in here, young lady,” answered old Alec, opening a door which led to an inner room.He quickly returned with a bird on his wrist, and Fanny thought she had never seen one of more beautiful colours. Most of its plumage was of the richest scarlet, while the top of its head was of a deep purple. On its breast was a broad yellow collar; the wings were green, changing to violet towards the edges, and while the feathers on its thighs were of a lovely azure, those of the tail were scarlet, banded with black and tipped with yellow. Its beak which by its shape showed that the bird was a species of parrot, was of a deep rich yellow.“I got this from the coast of New Guinea,” said old Alec. “It is a very hot country, and I always keep my pet as warm as I can, for fear of its catching cold. I call it ‘Lory with the purple cap.’ Speak to the lady,” said old Alec, stroking the head of the beautiful bird which walked up and down his arm for a minute, and then stopping and looking at Fanny, greatly to her delight said very clearly, “Good morning, pretty one.”The bird repeated the sentence two or three times, and then mounting to the top of its master’s head cried out “Pipe all hands, hoist away boys, belay there!” Then as if satisfied with its nautical performance, descended to old Alec’s hand, and sang two or three tunes very distinctly.“Lory can say a great deal more than you have heard, but he is not always in the humour to talk, though he is an obedient bird, and generally does what I tell him. Ah, Miss Fanny, I am very fond of my Lory, he is as good as he is beautiful, yet in the land from which he comes, there are birds still more beautiful than he is, with long tails which glitter in the sun like jewels, and crests on their heads which I doubt if the crown of our queen can beat, and when their wings are spread out and they are flying through the air or dancing on the tips of the trees, they look as if they could scarcely belong to this earth. They are called Birds of Paradise. To my mind the name is a very proper one, though strange to say the people who live in the country where they are found, are as perfect savages as any in the world—black-skinned fellows with the hair of their heads frizzled out, and scarcely a rag of clothing on. I had once the misfortune to be wrecked on their shore, and it’s a wonder to me that I got away with my life, for they generally kill all strangers who fall into their hands; yet savage as most of them are, they are not all alike.“The ship I was on board, was sailing along the coast of New Guinea, when she was caught in one of the hurricanes which sometimes blow in those seas. Away she flew before the fierce winds, the waves hissing and leaping up on either side of her, and threatening to break on board and send her to the bottom. The captain did his best, and so did every man belonging to her, but after we had shortened sail, and sent down our loftier spars and secured the remaining ones, there was nothing more we could do. All we could hope for was that the hurricane would abate before we neared the shore.“That night was indeed a terrible one, few of us ever expected to live through it.“When daylight broke the shore was seen not a league off, with lofty mountains rising in the distance. Still the hurricane continued, the ship drove on, and no break could be discovered in the long line of wild surf which burst on the shore. As there were many coral reefs running along the whole coast, we expected every moment that the ship would strike, and we knew that the fierce waves which would dash against her would soon knock her to pieces.“A boat could scarcely live in such a sea, still less get through the foaming surf. Most of the men however, had put on their best clothes and filled their pockets with whatever they most valued, hoping somehow or other to get safe to land. I thought to myself, it matters little what I have on, and I would not weight my pockets with what would send me to the bottom, so I continued in my trousers and shirt and jacket, intending to throw off the last should I have to swim for my life.“The awful moment we were expecting came, and the ship with a tremendous crash, was sent right against a reef of coral rocks, which in an instant forced their way through her planking, and let the water rush in like a mill-stream. At the same moment down came all the three masts, while the sea swept over her, carrying away several of our poor fellows. We could do nothing to help them, for we could not help ourselves. Most of our boats were crushed by the falling masts. The captain ordered the only uninjured one to be lowered, I with a few others did our best to obey him, though there seemed no chance that a boat could live a minute in such a sea—it was, however, better to trust to her than stay on board the ship, against which the waves were dashing so furiously, that we expected her every moment to go to pieces, when we should all be cast into the foaming waters, with the pieces of wreck dashing around us, and coming down upon our heads.“Another man and I were ordered into the boat to unhook the falls, as the tackle is called by which the boat is lowered. Just as we had got into her a tremendous sea came roaring up, and striking the ship, broke over her and the boat, and very nearly washed us out. A loud noise was heard of the crashing and rending of the timbers and planks, above which rose the cry of our shipmates. Three or four leaped into the boat after us, and we got her clear of the ship, which seemed suddenly to melt away. We had got our oars out, and now pulled away for our lives—how the boat escaped, and how she kept afloat in that tremendous sea seemed a wonder then as it does now. We had four oars, and the first mate, who was saved, took the helm. To return to the wreck to try and save any of our drowning shipmates was impossible, and it seemed equally impossible that we should reach the shore through the boiling surf we saw before us. Closer and closer we were borne to it—when just as we had given up all hope of saving our lives, the mate declared that he had discovered an opening through which we might pass. He steered towards it, the surf rose like a wall on either side, but there was a narrow passage where the water was smoother. We pulled with all our might, and in a few minutes found ourselves in the mouth of a river. After rowing a short distance, we were in perfectly smooth water. The river which widened out greatly was bordered on either side by curious-looking trees, which seemed to have branches growing downwards as well as upwards, with the stem between them. These are what are called Mangrove trees.“On we rowed, but could find no place where we could land. At last we came to the mouth of a smaller river which ran into the larger one. After going some way, we saw an open space on the shore covered with what looked in the distance like a number of bee-hives standing on posts several feet above the ground. On getting nearer, we discovered that they were houses, and that a number of ugly black-looking fellows were moving about among them. As they saw us they gathered on the bank, flourishing their bows and spears, showing, as we feared, that they would very likely kill us if they got us into their power. Some of our people proposed pulling back, but where were we to go to? We were faint from hunger and thirst, we had not seen a spot where we could land to obtain food, and we had the raging sea barring the mouth of the river. We were caught in a trap, we had no arms to defend ourselves with, and our only chance, therefore, was to make friends with the savages.“‘Come lads,’ said the mate, ‘we will try what we can do—they may not be as bad as they look.’“He stood up in the boat, and spread out his hands wide to show that we had no arms, then he stretched out one hand as if to shake those of the black people, then he took off his hat, and waved it and bowed to them, indeed he did everything he could think of, to show them that we wanted to be friendly.“While he was doing this, I and another man, feeling our tongues parched with thirst, could not help leaning over the side of the boat to take up some water in our hands, for even though we supposed that it was salt, it would at all events moisten our lips. It was less salt than we expected, and soon all of us, as well as the mate, was lapping away at the water, while, to cool our heads, we threw some of it over them. What was our surprise, while we were so employed, to see the natives stoop down and sprinkle their own heads with water, in the same fashion. Having done this, they placed their bows and spears on the ground, and beckoned us by signs which we could not mistake to approach.“‘We must chance it, lads,’ said the mate, ‘it is better to be killed outright by the blacks, than die by inches from hunger and thirst. I am ready to step on shore first, and you may shove off, and wait till you see what becomes of me.’“‘I will go with you, sir,’ I exclaimed, ‘and share whatever fate befalls you.’“All, on this, agreed to do the same.“Giving way again, we were soon close up to where the savages stood. We all jumped out except one man, who remained to take care of the boat, and stepped boldly in among the blacks, putting out our hands to show that we wished to be friends. They seemed to understand what we meant, and several of their chief men shook our hands in return; when we made signs that we were hungry and thirsty, four or five of them ran off, and quickly returned with some water in calabashes, and some baskets with cooked meat and yams. The people seemed to live in plenty, for we saw a number of funny little pigs running about, and two or three girls carrying them in their arms and talking to them, and caressing them, just as an English girl does her doll. We were too hungry, however, just then to think of that, or anything else, and sitting down on the grass, fell to on the provisions the blacks had brought us. The food soon restored our spirits, and we began to hope that things would not be as bad as we expected. Still, we could not help thinking of our poor shipmates who had remained on the wreck, and whom we felt sure must all have been drowned. The people too, seemed not so ill-looking, and much more good-natured, than we had at first thought.“Their hair was frizzled out, and they had earrings and necklaces, but very little clothing, except a petticoat of long grass or leaves round the waist. They were not black either, but rather a dark chocolate colour, with broad long noses, with the tips hooking down almost over the upper lip.“Their houses are curious. First they were built on posts, on the top of which the flooring was placed. On each post below the flooring was a large flat disc, this was to prevent the snakes and rats from getting into the houses. Above the flooring, after the poles had risen some distance, they were bent over and covered thickly with grass or cocoanut leaves. Some were small, and others as much as twenty feet long and twelve feet wide. They had no doors, but were entered by a trap through the flooring.“As there are numerous snakes in the country, the steps or ladder by which the trap is reached does not go up to it, but only rises from the ground for a sufficient height to enable a person to lift himself in by his elbows. The upper part of this curious ladder consists merely of a polo resting on two forked sticks, and a plank with one end leaning on it and the other on the ground. When a person wants to get into his house he runs up the plank, and is then high enough to reach the entrance of the trap.“I told you how we happened to throw water on our heads, and then saw the natives doing the same. This we afterwards found was the very sign they use to show that they wish to be on good terms; and so it happened, that without knowing it we did the right thing, and at once gained their friendship.“They treated us very kindly, and though they had no notion of working for us, they showed us how to build a house for ourselves after their fashion.“We hauled up our boat and thatched her over, to keep her from the sun, for we, of course, hoped to escape in her when we had collected enough provisions for a voyage. The natives, however, had no intention of letting us go, for they believed that we benefited them by living among them. Though they did not treat us as slaves, they made us, as I have said, work for our livelihood. It was not hard work, but the sun was very hot, and we, all of us, often felt ill, and unable to do anything, but lie down in the shade in our houses.“First one of my companions died, and then another, and another, till the mate and I alone remained. We buried the poor fellows, and felt very sad when we put the last into the ground. We could not help thinking that one of us would go next, but which it would be, we could not tell. I daresay the mate looked at my sallow face and thought I should die first, and as I looked at his, I fancied he had not many weeks to live.“We had got ground under cultivation, and as we had now only two to eat its produce, and the natives had given us some pigs, we had plenty of provisions. If we had had salt, we should have killed some of our pigs and salted them down, but though we were near salt water, there were no rocks, or any flat place where we could manufacture salt.“Day after day we talked about getting away, and indeed, it was the only subject we could talk of. We had no sail in the boat, so the first thing we had to do was to make one. The natives, like most of the people in those parts, manufactured fine mats; these would answer for what we wanted, but the difficulty was to get them. We could now make ourselves understood, so under the pretence that we wanted them for bedding, we obtained several in exchange for most of our pigs, and yams, and other produce of our garden.“We tried drying some of the pigs’ flesh in the sun, but that did not answer, we next tried smoking it, but it was very dry, and tasted strongly of the smoke; still, we hoped that it would last us till we could get to one of the Dutch settlements. The mate warned me that even should we get away, we should have many dangers to encounter, from tempests, and from pirates, which cruise with large fleets in those seas, and from having no chart or compass, with which to find our way.“As we had much idle time, I amused myself by collecting birds, of which there are a great number in the country; birds of paradise, and parrots of many colours, and among them a big black parrot, a magnificent fellow, and others, even more beautiful than my pet, Lory, which I got at that time. Our house was like an aviary, and the mate, though he did not know how to tame them himself, liked to see me do so.“At last we found our friends were setting out to make war on another tribe. They wanted us to go with them, but we told them we were too ill to march, and so we were, and I do not think we could have walked half-a-mile.“They were all very busy in preparing their bows and arrows and spears and clubs, and allowed us to do as we liked. We took the opportunity of examining our boat, and patching her up. As we knew she would leak, we brought water from the river and dashed it over her as often as we could, and then we smoothed the way down the bank, so that we might launch her, for though when all the crew were alive we had strength to haul her up, we should never otherwise by ourselves have got her into the water. We also killed another pig, and smoked the flesh, and collected a quantity of yams and other roots and fruits in our house.“Our friends at last set out to fight their enemies, leaving only very old men and some of the women and children behind.“We had sewn our mats together to form a sail, and the mate cut a long spar for a mast.“The night was fine, and we hoped that we should get out of the river without danger from the breakers. We waited till everybody in the village was asleep, and then stole down to the boat, carrying our sail and spar and provisions. We had to make several trips, but at last we had collected everything, and as silently as we could we got the boat into the water. The last time I brought down my Lory and three other birds. I was afraid, however, that they would scream out, but still I could not bring myself to leave them all behind.“We shoved off, and managed to drop slowly down the stream without making any noise. As soon as we got out of hearing of the village we began to row faster, though we had but little strength to use our oars. Our great wish was to be out of the river, and at a distance from the shore before daylight, lest any of the natives in their canoes might fall in with us. We rowed as hard as we could, till our oars were nearly dropping from our hands. After a long pull we got near the mouth of the river—the land breeze was blowing out of it. We hoisted our mat sail, and now glided on more rapidly than before. I do not think we could have rowed another ten minutes. The surf was breaking on the shore, but we passed safely through the passage.“How thankful we felt when we found ourselves at last in the open sea. A line of white foam showed us where the reef was on which our ship had struck, but not a vestige of her remained.“The mate judged it best to steer to the southward, but we had no chart and no compass, and had to trust to the sun by day and the stars by night. The mate knew them well, but I began to fear that he would not be long with me, for the exertions he had made had been too much for him. By the time morning had dawned he was unable to sit up. As long as he could he steered the boat, while I baled, for, notwithstanding the care we had taken, she still leaked very much. I looked anxiously at my companion every time I lifted up my head, still he kept his eye on the rising sun, which in a deep red glow appeared above the horizon. Then he gazed up at the sail, and then ahead. Gradually his hand let go of the tiller, his head fell down on his chest. I sprang aft, when, to my grief and dismay, I found that the poor fellow was dead.“I had now not only to steer the boat, but to bale her. How could I hope by myself to reach any friendly shore? I began to be sorry that we had left the native village, the people were at all events kind to us, and some day or other traders might have come to the place and taken us off. It was too late now, though, to think of this. I could not have gone back even if I had wished it, for the wind was against me, and I had not strength to use the oars. I looked at the poor mate, and tried to pour some water down his throat, but it was of no use, he was really dead. For some time I had not the heart to throw him overboard, but I knew that it must be done, and at last I managed to accomplish the sad act.“I was now all alone in the boat. As the sun rose the wind fell, and it became perfectly calm. As the sail was of no use, I lowered it. Still I had to bail, for the water continued to leak through the seams. The hot sun came down on my head and nearly roasted me. Fortunately I had manufactured a straw hat, with a thick top, this very one you see me wear, it assisted to save my head, and I value it as a friend which has done me service.“Well, I must cut my yarn short. Day after day I sailed on. When it was calm I hauled down my sail and went to sleep, for the leaks in the boat lessened by degrees, and at last I was saved the trouble of baling. I began, however, to think that I should never get to land. The meat we had brought turned so bad that I could not eat it, the roots and fruits lasted me better, and assisted to feed the birds, but they were also coming to an end. Without them I knew that I could not preserve my birds, so very unwillingly, I killed my big black parrot. I had no means of lighting a fire, so I had to eat the bird raw; but a hungry man is not particular.“I should have said that we had stowed our water in a number of gourds, but I had already emptied most of them, and I dreaded the time when my stock would come to an end, for I knew that without it, I could not live many days. Under the burning sun of that region, water is the chief necessary of life, my birds too, required as much as I did. I anxiously looked out for land. I made but slow progress, for the weather was unusually calm, and sometimes the wind was contrary. Thus, I could not tell how long it might be before I could reach a friendly harbour. I had to kill another and another of my birds, till at last only my pretty Lory remained. He was so tame that he would come and sit on my shoulder while I was steering, and put his beak into my mouth, and talk to me. He was my only companion you see, and I fancied he could understand what I said, and I was sure he was very fond of me. I would rather have done anything than kill him, still I was getting very faint and weak, and I could scarcely crawl from the stern to the mast to lower the sail when I wanted to get to sleep. At last I had but a pint of water remaining and only a yam or two. I steered on as long as I could, when I felt my head bending down to my breast. I knew that I could not keep awake many minutes longer, so I lowered my sail and lay down to go to sleep. I felt that it was very likely I should never wake again, or if I did that it would be only to lie down and die. Evening was coming on, I suffered generally less at night than in the day-time, because it was cooler. I slept on and on; I was completely exhausted. At length, I was awoke by Lory putting his beak into my mouth; I opened my eyes. The sun had already risen, and a fresh breeze was blowing. I dragged myself to the mast, and hoisted the sail, and then made my way to my seat aft. I had scarcely got there, when I saw nearly ahead, a large vessel crossing my course. I eagerly steered towards her; I hoped and prayed that I might be seen by those on board, and my heart beat with anxiety lest I should not be observed. Every moment I drew nearer and nearer, but still I knew that when she got the breeze, she would rapidly sail away from me. In my eagerness, I tried to shout, but my voice sounded weak and hollow. My heart bounded with joy, when I saw the ship’s course brailed up, and she hove to, showing that I was seen. I was soon alongside, but I was too weak to do more than just lower my sail, and sink into the bottom of the boat, just as a couple of seamen from the stranger jumped into her. I was scarcely conscious of what else happened. When I came to myself, I found Lory perched on my hammock looking at me, and I was told that I was on board theRingdove, and that after she had touched at a few of the East India Islands, she was homeward bound. I was treated very kindly till I got well, and then as I had no wish to be idle, I told the captain I was ready to work with the crew.“We had several passengers on board, and one of them who was a naturalist, and had been out to these regions to collect birds and creatures of all sorts, offered to buy Lory, but though he was ready to give a large sum, I would not part with my friend. Lory came safely home with me, for I took great care of him, and when we got into northern latitudes, I kept him always out of the cold and damp.“So, Miss Fanny, you have the history of my pet.”“Oh, how I wish you had been able to bring the other birds home,” said Fanny. “I should so like to have seen them.”“Well, Miss, I tell you it went against my heart to kill them, but when a man is suffering from hunger, his nature seems changed, but I often used to think afterwards, how I could have killed the pretty creatures.”“I am very much obliged to you, for the account you have given me, and I should like another day to hear as many more of your adventures as you can tell me, for I daresay that is not the only one you have met with.”“No, indeed, Miss Fanny, I could tell you many more, and will try and recollect them for you when next you come.”Norman had been almost as much interested as his sister in the old sailor’s story, wondering in what part of the world the adventures took place, for although, as he boasted, he had come all the way from India, he had a very slight knowledge of geography.Rob by had all the time been outside playing with the little carriage, and thinking how nice it would be if he could have one like it to drag to market with his grandfather, and bring back the things they bought.Just as old Alec had finished his story, a stranger arrived. He was a drover, who went round the country to purchase the cottagers’ cattle, picking up here one and there one, or taking a hundred at a time from the more wealthy proprietors.“I am somewhat in a hurry,” he said, “but if you have any beasts to dispose of, I daresay that I shall be able to offer you a price you will be ready to take.”As old Alec could not detain the drover, he begged Fanny and her brother to wait till his return that he might accompany them part of the way home.While he and the drover went out to look at the cattle, Fanny took up her bird with its cage, and thought how much it would like to enjoy the fresh air and sunlight.“I am not going to stay here any longer,” said Norman, and he ran out to join little Robby in playing with the carriage.Fanny followed with the bird-cage, and seeing the two boys amusing themselves, went on talking to the bird, which as she thought whistled to her in return.“What are you doing with my cart?” exclaimed Norman, turning to Robby.He was not in a good humour, he considered that old Alec ought to have given a bird to him as well as to Fanny, and was inclined to vent his ill-feeling on poor little Robby. Robby, who did not understand that he was angry, without replying, taking out the two apples which he had put back into the carriage, held them up to Norman wishing to offer them to him.“Where did you get those from?” exclaimed Norman.“I thought you would like to have them, young master,” said Robby, “I brought them back for you.”Norman instead of saying that he was much obliged, not wishing at the moment to eat any fruit and feeling very angry, knocked them out of the little boy’s hands.Robby was too much astonished even to offer to pick them up as they lay on the ground.“I am tired of waiting for that old man,” said Norman, taking the pole of the carriage; “Fanny come along.”Fanny was too much occupied with her bird to hear him, and Norman began to drag off the carriage.Robby thinking that he had no business to run off with it, on the impulse of the moment seized the hinder part of it, and attempted to stop him.“Please don’t go away, young master, till grandfather comes back,” he said, “he wants to go with you. Miss Fanny, O Miss Fanny, won’t you tell your brother to stop?”“Let go the carriage,” cried Norman, now more angry than ever, especially at finding that though Robby was so little, his sturdy arms and legs were able to prevent him from drawing on the carriage. “If you do not let go, I will give you such a box on the ears, as you never before have had in your life.”Little Robby, who had a spirit of his own, was not to be daunted by the threats of Master Norman.Fanny had by this time got to some distance, or she would have heard what her brother was saying and have interfered.Norman again cried out and threatened Robby, but still the little fellow held on tightly, while he pulled back. Norman tugged and tugged in vain to get on. At last he stopped pulling, and threatened to beat Robby well if he would not let go. Robby looked up at him, and shook his head. Norman at that moment turning round gave a sudden tug at the pole, and started off at full speed. The jerk had the effect of making poor little Robby lose his hold, and back he fell with his legs in the air, and his hands stretched out, while Norman scampered on, turning his head round to laugh at him maliciously.“I told you you had better not!” he shouted. “Now you have got your desert, you will not attempt to play tricks with me again, you young monkey! ah! ah! ah!” and he laughed and jeered at poor little Robby.“Come along, Fanny,” he cried out, “I am not going to stop longer for the old man.”Fanny though she heard his voice did not understand what he said, and still thought that he and Robby were playing amicably together. She went on talking to her bird which at that moment was to her of more importance than anything else.Norman, not looking to see whether she was coming, scampered off, dragging the carriage behind him, and believing that he knew the way as well as she did.Robby soon got up, and felt more vexed at the way he had been treated by the young master, than hurt by his tumble. Fanny had gone round into the garden, where she sat down on a bench in the shade, and planed her bird by her side, quite unaware of what had happened. The bird, which was unusually tame, seemed from the first to understand that she was to be its future mistress. It came at once to the bars of the cage, and put out its beak to receive the seed with which old Alec had provided her, that she might feed it. She would have liked to have taken it out of its cage that it might perch on her fingers, but she thought that would not be wise, in case it might take it into its head to fly off for an excursion, and perhaps not be willing to return to captivity.“I wonder what name I shall give you,” she said, talking to the bird. “Old Alec did not tell me if you have got one. Shall I call you Dickey, Flapsey, or Pecksy? I must have a name for you. Perhaps granny will help me to find one. What name would you like to be called by, pretty bird? I wonder what are the names of birds; I know that parrots are called Poll and Pretty Poll, and jackdaws and magpies Jack and Mag, but such names would not do for you. I want something that sounds soft and pretty just like yourself.” Thus she ran on, and the time went by till at last old Alec returned to the cottage, and not finding her there, came into the garden to look for her.“Why, Miss Fanny, what has become of your little brother?” he inquired.“Is not he playing with Robby on the other side of the house?” asked Fanny, somewhat astonished.“I can neither see him nor Robby,” answered old Alec. He shouted out, “Robby! Robby!” but received no answer.“It seems very strange,” said Fanny; “I heard them playing happily together not long ago.”At last old Alec went round the house and again shouted. A faint cry came from a distance, and he saw Robby running towards him.“What is the matter?” asked old Alec, as soon as Robby got up to him.“The young master went off with the carriage, and I ran after him to call him back, and instead of going towards home, he has taken the way to the peat bog. I called to him to stop, but he only went faster, and so I came back to get you, grandfather, to follow him, for if he once tumbled in I could not help him out again.”“You are a wise boy, Robby,” answered his grandfather. “Miss Fanny, if you will stay here I will go and look after the young gentleman, for if he tumbles into the bog he will not get out again without help. There is no danger, only we must not lose time.”Saying this, old Alec hurried off in the direction from which Robby had appeared.Fanny for a moment forgot all about her bird which she had put down in its cage on the window-sill, and ran after old Alec. He strode on at a rapid rate, so that she had a difficulty in overtaking him. After some time she heard him shouting, “Stop, boy, stop!” and saw him waving with his hand.Again he went on even more eagerly than before.Fanny, who had just then reached a rise in the ground, caught sight of Norman, some way off in the hollow below her, floundering about and holding on to the cart, towards which Alec, yet at a little distance, was making his way. The old man had to do so cautiously, for as the ground was very soft, he sank at each step he made above his ankles; but Norman, being much lighter, had passed over places which would not bear his weight.As she got near she heard Norman crying lustily for help, and she began to fear that before old Alec could reach him, he might sink below the soft yielding earth. Just then she heard a shout behind her, and, looking round, she observed little Robby approaching with a long thin pole on his shoulder. He was quickly up with her.“Don’t go farther, Miss,” he said, “you will be sticking in the bog, too, if you do; we will soon get out the young master.”Robby quickly joined his grandfather, and by placing the long pole on the top of the hog, Robby was able to make his way over the peat with a rope.“Here, young master!” he exclaimed, “catch hold of the pole and crawl along it as I do, and you will soon be out of the bog.”Norman, though at first too much frightened to do anything but shout and struggle, at last comprehended what Robby said, and following his advice, crawled along the pole. He soon got on firmer ground.Robby then went back and fastened the rope to the carriage, which old Alec was thus able without much difficulty to drag out of the bog.Fanny soon recovered from her alarm.“What made you run there?” she asked, as Norman, wet and muddy, came up to her, looking very foolish and very angry too.“It was all your fault,” he answered; “I wanted to go home, and I told you that I did not want to wait for the old man, or to play any more with the stupid little boy, and if you had come when I called you, I should not have got into this mess.”“If it had not been for the old man and the little boy you would have been suffocated in the bog,” answered Fanny; “you ought to be very grateful to them for saving you, and see what trouble they are taking to get the carriage out.”“I won’t be lectured by you,” answered Norman, “and I will go home as soon as I can get the carriage. The old man will be scolding me if I stop here, because I upset his little grandson, and I do not choose to submit to that.”“Nonsense, you foolish boy,” answered Fanny, “if you remain in your wet clothes you will catch cold, and mamma and granny will be much more angry with you than old Alec is likely to be.”“I daresay they will if you go and tell them that I ran away from you, and you always take pleasure in getting me into scrapes.”“O Norman, how can you say that?” exclaimed Fanny, “you know I am always anxious to prevent you from being punished. Here come old Alec and Robby with the carriage. I hope that you will thank them for pulling you out of the bog, and that you will go in (should old Alec ask you) to get your clothes dried before we set off. I am very thankful you have escaped, but I am afraid we shall not be allowed to come again by ourselves over the moor to visit the cottage. The first time I tumbled down and wetted my clothes, and now you are in a worse plight, for your clothes are all muddy and spoilt, and you might have lost your life if old Alec had not come to help you.”This Norman would not acknowledge, but declared that he could have got out very well by himself. Notwithstanding what Fanny had said, he still insisted on returning home at once.“Oh no, you must come back and have your clothes dried, as Mr Morrison wishes you,” she said.“As you, Miss Fanny, think that your brother ought to go back, there is a very easy way of settling the matter,” said Alec; and before Norman know what was going to happen, the old man tucked him under his arm and carried him along as a farmer sometimes carries a refractory pig, while Robby followed with the carriage. In vain Norman shrugged and grumbled, and squeaked out.Alec soon had him seated on the bench before his kitchen fire, which he made blaze merrily up. He then quickly took off his clothes, and wrapped him up in a clean shirt, and his Sunday coat.“The clothes won’t take long drying, young gentleman, and you must have patience till they are dry,” he observed; “the shoes, however, will be somewhat tight, even if they are at all fit to be put on again, but that won’t matter, as you can sit in the carriage while I drag you.”Norman now sat quietly, for he hoped that if his clothes were clean, no one at home would hear of his misconduct.“You will not go and tell them that I ran away, will you Fanny?” he asked, looking round at her as she sat near the table with her bird.“I cannot make any promise,” she answered; “I am, however, very sure that you ought to tell them how Mr Morrison and little Robby pulled you out of the bog.”“I would not wish the young gentleman to say anything to get himself into trouble, but at the same time, I would wish him to speak the truth, whatever happens,” observed old Alec.Norman did not reply to her, but muttered to himself, “she cares more for her bird than she does for me, but I will take care she has not much pleasure from it.”Fanny did not overhear this, and had no idea that her new little friend was in danger from the jealousy of her brother.As it was already late, as soon as Norman’s clothes were dried old Alec put them on him again, with Fanny’s assistance, and little Robby having in the meantime washed the carriage, they were ready to start. Robby, as before, had to take care of the house while old Alec insisted on accompanying his young visitors.“You know, Miss Fanny, you must carry the bird, and we shall be able to get over the ground faster if I drag the carriage.”Fanny was very glad to agree to this arrangement, for as Norman was in a bad humour she could not tell how he might behave to her, but she knew that he would be quiet if old Alec was with her. They accordingly set off, Robby giving them a parting cheer. They went on pretty fast, Norman having to hold himself into the carriage as it bumped and thumped over the rough ground.As Fanny had to carry the bird-cage, Alec went the whole way to the yard at the back of Glen Tulloch. Norman scarcely thanking him, jumped out, and ran into the house.“Oh! do stop, Mr Morrison, till my mamma, and granny, and Mrs Maclean can see you,” said Fanny, “they will wish to thank you, as I do, and as Norman was much frightened, I hope that they will not think it necessary to punish him.”“But I did nothing worth speaking of,” answered old Alec, “and so just give my respects to the ladies, and tell them that I would have been happy to have had a talk with them if they had wished, but I must go back to look after my little boy, for I never like to be away from him longer than I can help. Bless you, young lady! it does my heart good to see you, so pray come and pay me a visit whenever you can.”The old man hurried away, and Fanny ran in to show her bird, hoping that no questions would be asked her about Norman’s behaviour till she had persuaded him, as she wished to do, to tell his own story, so that old Alec and Robby might be properly thanked for the service they had rendered him.

Norman having done nothing to tire himself, thought he should like best to play outside the cottage instead of going in to rest. He followed his sister, therefore, in a discontented mood.

Old Alec begged Fanny to sit down in his arm-chair near the table, on which he placed the bird-cage, so that she could see it, and watch its little occupant hopping about, while it now and then uttered its sweet song. He offered a stool to Norman, who sat down with his hat on looking very grumpy and somewhat angry. Old Alec, however, did not appear to remark this, but busied himself in pouring out some cups of milk, which he brought to Fanny and him, and then offered them the bannock of which he had spoken.

“You see that Robby and I are not all alone,” he observed, as he pointed round the room to the birdcages. “I like to listen to their talk more than I do to what many of my fellow-creatures say. It always seems to me that birds are praising God, when I hear them singing, and that is more than many people do, when they talk. But perhaps, young lady, you think it is cruel in me to keep them shut up, when they might be flying about in freedom amid the woods and over the moors; I think I should be cruel, if I took them after they had been accustomed to a free life, but every one of those birds has been brought up from a fledgling. I have never taken more than one or two from the same nest, and in truth have saved the lives of most of them which would otherwise have been killed by careless boys or cats or dogs, or shot by the farmers who think they rob them of their grain. Here they have air and sunlight and food and the company of their kind, and are safe from danger, and if I part with them, I know that they go into kind hands. But I must show you my oldest friend; I keep him in another room, as he is apt to talk too much, and my little songsters there don’t understand him. I got him from foreign lands years ago, and he and I have never parted company.”

“Oh, I should so like to see the bird,” said Fanny. “Can we come and look at him?”

“I will bring him in here, young lady,” answered old Alec, opening a door which led to an inner room.

He quickly returned with a bird on his wrist, and Fanny thought she had never seen one of more beautiful colours. Most of its plumage was of the richest scarlet, while the top of its head was of a deep purple. On its breast was a broad yellow collar; the wings were green, changing to violet towards the edges, and while the feathers on its thighs were of a lovely azure, those of the tail were scarlet, banded with black and tipped with yellow. Its beak which by its shape showed that the bird was a species of parrot, was of a deep rich yellow.

“I got this from the coast of New Guinea,” said old Alec. “It is a very hot country, and I always keep my pet as warm as I can, for fear of its catching cold. I call it ‘Lory with the purple cap.’ Speak to the lady,” said old Alec, stroking the head of the beautiful bird which walked up and down his arm for a minute, and then stopping and looking at Fanny, greatly to her delight said very clearly, “Good morning, pretty one.”

The bird repeated the sentence two or three times, and then mounting to the top of its master’s head cried out “Pipe all hands, hoist away boys, belay there!” Then as if satisfied with its nautical performance, descended to old Alec’s hand, and sang two or three tunes very distinctly.

“Lory can say a great deal more than you have heard, but he is not always in the humour to talk, though he is an obedient bird, and generally does what I tell him. Ah, Miss Fanny, I am very fond of my Lory, he is as good as he is beautiful, yet in the land from which he comes, there are birds still more beautiful than he is, with long tails which glitter in the sun like jewels, and crests on their heads which I doubt if the crown of our queen can beat, and when their wings are spread out and they are flying through the air or dancing on the tips of the trees, they look as if they could scarcely belong to this earth. They are called Birds of Paradise. To my mind the name is a very proper one, though strange to say the people who live in the country where they are found, are as perfect savages as any in the world—black-skinned fellows with the hair of their heads frizzled out, and scarcely a rag of clothing on. I had once the misfortune to be wrecked on their shore, and it’s a wonder to me that I got away with my life, for they generally kill all strangers who fall into their hands; yet savage as most of them are, they are not all alike.

“The ship I was on board, was sailing along the coast of New Guinea, when she was caught in one of the hurricanes which sometimes blow in those seas. Away she flew before the fierce winds, the waves hissing and leaping up on either side of her, and threatening to break on board and send her to the bottom. The captain did his best, and so did every man belonging to her, but after we had shortened sail, and sent down our loftier spars and secured the remaining ones, there was nothing more we could do. All we could hope for was that the hurricane would abate before we neared the shore.

“That night was indeed a terrible one, few of us ever expected to live through it.

“When daylight broke the shore was seen not a league off, with lofty mountains rising in the distance. Still the hurricane continued, the ship drove on, and no break could be discovered in the long line of wild surf which burst on the shore. As there were many coral reefs running along the whole coast, we expected every moment that the ship would strike, and we knew that the fierce waves which would dash against her would soon knock her to pieces.

“A boat could scarcely live in such a sea, still less get through the foaming surf. Most of the men however, had put on their best clothes and filled their pockets with whatever they most valued, hoping somehow or other to get safe to land. I thought to myself, it matters little what I have on, and I would not weight my pockets with what would send me to the bottom, so I continued in my trousers and shirt and jacket, intending to throw off the last should I have to swim for my life.

“The awful moment we were expecting came, and the ship with a tremendous crash, was sent right against a reef of coral rocks, which in an instant forced their way through her planking, and let the water rush in like a mill-stream. At the same moment down came all the three masts, while the sea swept over her, carrying away several of our poor fellows. We could do nothing to help them, for we could not help ourselves. Most of our boats were crushed by the falling masts. The captain ordered the only uninjured one to be lowered, I with a few others did our best to obey him, though there seemed no chance that a boat could live a minute in such a sea—it was, however, better to trust to her than stay on board the ship, against which the waves were dashing so furiously, that we expected her every moment to go to pieces, when we should all be cast into the foaming waters, with the pieces of wreck dashing around us, and coming down upon our heads.

“Another man and I were ordered into the boat to unhook the falls, as the tackle is called by which the boat is lowered. Just as we had got into her a tremendous sea came roaring up, and striking the ship, broke over her and the boat, and very nearly washed us out. A loud noise was heard of the crashing and rending of the timbers and planks, above which rose the cry of our shipmates. Three or four leaped into the boat after us, and we got her clear of the ship, which seemed suddenly to melt away. We had got our oars out, and now pulled away for our lives—how the boat escaped, and how she kept afloat in that tremendous sea seemed a wonder then as it does now. We had four oars, and the first mate, who was saved, took the helm. To return to the wreck to try and save any of our drowning shipmates was impossible, and it seemed equally impossible that we should reach the shore through the boiling surf we saw before us. Closer and closer we were borne to it—when just as we had given up all hope of saving our lives, the mate declared that he had discovered an opening through which we might pass. He steered towards it, the surf rose like a wall on either side, but there was a narrow passage where the water was smoother. We pulled with all our might, and in a few minutes found ourselves in the mouth of a river. After rowing a short distance, we were in perfectly smooth water. The river which widened out greatly was bordered on either side by curious-looking trees, which seemed to have branches growing downwards as well as upwards, with the stem between them. These are what are called Mangrove trees.

“On we rowed, but could find no place where we could land. At last we came to the mouth of a smaller river which ran into the larger one. After going some way, we saw an open space on the shore covered with what looked in the distance like a number of bee-hives standing on posts several feet above the ground. On getting nearer, we discovered that they were houses, and that a number of ugly black-looking fellows were moving about among them. As they saw us they gathered on the bank, flourishing their bows and spears, showing, as we feared, that they would very likely kill us if they got us into their power. Some of our people proposed pulling back, but where were we to go to? We were faint from hunger and thirst, we had not seen a spot where we could land to obtain food, and we had the raging sea barring the mouth of the river. We were caught in a trap, we had no arms to defend ourselves with, and our only chance, therefore, was to make friends with the savages.

“‘Come lads,’ said the mate, ‘we will try what we can do—they may not be as bad as they look.’

“He stood up in the boat, and spread out his hands wide to show that we had no arms, then he stretched out one hand as if to shake those of the black people, then he took off his hat, and waved it and bowed to them, indeed he did everything he could think of, to show them that we wanted to be friendly.

“While he was doing this, I and another man, feeling our tongues parched with thirst, could not help leaning over the side of the boat to take up some water in our hands, for even though we supposed that it was salt, it would at all events moisten our lips. It was less salt than we expected, and soon all of us, as well as the mate, was lapping away at the water, while, to cool our heads, we threw some of it over them. What was our surprise, while we were so employed, to see the natives stoop down and sprinkle their own heads with water, in the same fashion. Having done this, they placed their bows and spears on the ground, and beckoned us by signs which we could not mistake to approach.

“‘We must chance it, lads,’ said the mate, ‘it is better to be killed outright by the blacks, than die by inches from hunger and thirst. I am ready to step on shore first, and you may shove off, and wait till you see what becomes of me.’

“‘I will go with you, sir,’ I exclaimed, ‘and share whatever fate befalls you.’

“All, on this, agreed to do the same.

“Giving way again, we were soon close up to where the savages stood. We all jumped out except one man, who remained to take care of the boat, and stepped boldly in among the blacks, putting out our hands to show that we wished to be friends. They seemed to understand what we meant, and several of their chief men shook our hands in return; when we made signs that we were hungry and thirsty, four or five of them ran off, and quickly returned with some water in calabashes, and some baskets with cooked meat and yams. The people seemed to live in plenty, for we saw a number of funny little pigs running about, and two or three girls carrying them in their arms and talking to them, and caressing them, just as an English girl does her doll. We were too hungry, however, just then to think of that, or anything else, and sitting down on the grass, fell to on the provisions the blacks had brought us. The food soon restored our spirits, and we began to hope that things would not be as bad as we expected. Still, we could not help thinking of our poor shipmates who had remained on the wreck, and whom we felt sure must all have been drowned. The people too, seemed not so ill-looking, and much more good-natured, than we had at first thought.

“Their hair was frizzled out, and they had earrings and necklaces, but very little clothing, except a petticoat of long grass or leaves round the waist. They were not black either, but rather a dark chocolate colour, with broad long noses, with the tips hooking down almost over the upper lip.

“Their houses are curious. First they were built on posts, on the top of which the flooring was placed. On each post below the flooring was a large flat disc, this was to prevent the snakes and rats from getting into the houses. Above the flooring, after the poles had risen some distance, they were bent over and covered thickly with grass or cocoanut leaves. Some were small, and others as much as twenty feet long and twelve feet wide. They had no doors, but were entered by a trap through the flooring.

“As there are numerous snakes in the country, the steps or ladder by which the trap is reached does not go up to it, but only rises from the ground for a sufficient height to enable a person to lift himself in by his elbows. The upper part of this curious ladder consists merely of a polo resting on two forked sticks, and a plank with one end leaning on it and the other on the ground. When a person wants to get into his house he runs up the plank, and is then high enough to reach the entrance of the trap.

“I told you how we happened to throw water on our heads, and then saw the natives doing the same. This we afterwards found was the very sign they use to show that they wish to be on good terms; and so it happened, that without knowing it we did the right thing, and at once gained their friendship.

“They treated us very kindly, and though they had no notion of working for us, they showed us how to build a house for ourselves after their fashion.

“We hauled up our boat and thatched her over, to keep her from the sun, for we, of course, hoped to escape in her when we had collected enough provisions for a voyage. The natives, however, had no intention of letting us go, for they believed that we benefited them by living among them. Though they did not treat us as slaves, they made us, as I have said, work for our livelihood. It was not hard work, but the sun was very hot, and we, all of us, often felt ill, and unable to do anything, but lie down in the shade in our houses.

“First one of my companions died, and then another, and another, till the mate and I alone remained. We buried the poor fellows, and felt very sad when we put the last into the ground. We could not help thinking that one of us would go next, but which it would be, we could not tell. I daresay the mate looked at my sallow face and thought I should die first, and as I looked at his, I fancied he had not many weeks to live.

“We had got ground under cultivation, and as we had now only two to eat its produce, and the natives had given us some pigs, we had plenty of provisions. If we had had salt, we should have killed some of our pigs and salted them down, but though we were near salt water, there were no rocks, or any flat place where we could manufacture salt.

“Day after day we talked about getting away, and indeed, it was the only subject we could talk of. We had no sail in the boat, so the first thing we had to do was to make one. The natives, like most of the people in those parts, manufactured fine mats; these would answer for what we wanted, but the difficulty was to get them. We could now make ourselves understood, so under the pretence that we wanted them for bedding, we obtained several in exchange for most of our pigs, and yams, and other produce of our garden.

“We tried drying some of the pigs’ flesh in the sun, but that did not answer, we next tried smoking it, but it was very dry, and tasted strongly of the smoke; still, we hoped that it would last us till we could get to one of the Dutch settlements. The mate warned me that even should we get away, we should have many dangers to encounter, from tempests, and from pirates, which cruise with large fleets in those seas, and from having no chart or compass, with which to find our way.

“As we had much idle time, I amused myself by collecting birds, of which there are a great number in the country; birds of paradise, and parrots of many colours, and among them a big black parrot, a magnificent fellow, and others, even more beautiful than my pet, Lory, which I got at that time. Our house was like an aviary, and the mate, though he did not know how to tame them himself, liked to see me do so.

“At last we found our friends were setting out to make war on another tribe. They wanted us to go with them, but we told them we were too ill to march, and so we were, and I do not think we could have walked half-a-mile.

“They were all very busy in preparing their bows and arrows and spears and clubs, and allowed us to do as we liked. We took the opportunity of examining our boat, and patching her up. As we knew she would leak, we brought water from the river and dashed it over her as often as we could, and then we smoothed the way down the bank, so that we might launch her, for though when all the crew were alive we had strength to haul her up, we should never otherwise by ourselves have got her into the water. We also killed another pig, and smoked the flesh, and collected a quantity of yams and other roots and fruits in our house.

“Our friends at last set out to fight their enemies, leaving only very old men and some of the women and children behind.

“We had sewn our mats together to form a sail, and the mate cut a long spar for a mast.

“The night was fine, and we hoped that we should get out of the river without danger from the breakers. We waited till everybody in the village was asleep, and then stole down to the boat, carrying our sail and spar and provisions. We had to make several trips, but at last we had collected everything, and as silently as we could we got the boat into the water. The last time I brought down my Lory and three other birds. I was afraid, however, that they would scream out, but still I could not bring myself to leave them all behind.

“We shoved off, and managed to drop slowly down the stream without making any noise. As soon as we got out of hearing of the village we began to row faster, though we had but little strength to use our oars. Our great wish was to be out of the river, and at a distance from the shore before daylight, lest any of the natives in their canoes might fall in with us. We rowed as hard as we could, till our oars were nearly dropping from our hands. After a long pull we got near the mouth of the river—the land breeze was blowing out of it. We hoisted our mat sail, and now glided on more rapidly than before. I do not think we could have rowed another ten minutes. The surf was breaking on the shore, but we passed safely through the passage.

“How thankful we felt when we found ourselves at last in the open sea. A line of white foam showed us where the reef was on which our ship had struck, but not a vestige of her remained.

“The mate judged it best to steer to the southward, but we had no chart and no compass, and had to trust to the sun by day and the stars by night. The mate knew them well, but I began to fear that he would not be long with me, for the exertions he had made had been too much for him. By the time morning had dawned he was unable to sit up. As long as he could he steered the boat, while I baled, for, notwithstanding the care we had taken, she still leaked very much. I looked anxiously at my companion every time I lifted up my head, still he kept his eye on the rising sun, which in a deep red glow appeared above the horizon. Then he gazed up at the sail, and then ahead. Gradually his hand let go of the tiller, his head fell down on his chest. I sprang aft, when, to my grief and dismay, I found that the poor fellow was dead.

“I had now not only to steer the boat, but to bale her. How could I hope by myself to reach any friendly shore? I began to be sorry that we had left the native village, the people were at all events kind to us, and some day or other traders might have come to the place and taken us off. It was too late now, though, to think of this. I could not have gone back even if I had wished it, for the wind was against me, and I had not strength to use the oars. I looked at the poor mate, and tried to pour some water down his throat, but it was of no use, he was really dead. For some time I had not the heart to throw him overboard, but I knew that it must be done, and at last I managed to accomplish the sad act.

“I was now all alone in the boat. As the sun rose the wind fell, and it became perfectly calm. As the sail was of no use, I lowered it. Still I had to bail, for the water continued to leak through the seams. The hot sun came down on my head and nearly roasted me. Fortunately I had manufactured a straw hat, with a thick top, this very one you see me wear, it assisted to save my head, and I value it as a friend which has done me service.

“Well, I must cut my yarn short. Day after day I sailed on. When it was calm I hauled down my sail and went to sleep, for the leaks in the boat lessened by degrees, and at last I was saved the trouble of baling. I began, however, to think that I should never get to land. The meat we had brought turned so bad that I could not eat it, the roots and fruits lasted me better, and assisted to feed the birds, but they were also coming to an end. Without them I knew that I could not preserve my birds, so very unwillingly, I killed my big black parrot. I had no means of lighting a fire, so I had to eat the bird raw; but a hungry man is not particular.

“I should have said that we had stowed our water in a number of gourds, but I had already emptied most of them, and I dreaded the time when my stock would come to an end, for I knew that without it, I could not live many days. Under the burning sun of that region, water is the chief necessary of life, my birds too, required as much as I did. I anxiously looked out for land. I made but slow progress, for the weather was unusually calm, and sometimes the wind was contrary. Thus, I could not tell how long it might be before I could reach a friendly harbour. I had to kill another and another of my birds, till at last only my pretty Lory remained. He was so tame that he would come and sit on my shoulder while I was steering, and put his beak into my mouth, and talk to me. He was my only companion you see, and I fancied he could understand what I said, and I was sure he was very fond of me. I would rather have done anything than kill him, still I was getting very faint and weak, and I could scarcely crawl from the stern to the mast to lower the sail when I wanted to get to sleep. At last I had but a pint of water remaining and only a yam or two. I steered on as long as I could, when I felt my head bending down to my breast. I knew that I could not keep awake many minutes longer, so I lowered my sail and lay down to go to sleep. I felt that it was very likely I should never wake again, or if I did that it would be only to lie down and die. Evening was coming on, I suffered generally less at night than in the day-time, because it was cooler. I slept on and on; I was completely exhausted. At length, I was awoke by Lory putting his beak into my mouth; I opened my eyes. The sun had already risen, and a fresh breeze was blowing. I dragged myself to the mast, and hoisted the sail, and then made my way to my seat aft. I had scarcely got there, when I saw nearly ahead, a large vessel crossing my course. I eagerly steered towards her; I hoped and prayed that I might be seen by those on board, and my heart beat with anxiety lest I should not be observed. Every moment I drew nearer and nearer, but still I knew that when she got the breeze, she would rapidly sail away from me. In my eagerness, I tried to shout, but my voice sounded weak and hollow. My heart bounded with joy, when I saw the ship’s course brailed up, and she hove to, showing that I was seen. I was soon alongside, but I was too weak to do more than just lower my sail, and sink into the bottom of the boat, just as a couple of seamen from the stranger jumped into her. I was scarcely conscious of what else happened. When I came to myself, I found Lory perched on my hammock looking at me, and I was told that I was on board theRingdove, and that after she had touched at a few of the East India Islands, she was homeward bound. I was treated very kindly till I got well, and then as I had no wish to be idle, I told the captain I was ready to work with the crew.

“We had several passengers on board, and one of them who was a naturalist, and had been out to these regions to collect birds and creatures of all sorts, offered to buy Lory, but though he was ready to give a large sum, I would not part with my friend. Lory came safely home with me, for I took great care of him, and when we got into northern latitudes, I kept him always out of the cold and damp.

“So, Miss Fanny, you have the history of my pet.”

“Oh, how I wish you had been able to bring the other birds home,” said Fanny. “I should so like to have seen them.”

“Well, Miss, I tell you it went against my heart to kill them, but when a man is suffering from hunger, his nature seems changed, but I often used to think afterwards, how I could have killed the pretty creatures.”

“I am very much obliged to you, for the account you have given me, and I should like another day to hear as many more of your adventures as you can tell me, for I daresay that is not the only one you have met with.”

“No, indeed, Miss Fanny, I could tell you many more, and will try and recollect them for you when next you come.”

Norman had been almost as much interested as his sister in the old sailor’s story, wondering in what part of the world the adventures took place, for although, as he boasted, he had come all the way from India, he had a very slight knowledge of geography.

Rob by had all the time been outside playing with the little carriage, and thinking how nice it would be if he could have one like it to drag to market with his grandfather, and bring back the things they bought.

Just as old Alec had finished his story, a stranger arrived. He was a drover, who went round the country to purchase the cottagers’ cattle, picking up here one and there one, or taking a hundred at a time from the more wealthy proprietors.

“I am somewhat in a hurry,” he said, “but if you have any beasts to dispose of, I daresay that I shall be able to offer you a price you will be ready to take.”

As old Alec could not detain the drover, he begged Fanny and her brother to wait till his return that he might accompany them part of the way home.

While he and the drover went out to look at the cattle, Fanny took up her bird with its cage, and thought how much it would like to enjoy the fresh air and sunlight.

“I am not going to stay here any longer,” said Norman, and he ran out to join little Robby in playing with the carriage.

Fanny followed with the bird-cage, and seeing the two boys amusing themselves, went on talking to the bird, which as she thought whistled to her in return.

“What are you doing with my cart?” exclaimed Norman, turning to Robby.

He was not in a good humour, he considered that old Alec ought to have given a bird to him as well as to Fanny, and was inclined to vent his ill-feeling on poor little Robby. Robby, who did not understand that he was angry, without replying, taking out the two apples which he had put back into the carriage, held them up to Norman wishing to offer them to him.

“Where did you get those from?” exclaimed Norman.

“I thought you would like to have them, young master,” said Robby, “I brought them back for you.”

Norman instead of saying that he was much obliged, not wishing at the moment to eat any fruit and feeling very angry, knocked them out of the little boy’s hands.

Robby was too much astonished even to offer to pick them up as they lay on the ground.

“I am tired of waiting for that old man,” said Norman, taking the pole of the carriage; “Fanny come along.”

Fanny was too much occupied with her bird to hear him, and Norman began to drag off the carriage.

Robby thinking that he had no business to run off with it, on the impulse of the moment seized the hinder part of it, and attempted to stop him.

“Please don’t go away, young master, till grandfather comes back,” he said, “he wants to go with you. Miss Fanny, O Miss Fanny, won’t you tell your brother to stop?”

“Let go the carriage,” cried Norman, now more angry than ever, especially at finding that though Robby was so little, his sturdy arms and legs were able to prevent him from drawing on the carriage. “If you do not let go, I will give you such a box on the ears, as you never before have had in your life.”

Little Robby, who had a spirit of his own, was not to be daunted by the threats of Master Norman.

Fanny had by this time got to some distance, or she would have heard what her brother was saying and have interfered.

Norman again cried out and threatened Robby, but still the little fellow held on tightly, while he pulled back. Norman tugged and tugged in vain to get on. At last he stopped pulling, and threatened to beat Robby well if he would not let go. Robby looked up at him, and shook his head. Norman at that moment turning round gave a sudden tug at the pole, and started off at full speed. The jerk had the effect of making poor little Robby lose his hold, and back he fell with his legs in the air, and his hands stretched out, while Norman scampered on, turning his head round to laugh at him maliciously.

“I told you you had better not!” he shouted. “Now you have got your desert, you will not attempt to play tricks with me again, you young monkey! ah! ah! ah!” and he laughed and jeered at poor little Robby.

“Come along, Fanny,” he cried out, “I am not going to stop longer for the old man.”

Fanny though she heard his voice did not understand what he said, and still thought that he and Robby were playing amicably together. She went on talking to her bird which at that moment was to her of more importance than anything else.

Norman, not looking to see whether she was coming, scampered off, dragging the carriage behind him, and believing that he knew the way as well as she did.

Robby soon got up, and felt more vexed at the way he had been treated by the young master, than hurt by his tumble. Fanny had gone round into the garden, where she sat down on a bench in the shade, and planed her bird by her side, quite unaware of what had happened. The bird, which was unusually tame, seemed from the first to understand that she was to be its future mistress. It came at once to the bars of the cage, and put out its beak to receive the seed with which old Alec had provided her, that she might feed it. She would have liked to have taken it out of its cage that it might perch on her fingers, but she thought that would not be wise, in case it might take it into its head to fly off for an excursion, and perhaps not be willing to return to captivity.

“I wonder what name I shall give you,” she said, talking to the bird. “Old Alec did not tell me if you have got one. Shall I call you Dickey, Flapsey, or Pecksy? I must have a name for you. Perhaps granny will help me to find one. What name would you like to be called by, pretty bird? I wonder what are the names of birds; I know that parrots are called Poll and Pretty Poll, and jackdaws and magpies Jack and Mag, but such names would not do for you. I want something that sounds soft and pretty just like yourself.” Thus she ran on, and the time went by till at last old Alec returned to the cottage, and not finding her there, came into the garden to look for her.

“Why, Miss Fanny, what has become of your little brother?” he inquired.

“Is not he playing with Robby on the other side of the house?” asked Fanny, somewhat astonished.

“I can neither see him nor Robby,” answered old Alec. He shouted out, “Robby! Robby!” but received no answer.

“It seems very strange,” said Fanny; “I heard them playing happily together not long ago.”

At last old Alec went round the house and again shouted. A faint cry came from a distance, and he saw Robby running towards him.

“What is the matter?” asked old Alec, as soon as Robby got up to him.

“The young master went off with the carriage, and I ran after him to call him back, and instead of going towards home, he has taken the way to the peat bog. I called to him to stop, but he only went faster, and so I came back to get you, grandfather, to follow him, for if he once tumbled in I could not help him out again.”

“You are a wise boy, Robby,” answered his grandfather. “Miss Fanny, if you will stay here I will go and look after the young gentleman, for if he tumbles into the bog he will not get out again without help. There is no danger, only we must not lose time.”

Saying this, old Alec hurried off in the direction from which Robby had appeared.

Fanny for a moment forgot all about her bird which she had put down in its cage on the window-sill, and ran after old Alec. He strode on at a rapid rate, so that she had a difficulty in overtaking him. After some time she heard him shouting, “Stop, boy, stop!” and saw him waving with his hand.

Again he went on even more eagerly than before.

Fanny, who had just then reached a rise in the ground, caught sight of Norman, some way off in the hollow below her, floundering about and holding on to the cart, towards which Alec, yet at a little distance, was making his way. The old man had to do so cautiously, for as the ground was very soft, he sank at each step he made above his ankles; but Norman, being much lighter, had passed over places which would not bear his weight.

As she got near she heard Norman crying lustily for help, and she began to fear that before old Alec could reach him, he might sink below the soft yielding earth. Just then she heard a shout behind her, and, looking round, she observed little Robby approaching with a long thin pole on his shoulder. He was quickly up with her.

“Don’t go farther, Miss,” he said, “you will be sticking in the bog, too, if you do; we will soon get out the young master.”

Robby quickly joined his grandfather, and by placing the long pole on the top of the hog, Robby was able to make his way over the peat with a rope.

“Here, young master!” he exclaimed, “catch hold of the pole and crawl along it as I do, and you will soon be out of the bog.”

Norman, though at first too much frightened to do anything but shout and struggle, at last comprehended what Robby said, and following his advice, crawled along the pole. He soon got on firmer ground.

Robby then went back and fastened the rope to the carriage, which old Alec was thus able without much difficulty to drag out of the bog.

Fanny soon recovered from her alarm.

“What made you run there?” she asked, as Norman, wet and muddy, came up to her, looking very foolish and very angry too.

“It was all your fault,” he answered; “I wanted to go home, and I told you that I did not want to wait for the old man, or to play any more with the stupid little boy, and if you had come when I called you, I should not have got into this mess.”

“If it had not been for the old man and the little boy you would have been suffocated in the bog,” answered Fanny; “you ought to be very grateful to them for saving you, and see what trouble they are taking to get the carriage out.”

“I won’t be lectured by you,” answered Norman, “and I will go home as soon as I can get the carriage. The old man will be scolding me if I stop here, because I upset his little grandson, and I do not choose to submit to that.”

“Nonsense, you foolish boy,” answered Fanny, “if you remain in your wet clothes you will catch cold, and mamma and granny will be much more angry with you than old Alec is likely to be.”

“I daresay they will if you go and tell them that I ran away from you, and you always take pleasure in getting me into scrapes.”

“O Norman, how can you say that?” exclaimed Fanny, “you know I am always anxious to prevent you from being punished. Here come old Alec and Robby with the carriage. I hope that you will thank them for pulling you out of the bog, and that you will go in (should old Alec ask you) to get your clothes dried before we set off. I am very thankful you have escaped, but I am afraid we shall not be allowed to come again by ourselves over the moor to visit the cottage. The first time I tumbled down and wetted my clothes, and now you are in a worse plight, for your clothes are all muddy and spoilt, and you might have lost your life if old Alec had not come to help you.”

This Norman would not acknowledge, but declared that he could have got out very well by himself. Notwithstanding what Fanny had said, he still insisted on returning home at once.

“Oh no, you must come back and have your clothes dried, as Mr Morrison wishes you,” she said.

“As you, Miss Fanny, think that your brother ought to go back, there is a very easy way of settling the matter,” said Alec; and before Norman know what was going to happen, the old man tucked him under his arm and carried him along as a farmer sometimes carries a refractory pig, while Robby followed with the carriage. In vain Norman shrugged and grumbled, and squeaked out.

Alec soon had him seated on the bench before his kitchen fire, which he made blaze merrily up. He then quickly took off his clothes, and wrapped him up in a clean shirt, and his Sunday coat.

“The clothes won’t take long drying, young gentleman, and you must have patience till they are dry,” he observed; “the shoes, however, will be somewhat tight, even if they are at all fit to be put on again, but that won’t matter, as you can sit in the carriage while I drag you.”

Norman now sat quietly, for he hoped that if his clothes were clean, no one at home would hear of his misconduct.

“You will not go and tell them that I ran away, will you Fanny?” he asked, looking round at her as she sat near the table with her bird.

“I cannot make any promise,” she answered; “I am, however, very sure that you ought to tell them how Mr Morrison and little Robby pulled you out of the bog.”

“I would not wish the young gentleman to say anything to get himself into trouble, but at the same time, I would wish him to speak the truth, whatever happens,” observed old Alec.

Norman did not reply to her, but muttered to himself, “she cares more for her bird than she does for me, but I will take care she has not much pleasure from it.”

Fanny did not overhear this, and had no idea that her new little friend was in danger from the jealousy of her brother.

As it was already late, as soon as Norman’s clothes were dried old Alec put them on him again, with Fanny’s assistance, and little Robby having in the meantime washed the carriage, they were ready to start. Robby, as before, had to take care of the house while old Alec insisted on accompanying his young visitors.

“You know, Miss Fanny, you must carry the bird, and we shall be able to get over the ground faster if I drag the carriage.”

Fanny was very glad to agree to this arrangement, for as Norman was in a bad humour she could not tell how he might behave to her, but she knew that he would be quiet if old Alec was with her. They accordingly set off, Robby giving them a parting cheer. They went on pretty fast, Norman having to hold himself into the carriage as it bumped and thumped over the rough ground.

As Fanny had to carry the bird-cage, Alec went the whole way to the yard at the back of Glen Tulloch. Norman scarcely thanking him, jumped out, and ran into the house.

“Oh! do stop, Mr Morrison, till my mamma, and granny, and Mrs Maclean can see you,” said Fanny, “they will wish to thank you, as I do, and as Norman was much frightened, I hope that they will not think it necessary to punish him.”

“But I did nothing worth speaking of,” answered old Alec, “and so just give my respects to the ladies, and tell them that I would have been happy to have had a talk with them if they had wished, but I must go back to look after my little boy, for I never like to be away from him longer than I can help. Bless you, young lady! it does my heart good to see you, so pray come and pay me a visit whenever you can.”

The old man hurried away, and Fanny ran in to show her bird, hoping that no questions would be asked her about Norman’s behaviour till she had persuaded him, as she wished to do, to tell his own story, so that old Alec and Robby might be properly thanked for the service they had rendered him.

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 manWho 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.

“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 manWho needlessly sets foot upon a worm.’

“‘I would not enter on my list of friends(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,Yet wanting sensibility) the manWho 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.

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