"So that Kapchack every year puts a few more sticks on his nest, and brings up his family in perfect safety, which is what no other bird can do, neither the rook, nor the hawk, nor the crow, nor could even the raven, when he lived in this country. This is a very great advantage to Kapchack, for he has thus a fortress to retreat to, into which no one can enter, and he can defy everybody; and this is a great help to him as king. It is also one reason why he lives so long, though perhaps there is another reason, which I cannot, really I dare not, even hint at; it is such a dreadful secret, I should have my head split open with a peck if I even so much as dared to think it. Besides which, perhaps it is not true.
"If it were not so far, and if there was not a wall round the orchard, I would tell you which way to go to find the place. His palace is now so big he can hardly make it any bigger lest it should fall; yet it is so full of treasures that it can barely hold them all. There are many who would like to rob him, I know. The crow is one; but they dare not attempt it, not only for fear of Kapchack, but because they would certainly be shot.
"Everybody talks about the enormous treasure he has up there, and everybody envies him. But there are very dark corners in his palace, dark and blood-stained, for, as I told you, his family history is full of direful deeds. Besides killing his uncle, and, as is whispered, several of his children, because he suspected them of designs upon his throne, he has made away with a great many of his wives, I should think at least twenty. So soon as they begin to get old and ugly they die—people pretend the palace is not healthy to live in, being so ancient, and that that is the reason. Though doubtless they are very aggravating, and very jealous. Did you hear who it was Kapchack was in love with?"
"No," said Bevis. "The starling flew away before I could ask him, and as for the rest they are so busy telling one another they will not answer me."
"One thing is very certain," said the toad, "if Kapchack is in love you may be sure there will be some terrible tragedy in the palace, for his wife will be jealous, and besides that his eldest son and heir will not like it. Prince Tchack-tchack is not a very good temper—Tchack-tchack is his son, I should tell you—and he is already very tired of waiting for the throne. But it is no use his being tired, for Kapchack does not mean to die. Now, Bevis dear, I have told you everything I can think of, and I am tired of sitting at the mouth of this hole, where the sunshine comes, and must go back to sleep.
"But if you want to know anything about the present state of things (as I can only tell you what happened a long time since) you had better go and call on the squirrel, and say I sent you, and he will inform you. He is about the best fellow I know; it is true he will sometimes bite when he is very frisky, it is only his play, but you can look sharp and put your hands in your pockets. He is the best of them all, dear; better than the fox, or the weasel, or the rat, or the stoat, or the mouse, or any of them. He knows all that is going on, because the starlings, who are extremely talkative, come every night to sleep in the copse where he lives, and have a long gossip before they go to sleep; indeed, all the birds go to the copse to chat, the rooks, the wood-pigeons, the pheasant, and the thrush, besides the rabbits and the hares, so that the squirrel, to whom the copse belongs, hears everything."
"But I do not know my way to the copse," said Bevis; "please tell me the way."
"You must go up to the great oak-tree, dear," said the toad, "where you once went to sleep, and then go across to the wheat-field, and a little farther you will see a footpath, which will take you to another field, and you will see the copse on your right. Now the way into the copse is over a narrow bridge, it is only a tree put across the ditch, and you must be careful how you cross it, and hold tight to the hand-rail, and look where you put your feet. It is apt to be slippery, and the ditch beneath is very deep; there is not much water, but a great deal of mud. I recollect it very well, though I have not been there for some time: I slipped off the bridge one rainy night in the dark, and had rather a heavy fall. The bridge is now dry, and therefore you can pass it easily if you do not leave go of the hand-rail. Good-morning, dear, I feel so sleepy—come and tell me with whom Kapchack has fallen in love; and remember me to the squirrel." So saying the toad went back into his hole and went to sleep.
All this talking had passed away the morning, but in the afternoon, when the sun got a little lower, and the heat was not quite so great, Bevis, who had not been allowed to go out at noon, came forth again, and at once started up the Home Field. He easily reached the great oak-tree, and from there he knew his way to the corner of the wheat-field, where he stopped and looked for the hare, but she was not there, nor did she answer when he called to her. At the sound of his voice a number of sparrows rose from the wheat, which was now ripening, and flew up to the hedge, where they began to chatter about Kapchack's love affair.
Bevis walked on across the field, and presently found a footpath; he followed this, as the toad had instructed him, and after getting over two stiles there was the copse on the right, though he had to climb over a high gate to get into the meadow next to it. There was nothing in the meadow except a rabbit, who turned up his white tail and went into his hole, for having seen Bevis with the hare, whom he did not like, the rabbit did not care to speak to Bevis. When Bevis had crossed the meadow he found, just as the toad had said, that there was a very deep ditch round the copse, but scarcely any water in it, and that was almost hidden with weeds.
After walking a little way along the ditch he saw the tree which had been cut down and thrown across for a bridge. It was covered with moss, and in the shadow underneath it the hart's-tongue fern was growing. Remembering what the toad had told him, Bevis put his hand on the rail—it was a willow pole—but found that it was not very safe, for at the end the wasps (a long time ago) had eaten it hollow, carrying away the wood for their nests, and what they had left had become rotten. Still it was enough to steady his footsteps, and taking care that he did not put his foot on a knot, Bevis got across safely. There was a rail to climb over on the other side, and then he was in the copse, and began to walk down a broad green path, a road which wound in among the ash-wood.
Nobody said anything to him, it was quite silent, so silent, that he could hear the snap of the dragon-fly's wing as he stopped in his swift flight and returned again. Bevis pulled a handful of long green rushes, and then he picked some of the burrs from the tall burdocks; they stuck to his fingers when he tried to fling them away, and would not go. The great thistles were ever so far above his head, and the humble-bees on them glanced down at him as he passed. Bevis very carefully looked at the bramble-bushes to see how the blackberries were coming on; but the berries were red and green, and the flowers had not yet all gone. There was such a beautiful piece of woodbine hanging from one of the ash-poles that he was not satisfied till he had gathered some of it; the long brome-grass tickled his face while he was pulling at the honeysuckle.
He clapped his hands when he found some young nuts; he knew they were not ripe, but he picked one and bit it with his teeth, just to feel how soft it was. There were several very nice sticks, some of which he had half a mind to stay and cut, and put his hand in his pocket for his knife, but there were so many things to look at, he thought he would go on a little farther, and come back and cut them presently. The ferns were so tall and thick in many places that he could not see in among the trees. When he looked back he had left the place where he came in so far behind that he could not see it, nor when he looked round could he see any daylight through the wood; there was only the sky overhead and the trees and ash-stoles, and bushes, and thistles, and long grass, and fern all about him.
Bevis liked it very much, and he ran on and kicked over a bunch of tawny fungus as he went, till by-and-by he came to a piece of timber lying on the ground, and sat down upon it. Some finches went over just then; they were talking about Kapchack as they flew; they went so fast he could not hear much. But the squirrel was nowhere about; he called to him, but no one answered, and he began to think he should never find him, when presently, while he sat on the timber whistling very happily, something came round the corner, and Bevis saw it was the hare.
She ran up to him quickly, and sat down at his feet, and he stroked her very softly. "I called for you at the wheat-field," he said, "but you were not there."
"No, dear," said the hare, "the truth is, I have been waiting for ever so long to come into the copse on a visit to an old friend, but you must know that the weasel lives here."
"Does the weasel live here?" said Bevis, starting up. "Tell me where, and I will kill him; I will cut off his head with my knife."
"I cannot tell you exactly where he lives," said the hare, "but it is somewhere in the copse. It is of no use your looking about; it is in some hole or other, quite hidden, and you would never find it. I am afraid to come into the copse while he is here; but this afternoon the dragon-fly brought me word that the weasel had gone out. So I made haste to come while he was away, as I had not seen my old friend the squirrel for ever so long, and I wanted to know if the news was true."
"Do you mean about Kapchack?" said Bevis. "I came to see the squirrel too, but I cannot find him."
"Yes, I mean about Kapchack," said the hare. "Is it not silly of him to fall in love at his age? Why, he must be ten times as old as me! Really, I some times think that the older people get the sillier they are. But it is not much use your looking for the squirrel, dear. He may be up in the fir-tree, or he may be in the beech, or he may have gone along the hedge. If you were by yourself, the best thing you could do would be to sit still where you are, and he would be nearly sure to come by, sooner or later. He is so restless, he goes all over the copse, and is never very long in one place. Since, however, you and I have met, I will find him for you, and send him to you."
"How long shall you be?" said Bevis. "I am tired of sitting here now, and I shall go on along the path."
"Oh, then," said the hare, "I shall not know where to find you, and that will not do. Now, I know what I will do. I will take you to the raspberries, and there you can eat the fruit till I send the squirrel."
The hare leapt into the fern, and Bevis went after her. She led him in and out, and round the ash-stoles and bushes, till he had not the least idea which way he was going. After a time, they came to an immense thicket of bramble and thorn, and fern growing up in it, and honeysuckle climbing over it.
"It is inside this thicket," said the hare. "Let us go all round, and see if we can find a way in."
There was a place under an ash-stole, where Bevis could just creep beneath the boughs (the boughs held up the brambles), and after going on his hands and knees after the hare a good way, he found himself inside the thicket, where there was an open space grown over with raspberry canes. Bevis shouted with delight as he saw the raspberries were ripe, and began to eat them at once.
"How ever did they get here?" he asked.
"I think it was the thrush," said the hare. "It was one of the birds, no doubt. They take the fruit out of the orchards and gardens, and that was how it came here, I daresay. Now, don't you go outside the thicket till the squirrel comes. And when you have quite done talking to the squirrel, ask him to show you the way back to the timber, and there I will meet you, and lead you to the wheat-field, where you can see the oak-tree, and know your way home. Mind you do not go outside the thicket without the squirrel, or you will lose your way, and wander about among the trees till it is night."
Off went the hare to find the squirrel, and Bevis set to work to eat as many of the raspberries as he could.
Among the raspberry canes he found three or four rabbit-holes, and hearing the rabbits talking to each other, he stooped down to listen. They were talking scandal about the hare, and saying that she was very naughty, and rambled about too much. At this Bevis was very angry, and stamped his foot above the hole, and told them they ought to be ashamed of themselves for saying such things. The rabbits, very much frightened, went down farther into their holes. After which Bevis ate a great many more raspberries, and presently, feeling very lazy, he lay down on some moss at the foot of an oak-tree, and kicked his heels on the ground, and looked up at the blue sky, as he always did when he wanted some one to speak to. He did not know how long he had been gazing at the sky, when he heard some one say: "Bevis dear!" and turning that way he saw the squirrel, who had come up very quietly, and was sitting on one of the lower branches of the oak close to him.
"Well, squirrel," said Bevis, sitting up; "the toad said I was to remember him to you. And now be very quick, and tell me all you know about Kapchack, and who it is he is in love with, and all about the rebel, Choo Hoo, and everything else, in a minute."
"Well, you are in a hurry," said the squirrel, laughing; "and so am I, generally; but this afternoon I have nothing to do, and I am very glad you have come, dear. Now, first——"
"First," said Bevis, interrupting, "why did the starling say it was a great secret, when everybody knew it?"
"It was a great secret," said the squirrel, "till Prince Tchack-tchack came down here (he is the heir, you know) in a dreadful fit of temper, and told the tomtit whom he met in the fir-tree, and the tomtit told the woodpecker, and the woodpecker told the starling, who told his lady-love on the chimney, and the fly heard him, and when you opened the window the fly went out and buzzed it to everybody while you were at breakfast. By this time it is all over the world; and I daresay even the sea-gulls, though they live such a long way off, have heard it. Kapchack is beside himself with rage that it should be known, and Tchack-tchack is afraid to go near him. He made a great peck at Tchack-tchack just now."
"But why should there be so much trouble about it?" said Bevis.
"Oh," said the squirrel, "it is a very serious business, let me tell you. It is not an ordinary falling in love, it is nothing less than a complete revolution of everything, and it will upset all the rules and laws that have been handed down ever since the world began."
"Dear me!" said Bevis. "And who is it Kapchack is in love with? I have asked twenty people, but no one will tell me."
"Why, I am telling you," said the squirrel. "Don't you see, if it had been an ordinary affair—only a young magpie—it would not have mattered much, though I daresay the queen would have been jealous, but this——"
"Who is it?" said Bevis, in a rage. "Why don't you tell me who it is?"
"I am telling you," said the squirrel, sharply.
"No, you're not. You're telling me a lot of things, but not what I want to know."
"Oh, well," said the squirrel, tossing his head and swishing his tail, "of course, if you know more about it than I do it is no use my staying." So off he went in a pet.
Up jumped Bevis. "You're a stupid donkey," he shouted, and ran across to the other side, and threw a piece of stick up into an elm-tree after the squirrel. But the squirrel was so quick he could not see which way he had gone, and in half-a-minute he heard the squirrel say very softly: "Bevis dear," behind him, and looked back, and there he was sitting on the oak bough again.
The squirrel, as the toad had said, was really a very good fellow; he was very quick to take offence, but his temper only lasted a minute. "Bevis dear," he said, "come back and sit down again on the moss, and I will tell you."
"I sha'n't come back," said Bevis, rather sulkily. "I shall sit here."
"No, no; don't stop there," said the squirrel, very anxiously. "Don't stop there, dear; can't you see that great bough above you; that elm-tree is very wicked, and full of malice, do not stop there, he may hurt you."
"Pooh! what rubbish!" said Bevis; "I don't believe you. It is a very nice elm, I am sure. Besides, how can he hurt me? He has got no legs and he can't run after me, and he has no hands and he can't catch me. I'm not a bit afraid of him;" and he kicked the elm with all his might. Without waiting a second, the squirrel jumped down out of the oak and ran across and caught hold of Bevis by his stocking—he could not catch hold of his jacket—and tried to drag him away. Seeing the squirrel in such an excited state, Bevis went with him to please him, and sat down on the moss under the oak. The squirrel went up on the bough, and Bevis laughed at him for being so silly.
"Ah, but my dear Sir Bevis," said the squirrel, "you do not know all, or you would not say what you did. You think because the elm has no legs and cannot run after you, and because he has no hands and cannot catch you, that therefore he cannot do you any harm. You are very much mistaken; that is a very malicious elm, and of a very wicked disposition. Elms, indeed, are very treacherous, and I recommend you to have nothing to do with them, dear."
"But how could he hurt me?" said Bevis.
"He can wait till you go under him," said the squirrel, "and then drop that big bough on you. He has had that bough waiting to drop on somebody for quite ten years. Just look up and see how thick it is, and heavy; why, it would smash a man out flat. Now, the reason the elms are so dangerous is because they will wait so long till somebody passes. Trees can do a great deal, I can tell you; why, I have known a tree, when it could not drop a bough, fall down altogether when there was not a breath of wind, nor any lightning, just to kill a cow or a sheep, out of sheer bad temper."
"But oaks do not fall, do they?" asked Bevis, looking up in some alarm at the oak above him.
"Oh, no," said the squirrel; "the oak is a very good tree, and so is the beech and the ash, and many more (though I am not quite certain of the horse-chestnut, I have heard of his playing tricks), but the elm is not; if he can he will do something spiteful. I never go up an elm if I can help it, not unless I am frightened by a dog or somebody coming along. The only fall I ever had was out of an elm.
"I ran up one in a hurry, away from that wretch, the weasel (you know him), and put my foot on a dried branch, and the elm, like a treacherous thing as he is, let it go, and down I went crash, and should have hurt myself very much if my old friend the ivy had not put out a piece for me to catch hold of, and so just saved me. As for you, dear, don't you ever sit under an elm, for you are very likely to take cold there, there is always a draught under an elm on the warmest day.
"If it should come on to rain while you are out for a walk, be sure and not go under an elm for shelter if the wind is blowing, for the elm, if he possibly can, will take advantage of the storm to smash you.
"And elms are so patient, they will wait sixty or seventy years to do somebody an injury; if they cannot get a branch ready to fall they will let the rain in at a knot-hole, and so make it rotten inside, though it looks green without, or ask some fungus to come up and grow there, and so get the bough ready for them. That elm across there is quite rotten inside—there is a hole inside so big you could stand up, and yet if anybody went by they would say what a splendid tree.
"But if you asked Kauhaha, the rook, he would shake his head, and decline to have anything to do with that tree. So, my dear Sir Bevis, do not you think any more that because a thing has no legs, nor arms, nor eyes, nor ears, that therefore it cannot hurt you. There is the earth, for instance; you may stamp on the earth with your feet and she will not say anything, she will put up with anything, but she is always lying in wait all the same, and if you could only find all the money she has buried you would be the richest man in the world; I could tell you something about that. The flints even——"
"Now I do not believe what you are going to say," said Bevis, "I am sure the flints cannot do anything, for I have picked up hundreds of them and flung them splash into the brook."
"But I assure you they can," said the squirrel. "I will tell you a story about a flint that happened only a short time since, and then you will believe. Once upon a time a waggon was sent up on the hills to fetch a load of flints; it was a very old waggon, and it wanted mending, for it belonged to a man who never would mend anything."
"Who was that?" said Bevis. "What a curious man."
"It was the same old gentleman (he is a farmer, only he is like your papa, Sir Bevis, and his land is his own), the same old gentleman who is so fond of Kapchack, whose palace is in his orchard. Well, the waggon went up on the hills, where the men had dug up some flints which had been lying quite motionless in the ground for so many thousand years that nobody could count them. There were at least five thousand flints, and the waggon went jolting down the hill and on to the road, and as it went the flints tried to get out, but they could not manage it, none but one flint, which was smaller than the rest.
"This one flint, of all the five thousand, squeezed out of a hole in the bottom of the waggon, and fell on the dust in the road, and was left there. There was not much traffic on the road (it is the same, dear, that goes to Southampton, where the ships are), so that it remained where it fell. Only one waggon came by with a load of hay, and had the wheel gone over the flint of course it would have been crushed to pieces. But the waggoner, instead of walking by his horses, was on the grass at the side of the road talking to a labourer in the field, and his team did not pass on their right side of the road, but more in the middle, and so the flint was not crushed.
"In the evening, when it was dark, a very old and very wealthy gentleman came along in his dog-cart, and his horse, which was a valuable one, chanced to slip on the flint, which, being sharp and jagged, hurt its hoof, and down the horse fell. The elderly gentleman and his groom, who was driving, were thrown out; the groom was not hurt, but his master broke his arm, and the horse broke his knees. The gentleman was so angry that no sooner did he get home than he dismissed the groom, though it was no fault of his, for how could he see the flint in the night? Nor would he give the man a character, and the consequence was he could not find another place. He soon began to starve, and then he was obliged to steal, and after a while he became a burglar.
"One night he entered a house in London, and was getting on well, and stealing gold watches and such things, when somebody opened the door and tried to seize him. Pulling out his pistol, he shot his assailant dead on the spot, and at once escaped, and has not since been heard of, though you may be sure if he is caught he will be hung, and they are looking very sharp after him, because he stole a box with some papers in it which are said to be of great value. And the person he shot was the same gentleman who had discharged him because the horse fell down. Now all this happened through the flint, and as I told you, Bevis dear, about the elm, the danger with such things is that they will wait so long to do mischief.
"This flint, you see, waited so many years that nobody could count them, till the waggon came to fetch it. They are never tired of waiting. Be very careful, Bevis dear, how you climb up a tree, or how you put your head out of window, for there is a thing that is always lying in wait, and will pull you down in a minute, if you do not take care. It has been waiting there to make something fall ever since the beginning of the world, long before your house was built, dear, or before any of the trees grew. You cannot see it, but it is there, as you may prove by putting your cap out of window, which in a second will begin to fall down, as you would if you were tilted out.
"And I daresay you have seen people swimming, which is a very pleasant thing, I hear from the wild ducks; but all the time the water is lying in wait, and if they stop swimming a minute they will be drowned, and although a man very soon gets tired of swimming, the water never gets tired of waiting, but is always ready to drown him.
"Also, it is the same with your candle, Bevis dear, and this the bat told me, for he once saw it happen, looking in at a window as he flew by, and he shrieked as loud as he could, but his voice is so very shrill that it is not everybody can hear him, and all his efforts were in vain. For a lady had gone to sleep in bed and left her candle burning on the dressing-table, just where she had left it fifty times before, and found it burnt down to the socket in the morning, and no harm done. But that night she had had a new pair of gloves, which were wrapped up in a piece of paper, and she undid these gloves and left the piece of paper underneath the candlestick, and yet it would not have hurt had the candle been put up properly, but instead of that a match had been stuck in at the side, like a wedge, to keep it up. When the flame came down to the match the match caught fire, and when it had burnt a little way down, that piece fell off, and dropped on the paper in which the gloves had been wrapped. The paper being very thin was alight in an instant, and from the paper the flame travelled to some gauze things hung on the looking-glass, and from that to the window curtains, and from the window curtains to the bed curtains, till the room was in a blaze, and though the bat shrieked his loudest the lady did not wake till she was very much burnt.
"Also with the sea; for the cod-fish told the seagull, who told the heron, who related the fact to the kingfisher, who informed me. The cod-fish was swimming about in the sea and saw a ship at anchor, and coming by the chain-cable the fish saw that one of the links of the chain was nearly eaten through with rust; but as the wind was calm it did not matter. Next time the ship came there to anchor the cod-fish looked again; and the rust had gone still further into the link. A third time the ship came back to anchor there, and the sailors went to sleep thinking it was all right, but the cod-fish swam by and saw that the link only just held. In the night there came a storm, and the sailors woke up to find the vessel drifting on the rocks, where she was broken to pieces, and hardly any of them escaped.
"Also, with living things, Bevis dear; for there was once a little creeping thing (the sun-beetle told me he heard it from his grandfather) which bored a hole into a beam under the floor of a room—the hole was so tiny you could scarcely see it, and the beam was so big twenty men could not lift it. After the creeping thing had bored this little hole it died, but it left ten children, and they bored ten more little holes, and when they died they left ten each, and they bored a hundred holes, and left a thousand, and they bored a thousand holes, and they left a thousand tens, who bored ten thousand holes, and left ten thousand tens, and they bored one hundred thousand holes, and left one hundred thousand tens, and they bored a million holes; and when a great number of people met in the room to hear a man speak, down the beam fell crash, and they were all dreadfully injured.
"Now, therefore, Bevis, my dear little Sir Bevis, do you take great care and never think any more that a thing cannot hurt you, because it has not got any legs, and cannot run after you, or because it has no hands, and cannot catch you, or because it is very tiny, and you cannot see it, but could kill a thousand with the heel of your boot. For as I told you about the malice-minded elm, all these things are so terribly dangerous, because they can wait so long, and because they never forget.
"Therefore, if you climb up a tree, be sure and remember to hold tight, and not forget, for the earth will not forget, but will pull you down to it thump, and hurt you very much. And remember if you walk by the water that it is water, and do not forget, for the water will not forget, and if you should fall in, will let you sink and drown you. And if you take a candle be careful what you are doing, and do not forget that fire will burn, for the fire will not forget, but will always be on the look-out and ready, and will burn you without mercy. And be sure to see that no little unseen creeping thing is at work, for they are everywhere boring holes into the beam of life till it cracks unexpectedly; but you must stay till you are older, and have eaten the peck of salt your papa tells you about, before you can understand all that. Now——"
"But," said Bevis, who had been listening to the story very carefully, "you have not told me about the wind. You have told me about the earth, and the water, and the fire, but you have not said anything about the wind."
"No more I have," said the squirrel. "You see I forget, though the earth does not, neither does the water, nor the fire. Well, the wind is the nicest of all of them, and you need never be afraid of the wind, for he blows so sweetly, and brings the odour of flowers, and fills you with life, and joy, and happiness. And oh, Bevis dear, you should listen to the delicious songs he sings, and the stories he tells as he goes through the fir-tree and the oak. Of course if you are on the ground, so far below, you can only hear a sound of whispering, unless your ears are very sharp; but if you were up in the boughs with me, you would be enchanted with the beauty of his voice.
"No, dear, never be afraid of the wind, but put your doors open and let him come in, and throw your window open and let him wander round the room, and take your cap off sometimes, and let him stroke your hair. The wind is a darling—I love the wind, and so do you, dear, for I have seen you racing about when the wind was rough, chasing the leaves and shouting with delight. Now with the wind it is just the reverse to what it is with all the others. If you fall on the earth it thumps you; into the water, it drowns you; into the fire, it burns you; but you cannot do without wind.
"Always remember that you must have wind, dear, and do not get into a drawer, as I have heard of boys doing, from the mouse, who goes about a good deal indoors, and being suffocated for want of wind; or into a box, or a hole, or anywhere where there is no wind. It is true he sometimes comes along with a most tremendous push, and the trees go cracking over. That is only because they are malice-minded, and are rotten at the heart; and the boughs break off, that is only because they have invited the fungus to grow on them; and the thatch on your papa's ricks is lifted up at the corner just as if the wind had chucked them under the chin.
"But that is nothing. Everybody loses his temper now and then, and why not the wind? You should see the nuts he knocks down for me where I could not very well reach them, and the showers of acorns, and the apples! I take an apple out of your orchard, dear, sometimes, but I do not mean any harm—it is only one or two. I love the wind! But do not go near an elm, dear, when the wind blows, for the elm, as I told you, is a malicious tree, and will seize any pretence, or a mere puff, to do mischief."
"I love the wind too!" said Bevis. "He sings to me down the chimney, and hums to me through the door, and whistles up in the attic, and shouts at me from the trees. Oh, yes, I will do as you say; I will always have plenty of the wind. You are a very nice squirrel. I like you very much; and you have a lovely silky tail. But you have not told me yet who it is Kapchack is in love with."
"I have been telling you all the time," said the squirrel; "but you are in such a hurry; and, as I was saying, if it was only a young magpie, now—only an ordinary affair—very likely the queen would be jealous, indeed, and there would be a fight in the palace, which would be nothing at all new, but this is much more serious, a very serious matter, and none can tell how it will end. As Kauc, the crow, was saying to Cloctaw, the jackdaw, this morning——"
"But who is it?" asked Bevis, jumping up again in a rage.
"Why, everybody knows who it is," said the squirrel; "from the ladybird to the heron; from the horse to the mouse; and everybody is talking of it, and as since the raven went away, there is no judge to settle any dispute——"
"I hate you!" said Bevis, "you do talk so much; but you do not tell me what I want to know. You are a regular donkey, and I will pull your tail."
He snatched at the squirrel's tail, but the squirrel was too quick; he jumped up the boughs and showed his white teeth, and ran away in a temper.
Bevis looked all round, but could not see him, and as he was looking a dragon-fly came and said that the squirrel had sent him to say that he was very much hurt, and thought Bevis was extremely rude to him, but he had told the dragon-fly to show him the way to the piece of timber, and if he would come back to-morrow, and not be so rude, he should hear all about it. So the dragon-fly led Bevis to the piece of timber, where the hare was waiting, and the hare led him to the wheat-field, and showed him the top of the great oak-tree, and from there he easily found his way home to tea.
The next morning passed quickly, Bevis having so much to do. Hur-hur, the pig, asked him to dig up some earth-nuts for him with his knife, for the ground was hard from the heat of the sun, and he could not thrust his snout in. Then Pan, the spaniel, had to be whipped very severely because he would not climb a tree; and so the morning was taken up. After the noontide heat had decreased, Bevis again started, and found his way by the aid of the oak to the corner of the wheat-field. The dragon-fly was waiting for him with a message from the hare, saying that she had been invited to a party on the hills, so the dragon-fly would guide him into the copse.
Flying before him, the dragon-fly led the way, often going a long distance ahead, and coming back in a minute, for he moved so rapidly it was not possible for Bevis to keep pace with him, and he was too restless to stand still. Bevis walked carefully over the bridge, holding to the rail, as the toad had told him; and passing the thistles, and the grass, and the ferns, came to the piece of timber. There he sat down to rest, while the dragon-fly played to and fro, now rising to the top of the trees, and now darting down again, to show off his dexterity. While he was sitting there a crow came along and looked at him hard, but said nothing; and immediately afterwards a jackdaw went over, remarking what a lovely day it was.
"Now take me to the raspberries," said Bevis; and the dragon-fly, winding in and out the trees, brought him to the thicket, showed him the place to creep in, and left, promising to return by-and-by and fetch him when it was time to go home. Bevis, warm with walking in the sunshine, after he had crept in to the raspberries, went across and sat down on the moss under the oak; and he had hardly leant his back against the tree than the squirrel came along the ground and sat beside him.
"You are just in time, my dear," he said, speaking low and rapidly, and glancing round to see that no one was near; "for there is going to be a secret council of the courtiers this afternoon, while Kapchack takes his nap; and in order that none of the little birds may play the spy and carry information to the police, Kauc, the crow, has been flying round and driving them away, so that there is not so much as a robin left in the copse. This is an employment that suits him very well, for he loves to play the tyrant. Perhaps you saw him coming in. And this council is about Kapchack's love affair, and to decide what is to be done, and whether it can be put up with, or whether they must refuse to receive her."
"And who is she?" said Bevis; "you keep on talking, but you do not tell me." The squirrel pricked up his ears and looked cross, but he heard the people coming to the council, and knew there was no time to be lost in quarrelling, so he did not go off in a pet this time. "The lady is the youngest jay, dear, in the wood; La Schach is her name; she is sweetly pretty, and dresses charmingly in blue and brown. She is sweetly pretty, though they say rather a flirt, and flighty in her ways. She has captivated a great many with her bright colour, and now this toothless old Kapchack—but hush! It is a terrible scandal. I hear them coming; slip this way, Bevis dear."
Bevis went after him under the brambles and the ferns till he found a place in a hollow ash-stole, where it was hung all round with honeysuckle, and then, doing as the squirrel told him, he sat down, and was quite concealed from sight; while the squirrel stopped on a bough just over his head, where he could whisper and explain things. Though Bevis was himself hidden, he could see very well; and he had not been there a minute before he heard a rustling, and saw the fox come stealthily out from the fern, and sit under an ancient hollow pollard close by.
The stoat came close behind him; he was something like the weasel, and they say a near relation; he is much bolder than the weasel, but not one quarter so cunning. He is very jealous, too, of the power the weasel has got on account of his cunning, and if he could he would strangle his kinsman. The rat could not attend, having very important business at the brook that day, but he had sent the mouse to listen and tell him all that was said. The fox looked at the mouse askance from the corner of his eye; and the stoat could not refrain from licking his lips, though it was well understood that at these assemblies all private feelings were to be rigidly suppressed. So that the mouse was quite safe; still, seeing the fox's glance, and the stoat's teeth glistening, he kept very near a little hole under a stole, where he could rush in if alarmed.
"I understood Prince Tchack-tchack was coming," said the fox, "but I don't see him."
"I heard the same thing," said the stoat. "He's very much upset about this business."
"Ah," said the fox, "perhaps he had an eye himself to this beautiful young creature. Depend upon it there's more under the surface than we have heard of yet." Just then a message came from the weasel regretting very much that he could not be present, owing to indisposition, but saying that he quite agreed with all that was going to be said, and that he would act as the others decided, and follow them in all things. This message was delivered by a humble-bee, who having repeated all the weasel had told him to, went buzzing on among the thistles.
"I do not quite like this," said a deep hollow voice; and looking up, Bevis saw the face of the owl at the mouth of a hole in the pollard-tree. He was winking in the light, and could not persuade himself to come out, which was the reason the council was held at the foot of his house, as it was necessary he should take part in it. "I do not quite like this," said the owl, very solemnly, "Is the weasel sincere in all he says? Is he really unwell, or does he keep away in order that if Kapchack hears of this meeting he may say: 'I was not there. I did not take any part in it'?"
"That is very likely," said the stoat. "He is capable of anything—I say it with sorrow, as he is so near a relation, but the fact is, gentlemen, the weasel is not what he ought to be, and has, I am afraid, much disgraced our family."
"Let us send for the weasel," said the hawk, who just then came and alighted on the tree above the owl. "Perhaps the squirrel, who knows the copse so well, will go and fetch him."
"I really do not know where he lives," said the squirrel. "I have not seen him lately, and I am afraid he is keeping his bed." Then the squirrel whispered down to Bevis: "That is not all true, but you see I am obliged not to know too much, else I should offend somebody and do myself no good".
"Well, then," said the rook, who had just arrived, "send the mouse; he looks as if he wanted something to do."
"I cannot agree to that," said the owl; "the mouse is very clever, and his opinion worthy of attention; we cannot spare him." The truth was, the owl, squinting down, had seen what a plump mouse it was, and he reflected that if the weasel saw him he would never rest till he had tasted him, whereas he thought he should like to meet the mouse by moonlight shortly. "Upon the whole, I really don't know that we need send for the weasel," he went on, thinking that if the weasel came he would fasten his affections upon the mouse.
"But I do," said the stoat.
"And so do I," said the fox.
"And I," said Kauc, the crow, settling down on a branch of the pollard.
"For my part," said Cloctaw, the old jackdaw, taking his seat on a branch of horse-chestnut, "I think it is very disrespectful of the weasel."
"True," said the wood-pigeon. "True-whoo," as he settled on the ash.
"Quite true-oo," repeated the dove, perching in the hawthorn.
"Send for the weasel, then," said a missel-thrush, also perching in the hawthorn. "Why all this delay? I am for action. Send for the weasel immediately."
"Really, gentlemen," said the mouse, not at all liking the prospect of a private interview with the weasel, "you must remember that I have had a long journey here, and I am not quite sure where the weasel lives at present."
"The council is not complete without the weasel," screamed a jay, coming up; he was in a terrible temper, for the lady jay whom Kapchack was in love with had promised him her hand, till the opportunity of so much grandeur turned her head, and she jilted him like a true daughter of the family, as she was. For the jays are famous for jilting their lovers. "If the mouse is afraid," said the jay, "I'll fetch the humble-bee back, and if he won't come I'll speak a word to my friend the shrike, and have him spitted on a thorn in a minute." Off he flew, and the humble-bee, dreadfully frightened, came buzzing back directly.
"It falls upon you, as the oldest of the party, to give him his commands," said Tchink, the chaffinch, addressing the owl. The owl looked at the crow, and the crow scowled at the chaffinch, who turned his back on him, being very saucy. He had watched his opportunity while the crow went round the copse to drive away the small birds, and slipped in to appear at the council. He was determined to assert his presence, and take as much part as the others in these important events. If the goldfinches, and the thrushes, and blackbirds, and robins, and greenfinches, and sparrows, and so on, were so meek as to submit to be excluded, and were content to have no voice in the matter till they were called upon to obey orders, that was their affair. They were a bevy of poor-spirited, mean things. He was not going to be put down like that. Tchink was, indeed, a very impudent fellow: Bevis liked him directly, and determined to have a chat with him by-and-by.
"If I am the oldest of the party, it is scarcely competent for you to say so," said the owl with great dignity, opening his eyes to their full extent, and glaring at Tchink.
"All right, old Spectacles," said Tchink; "you're not a bad sort of fellow by daylight, though I have heard tales of your not behaving quite so properly at night." Then catching sight of Bevis (for Tchink was very quick) he flew over and settled near the squirrel, intending, if any violence was offered to him, to ask Bevis for protection.
The owl, seeing the fox tittering, and the crow secretly pleased at this remark, thought it best to take no notice, but ordered the humble-bee, in the name of the council, to at once proceed to the weasel, and inform him that the council was unable to accept his excuses, but was waiting his arrival.
"Is Tchack-tchack coming?" asked the mouse, recovering his spirits now.
"I too-whoo should like to know if Tchack-tchack is coming," said the wood-pigeon.
"And I so, too-oo," added the dove. "It seems to me a most important matter."
"In my opinion," said Cloctaw, speaking rather huskily, for he was very old, "Tchack-tchack will not come. I know him well—I can see through him—he is a double-faced rascal like—like (he was going to say the fox, but recollected himself in time) his—well, never matter; like all his race then. My opinion is, he started the rumour that he was coming just to get us together, and encourage us to conspire against his father, in the belief that the heir was with us and approved of our proceedings. But he never really meant to come."
"The jackdaw is very old," said the crow, with a sneer. "He is not what he used to be, gentlemen, you must make allowance for his infirmities."
"It seems to me," said the missel-thrush, interrupting, "that we are wasting a great deal of time. I propose that we at once begin the discussion, and then if the weasel and Tchack-tchack come they can join in. I regret to say that my kinsman, the missel-thrush who frequents the orchard (by special permission of Kapchack, as you know), is not here. The pampered fawning wretch!—I hate such favourites—they disgrace a court. Why, all the rest of our family are driven forth like rogues, and are not permitted to come near! If the tyrant kills his children in his wanton freaks even then this minion remains loyal: despicable being! But now without further delay let us ask the owl to state the case plainly, so that we can all understand what we are talking about."
"Hear, hear," said Tchink.
"I agree too," said the wood-pigeon.
"I too," said the dove.
"It is no use waiting for Tchack-tchack," said the hawk.
"Hum! haw! caw!" said the rook, "I do not know about that."
"Let us go on to business," said the stoat, "the weasel knows no more than we do. His reputation is much greater than he deserves."
"I have heard the same thing," said the fox. "Indeed I think so myself."
"I am sure the owl will put the case quite fairly," said the mouse, much pleased that the owl had saved him from carrying the message to the weasel.
"Weare all waiting, Owl," said Tchink.
"We, indeed," said the hawk, very sharply.
"Hush! hush!" said the squirrel. "This is a privileged place, gentlemen; no personal remarks, if you please."
"I think, think, the owl is very stupid not to begin," said the chaffinch.
"If you please," said the fox, bowing most politely to the owl, "we are listening."
"Well then, gentlemen, since you all wish it," said the owl, ruffling out his frills and swelling up his feathers, "since you all wish it, I will endeavour to put the case as plainly as possible, and in as few words as I can. You must understand, gentlemen, indeed you all understand already, that from time immemorial, ever since the oak bore acorns, and the bramble blackberries, it has been the established custom for each particular bird and each particular animal to fall in love with, and to marry some other bird or animal of the same kind.
"To explain more fully, so that there cannot by any possibility be the least chance of any one mistaking my meaning, I should illustrate the position in this way, that it has always been the invariable custom for owls to marry owls; for crows to marry crows; for rooks to fall in love with rooks; for wood-pigeons to woo wood-pigeons; doves to love doves; missel-thrushes to court lady missel-thrushes; jackdaws, jackdaws; hawks, hawks; rats, rats; foxes, foxes; stoats, stoats; weasels, weasels; squirrels, squirrels; for jays to marry jays ('Just so,' screamed the jay); and magpies to marry magpies."
"And chaffinches to kiss chaffinches," added Tchink, determined not to be left out.
"This custom," continued the owl, "has now existed so long, that upon looking into the archives of my house, and turning over the dusty records, not without inconvenience to myself, I can't discover one single instance of a departure from it since history began. There is no record, gentlemen, of any such event having taken place. I may say, without fear of contradiction, that no precedent exists. We may, therefore, regard it as a fixed principle of common law, from which no departure can be legal, without the special and express sanction of all the nation, or of its representatives assembled. We may even go further, and hazard the opinion, not without some authority, that even with such sanction, such departure from constitutional usage could not be sustained were an appeal to be lodged.
"Even the high court of representatives of all the nation, assembled in the fulness of their power, could not legalise what is in itself and of its own nature illegal. Customs of this kind, which are founded upon the innate sense and feeling of every individual, cannot, in short, be abolished by Act of Parliament. Upon this all the authorities I have consulted are perfectly agreed. What has grown up during the process of so many generations, cannot be now put on one side. This, gentlemen, is rather an abstruse part of the question, being one which recommends itself for consideration to the purely legal intellect. It is a matter, too, of high state policy which rises above the knowledge of the common herd. We may take it for granted, and pass on from the general to the special aspect of this most remarkable case.
"What do we see? We see a proposed alliance between an august magpie and a beautiful jay. Now we know by experience that what the palace does one day, the world at large will do to-morrow. It is the instinct of nature to follow the example of those set so high above us. We may therefore conclude, without fear of contradiction, that this alliance will be followed by others equally opposed to tradition. We shall have hundreds of other equally ill-assorted unions. If it could be confined to this one instance, a dispensation might doubtless be arranged. I, for one, should not oppose it. ('I hate you!' shouted the jay.) But no one can for a moment shut his eye to what must happen. We shall have, as I before remarked, hundreds of these ill-assorted unions.
"Now I need not enlarge upon the unhappy state of affairs which would thus be caused: the family jars, the shock to your feelings, the pain that must be inflicted upon loving hearts. With that I have nothing to do. It may safely be left to your imagination. But what I, as a statesman and a lawyer, have to deal with, is the legal, that is the common-sense view of the situation, and my first question is this: I ask myself, and I beg you, each of you, to ask yourselves—I ask myself, What effect would these ill-assorted unions produce upon the inheritance of property?"
"True-whoo!" said the wood-pigeon.
"Hum! Haw!" said the rook.
"Law-daw!" said Cloctaw.
"Very important, very!" said the fox. "The sacred laws of property cannot with safety be interfered with."
"No intrusion can be thought of for a moment," said the stoat.
"Most absurd!" said the jay.
"The very point!" said the missel-thrush.
"Very clear, indeed!" said the mouse; "I am sure the rat will echo the sentiment."
"Every one will agree with you," said Ki Ki, the hawk.
"I think the same," said the chaffinch.
"The question is undoubtedly very important," continued the owl, when the buzz had subsided, and much pleased at the sensation he had caused. "You all agree that the question is not one to be lightly decided or passed over. In order to fully estimate the threatened alteration in our present system, let us for a moment survey the existing condition of affairs. I, myself, to begin with, I and my ancestors, for many generations, have held undisputed possession of this pollard. Not the slightest flaw has ever been discovered in our title-deeds; and no claimant has ever arisen. The rook has had, I believe, once or twice some little difficulty respecting his own particular tenancy, which is not a freehold; but his townsmen, as a body, possess their trees in peace. The crow holds an oak; the wood-pigeon has an ash; the missel-thrush a birch; our respected friend the fox here, has a burrow which he inherited from a deceased rabbit, and he has also contingent claims on the witheybed, and other property in the country; the stoat has a charter of free warren."
"And I have an elm," said Tchink; "let anybody come near it, that's all."
"The squirrel," continued the owl, "has an acknowledged authority over this copse; and the jay has three or four firs of his own."
"And St. Paul belongs to me," said Cloctaw, the jackdaw.
"Well, now," said the owl, raising his voice and overpowering the husky Cloctaw, "about these various properties little or no dispute can take place; the son succeeds to the father, and the nephew to the uncle. Occasional litigation, of course, occurs, which I have often had the pleasure of conducting to an amicable and satisfactory termination. But, upon the whole, there is very little difficulty; and the principle of inheritance is accepted by all. Your approval, indeed, has just been signified in the most unanimous manner. But what shall we see if the example set by the palace spreads among society? The ash at the present moment is owned by the wood-pigeon; were the wood-pigeon's heir to marry the missel-thrush's heiress, just imagine the conflicting claims which would arise.
"The family would be divided amongst itself; all the relations upon the paternal side, and the relations upon the maternal side would join the contest, and peace would be utterly at an end. And so in all other instances. The crow would no longer have a fee-simple of the oak, the jackdaw of the steeple, the rook of the elm, the fox of the burrow, or I of my pollard. We might even see the rook claiming the——But I will not follow the illustration further, lest I be charged with descending to personalities. I will only add, in conclusion, that if this ill-fated union takes place, we must look forward to seeing every home broken up, our private settlements, our laws of hereditary succession set upon one side, our property divided among a miscellaneous horde of people, who will not know their own grandfathers, and our most cherished sentiments cast to the winds of heaven." With which words the owl concluded, and was greeted with marks of approval from all parts of the circle.
"We are all very much indebted to the owl," said the fox, "for putting the true aspect of the case so clearly before us. His learned discourse—not more learned than lucid—has convinced us all of the extreme inexpediency of this alliance."
"If this course is persisted in," said the crow, "it can only end, in my opinion, in a way disastrous to the state. The king cannot decline to listen to our representations, if we are united."
"Haw!" said the rook; "I'm not so sure of that. Kapchack likes his own way."
"Kapchack is very self-willed," said the hawk. "It is almost our turn to have our way once now."
"So I should say," screamed the jay, who could never open his beak without getting into a temper. "So I should say; Kapchack is a wicked old——"
"Hush, hush," said the squirrel; "you can't tell who may be listening."
"I don't care," said the jay, ruffling up his feathers; "Kapchack is a wicked old fellow, and Tchack-tchack is as bad."
"Capital!" said Tchink, the chaffinch; "I like outspoken people. But I have heard that you (to the jay) are very fond of flirting." At this there would have been a disturbance, had not the fox interfered.
"We shall never do anything, unless we agree amongst ourselves," he said. "Now, the question is, are we going to do anything?"
"Yes, that is it," said the missel-thrush, who hated talking, and liked to be doing; "what is it we are going to do?"
"Something must be done," said the owl, very solemnly.
"Yes; something must be done," said Cloctaw.
"Something must be done," said Ki Ki.
"I think, think so," said Tchink.
"I, too," said the dove.
"Quite true," said the wood-pigeon.
"Something must be done," said the stoat.
"Let us tell Kapchack what we think," said the mouse, getting bold, as he was not eaten.
"A good idea," said the crow; "a very good idea. We will send the mouse with a message."
"Dear me! No, no," cried the mouse, terribly frightened; "Kapchack is awful in a rage—my life would not be worth a minute's purchase. Let the stoat go."
"Not I," said the stoat; "I have had to suffer enough already, on account of my relation to that rascal the weasel, whom Kapchack suspects of designs upon his throne. I will not go."
"Nor I," said the fox; "Kapchack has looked angrily at me for a long time—he cannot forget my royal descent. Let the hawk go."
"I! I!" said Ki Ki. "Nonsense; Kapchack does not much like me now; he gave me a hint the other day not to soar too high. I suppose he did not like to think of my overlooking him kissing pretty La Schach."
"Wretch! horrid wretch!" screamed the jay, at the mention of the kissing, in a paroxysm of jealousy. "Pecking is too good for him!"
"Send the jackdaw or the crow," said Ki Ki.
"No, no," said Kauc and Cloctaw together. "Try the wood-pigeon."
"I go?—whoo," said the pigeon. "Impossible. Kapchack told me to my face the other day that he more than half suspected me of plotting to go over to Choo Hoo. I dare not say such a thing to him."
"Nor I," said the dove. "Why not the owl?"
"The fact is," said the owl, "my relations with Kapchack are of a peculiar and delicate nature. Although I occupy the position of a trusted counsellor, and have the honour to be chief secretary of state, that very position forbids my taking liberties, and it is clear if I did, and were in consequence banished from the court, that I could not plead your cause. Now, the rat——"
"I am sure the rat will not go," said the mouse. "My friend the rat is very particularly engaged, and could not possibly stir from home at this juncture. There is the missel-thrush."
"Ridiculous," said the missel-thrush. "Everybody knows I had to leave my hawthorn-tree because Prince Tchack-tchack took a fancy to it. He would very likely accuse me to his father of high treason, for he hates me more than poison ever since he did me that injury, and would lose no chance of compassing my destruction. Besides which my relative—the favourite—would effectually prevent me from obtaining an audience. Now, there's the squirrel."
"My dear sir," said the squirrel, "it is well known I never meddle with politics. I am most happy to see you all here, and you can have the use of my copse at any time, and I may say further that I sympathise with your views in a general way. But on no account could I depart from my principles."
"His principles," muttered the crow, always a cynical fellow. "His principles are his own beech-trees. If anybody touched them he would not object to politics then."
"This is rather awkward," said the owl. "There seems an embarrassment on the part of all of us, and we must own that to venture into the presence of a despotic monarch with such unpleasant advice requires no slight courage. Now, I propose that since the weasel has attained so high a reputation for address, that he be called upon to deliver our message."
"Hear, hear," said the fox.
"Hear, hear," said the stoat.
"Capital," said the chaffinch. "Old Spectacles can always see a way out of a difficulty."
"Haw!" said the rook. "I'm doubtful. Perhaps the weasel will not see it in this light."
"Buzz," said the humble-bee, just then returning. "Gentlemen, I have seen the weasel. His lordship was lying on a bank in the sun—he is very ill indeed. His limbs are almost powerless; he has taken a chill from sleeping in a damp hole. He sends his humble apology, and regrets he cannot move. I left him licking his helpless paw. Buzz, buzz."
"Hark! hark!" said the woodpecker, bursting into the circle with such a shout and clatter that the dove flew a little way in alarm. "Kapchack is waking up. I have been watching all the time to let you know. And there is no chance of Prince Tchack-tchack coming, for he told me that Kapchack ordered him not to leave the orchard while he was asleep."
"I do not believe it," said the jay. "He is a false scoundrel, and I daresay Kapchack never gave any such order, and never thought about it. However, there is no help for it, we must break up this meeting, or we shall be missed. But it is clear that something must be done."
"Something must be done," said the wood-pigeon, as he flew off.
"Something must be done," repeated the dove.
"Something must be done," said the owl, as he went down into the pollard to sleep the rest of the day. Off went the mouse as fast as he could go, anxious to get away from the neighbourhood of the weasel. The missel-thrush had started directly he heard what the woodpecker said, disgusted that there was no action, and nothing but talk. The jay went off with the hawk, remarking as he went that he had expected better things of the fox, whose royal ancestors had so great a reputation, and could contrive a scheme to achieve anything, while their ignoble descendant was so quiet, and scarce spoke a word. It seemed as if the weasel would soon outdo him altogether. The rook flew straight away to the flock to which he belonged, to tell them all that had been said. The chaffinch left at the same time; the fox and the stoat went away together; the crow and the jackdaw accompanied each other a little way. When they had gone a short distance the crow said he wanted to say something very particular, so they perched together on a lonely branch.
"What is it?" said Cloctaw.
"The fact is," said the crow, "my belief is—come a little nearer—my belief is that Kapchack's reign is coming to an end. People won't put up with this."
"Ah," said the jackdaw, "if that is the case who is to be king?"
"Well," said the crow, "let me whisper to you; come a little nearer." He hopped towards Cloctaw. Cloctaw hopped the other way. The crow hopped towards him again, till Cloctaw came to the end of the branch, and could go no farther without flying, which would look odd under the circumstances. So he kept a very sharp eye on Kauc, for the fact was they had had many a quarrel when they were younger, and Cloctaw was not at all sure that he should not have a beak suddenly driven through his head.
"The truth is," said the crow, in a hoarse whisper, "there's a chance for you and me. Can't you see the fox is very stupid, quite abject, and without the least spirit; the stoat is very fierce, but has no mind; everybody suspects the weasel, and will not trust him; as for the rat, he is no favourite; the hawk is—well, the hawk is dangerous, but might be disposed of ('You black assassin,' thought Cloctaw to himself); the rook has not a chance, for his friends would be too jealous to let one of their number become a king; and for the rest, they are too weak. There's only you and me left."
"I see," said Cloctaw; "but we could not both be king."
"Why not?" said the crow; "you wear the crown and live in the palace; you are old, and it would be nice and comfortable; you have all the state and dignity, and I will do the work."
"It is very kind of you to propose it," said Cloctaw, as if considering. In his heart he thought: "Oh, yes, very convenient indeed; I am to wear the crown, and be pecked at by everybody, andyouto do all the work—that is, to go about and collect the revenue, and be rich, and have all the power, while I have all the danger".
"It is quite feasible, I am sure," said the crow; "especially if Prince Tchack-tchack continues his undutiful course, and if Choo Hoo should come up with his army."
"I must think about it," said Cloctaw; "we must not be too hasty."
"Oh, dear no," said the crow, delighted to have won over one important politician to his cause so easily; "we must wait and watch events. Of course this little conversation is quite private?"
"Perfectly private," said Cloctaw; and they parted.
The crow had an appointment, and Cloctaw flew direct to the steeple. His nest was in the highest niche, just behind the image of St. Paul; and it was not only the highest, but the safest from intrusion, for there was no window near, and, on account of some projections below, even a ladder could not be put up, so that it was quite inaccessible without scaffolding. This niche he discovered in his hot youth, when he won renown by his strength and courage: he chose it for his home, and defended it against all comers. He was now old and feeble, but his reputation as a leading politician, and his influence at the court of King Kapchack, were too great for any to think of ousting him by force.
But the members of his family, in their extreme solicitude for his personal safety, frequently represented to him the danger he incurred in ascending so high. Should a wing fail him, how terrible the consequences! more especially for the race of which he was so distinguished an ornament. Nor was there the least reason for his labouring to that elevation; with his reputation and influence, none would dare to meddle with him. There were many pleasant places not so exposed, as the gurgoyle, the leads, the angle of the roof, where he could rest without such an effort; and upon their part they would willingly assist him by collecting twigs for a new nest.
But Cloctaw turned a deaf ear to these kindly proposals, and could not be made to see the advantages so benevolently suggested. He would in no degree abate his dignity, his right, power, or position. He adhered to St. Paul. There he had built all his days, and there he meant to stay to the last, for having seen so much of the world, well he knew that possession is ten points of the law, and well he understood the envy and jealousy which dictated these friendly counsels.
At the same time, as the fox and the stoat were going through the fern, the stoat said: "It appears to me that this is a very favourable opportunity for ruining the weasel. Could we not make up some tale, and tell Kapchack how the weasel asked us to a secret meeting, or something?"
Now the fox had his own ideas, and he wanted to get rid of the stoat. "Another time," he said, "another time, we will consider of it; but why waste such a capital chance as you have to-day?"
"Capital chance to-day?" said the stoat; "what is it you mean?"
"Did you not see the mouse?" said the fox. "Did you not see how fat he was? And just think, he has a long and lonely road home; and it would be very easy to make a short cut (for he will not leave the hedges which are round about) and get in front of, and so intercept him. I should go myself, but I was out last night, and feel tired this afternoon."
"Oh, thank you," said the stoat; "I'll run that way directly." And off he started, thinking to himself: "How silly the fox has got, and how much he has fallen off from the ancient wisdom for which his ancestors were famous. Why ever did he not hold his tongue, and I should never have thought of the mouse, and the fox could have had him another day?"
But the fact was the fox recollected that the mouse had had a long start, and it was very doubtful if the stoat could overtake him, and if he did, most likely the rat would come to meet his friend, and the stoat would get the worst of the encounter.
However ill the rat served the mouse, however much he abused his superior strength, wreaking his temper on his weaker companion, still the mouse clung to him all the more. On the other hand the rat, ready enough to injure the mouse himself, would allow no one else (unless with his permission) to touch his follower, wishing to reserve to himself a monopoly of tyranny.
So soon as the stoat was out of sight, the fox looked round to see that no one was near, and he said to a fly: "Fly, will you carry a message for me?"
"I am very busy," said the fly, "very busy indeed."
So the fox went a little farther, and said to a humble-bee: "Humble-bee, will you carry a message for me?"
"I am just going home," said the humble-bee, and buzzed along.
So the fox went a little farther, and said to a butterfly: "Beautiful butterfly, will you carry a message for me?" But the disdainful butterfly did not even answer.
The fox went a little farther, and met a tomtit. "Te-te," said he, addressing the tomtit by name, "will you carry a message for me?"
"What impudence!" said Te-te. "Mind your own business, and do not speak to gentlemen."
"I see how it is," said the fox to himself, "the fortunes of my family are fallen, and I am disregarded. When we were rich, and had a great reputation, and were the first of all the people in the wood, then we had messengers enough, and they flew to do our bidding. But now, they turn aside. This is very bitter. When I get home, I must curl round and think about it; I cannot endure this state of things. How dreadful it is to be poor! I wish we had not dissipated our wealth so freely. However, there is a little left still in a secret corner. As I said, I must see about it. Here is a gnat. Gnat, will you carry a message for me?"
"Well, I don't know," said the gnat; "I must think about it. Will to-morrow do?"
"No," said the fox quickly, before the gnat flew off. "Go for me to Kapchack, and say there has been a secret——"
"A secret?" said the gnat; "that's another matter." And he went down closer to the fox.
"Yes," said the fox, "you fly as fast as you can, and whisper to Kapchack—you have free admittance, I know, to the palace—that there has been a secret meeting in the copse about his love affair, and that the courtiers are all against it, and are bent on his destruction, especially the owl, the hawk, the crow, the rook, the weasel (the weasel worst of all, for they would have chosen him as their deputy), the stoat, and the jackdaw, and that he has only one true friend, the fox, who sends the message."
"All right!" said the gnat; "all right, I'll go!" And off he flew, delighted to be entrusted with so great a secret.
While the courtiers were thus intriguing, not only against Kapchack, but against each other, Bevis and the squirrel went back into the raspberries, and Bevis helped himself to the fruit that had ripened since yesterday.
"It seems to me," said Bevis, after he had eaten as much as he could, "that they are all very wicked."
"So they are," said the squirrel. "I am sorry to say they are rather treacherous, and I warned you not to believe all they said to you. I would not let them use my copse, but the fact is, if they are wicked, Kapchack is a hundred times more so. Besides, it is very hard on the jay, who is an old acquaintance of mine—we often have a chat in the fir-trees—to have his dear, sweet, pretty lady stolen away from him by such a horrid old wretch, whose riches and crown have quite turned her head!"