Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary

1 The Doctor Meets the Green Canary

THIS story of the further adventures of Pippinella, the green canary, begins during the time of the Dolittle Circus. It will tell—in much greater detail—the strange events which took place in the life of the little bird before she came to live with John Dolittle.

Pippinella was a rare kind of canary which the Doctor had found in an animal shop while taking a walk with Matthew Mugg, the Cats'–Meat–Man. Thinking he had made a bad bargain because—as he thought—hen canaries couldn't sing, he had been greatly astonished, on getting her back to the caravan, to find she had a most unusual mezzo–contralto voice.

And what was more unusual still, she had travelled many thousands of miles and lived a most varied and interesting life. When she had told the Doctor some of the dramatic happenings which led up to her being sold to the animal shop he interrupted her to say:

'You know, Pippinella, for many years now, I have wanted to do a series of animal biographies. But, because most birds and animals have such poor memories for details, I have never been able to get on to paper a complete record of any one animal. However, you seem to be different—to have the knack for remembering the proper things. You're a born story–teller. Would you be willing to help me write your biography?'

'Why, certainly, Doctor,' replied Pippinella. 'When would you like to begin?'

'Any time you feel rested enough,' said the Doctor. 'I'll have Too–Too fetch some extra notebooks from the storage tent. How about tomorrow evening after the circus is closed up for the night?'

'All right,' said the canary. 'I'll be harry to begin tomorrow. I am rather tired tonight; this has been a most trying day. You know, Doctor Dolittle, for a few moments this afternoon I was afraid you were going to pass right by that dreadful shop and leave me there.'

'Indeed, I might have,' said John Dolittle, 'if your cage hadn't been hanging in the window where I could see how disappointed you looked as I began to move away.'

'Thank heaven you came back!' sighed Pippinella. 'I don't know how I could have borne another moment in that dirty shop.'

'Well,' said the Doctor, 'that's all over now. I hope you'll be very happy with us. We live quite simply here—as you can see. These animals and birds I call my family, and—for the time being—this wagon is our home. One day when we have had enough of circus life, you shall return to Puddleby with us. There you will find life a great deal quieter—but pleasant just the same.'

This conversation, which the Doctor had with the green canary, was all carried on in the bird's own language. You will remember—from previous stories about John Dolittle and his animal family—that he had learned, many years before, to speak the language of animals and birds. This unique ability had earned for him the friendship and loyalty of all living creatures and had influenced him to change his doctoring of humans to a busy life of caring for the illnesses and injuries of animals, fish and birds.

While the Doctor was talking with the Pippinella about writing her biography, the members of his household had withdrawn to a corner of the wagon and were carrying on a lively discussion. Gub–Gub, the pig, as well as Dab–Dab, the duck, Jip, the dog, and Too–Too, the owl, were quite indignant that the Doctor should choose a newcomer to the group for this great honour. Whitey, the white mouse, being more timid than the others, just listened and thought about the idea. But Gub–Gub, the most conceited of the lot, said that he was going to speak to the Doctor about it.

So the next evening, when the family had gathered in the wagon to hear the continuation of the canary's story, Gub–Gub cleared his throat nervously and spoke up.

'I don't see why anyone would want to read the biography of a mere canary,' he grumbled. 'My life is much more interesting. Why, the places I've been! Africa, Asia, and the Fiji Islands. Not to mention the food I've eaten. I'm a celebrity for that if for nothing else. Now, what can a canary know about food—eating nothing but dried–up seeds and bread–crumbs? And where could she go—cooped up in a cage most of her life?'

'Food! Food! That's all you think about,' snapped Too–Too. 'I think it's more important to be a good mathematician. Take me, for instance; I know to the penny how much gold there is in the Bank of England!'

'I have a gold collar from a king,' said Jip. 'That's something!'

'I suppose it's nothing that I can make a bed so it's fit for decent folk to sleep in!' snapped Dab–Dab. 'And who, I'd like to know, keeps you all healthy and well fed. I think that's more important!'

Whitey just sat there and didn't say a word; he didn't really think his life was interesting enough for a biography. When the Doctor looked at him with a questioning expression on his face Whitey dropped his eyelids and pretended to be asleep.

'Haven't you anything to say, Whitey?' asked the Doctor.

'No, sir—I mean, yes!' said the white mouse timidly. 'I think the biography of Pippinella will be very nice.'

'Well, let's get on with it, then,' said the Doctor. 'Please—if you're ready—we are, Pippinella.'

The canary then told them how she was born in an aviary—a small one where the man who bred canaries gave her special attention because of her unusual voice; how she came to be such a rare shade of green because her father was a lemon–yellow Harz Mountain canary and her mother a greenfinch of very good family; and how she shared a nest with three brothers and two sisters—until it was discovered that she was that rare thing: a hen bird who sang as beautifully as a cock.

Pippinella explained that it was not true—that hens could not sing as well as cocks. It was only that cocks did not encourage their womenfolk to sing, saying that a woman's job was to care for and to feed the young, and to make a home for her husband and children.

It was because of her beautiful voice that Pippinella finally acquired a master who bought her and carried her off to a new home; an inn where travellers from all over the world stopped on their way to the seaport to eat and sleep the night.

After the canary had described the inn more fully the Doctor interrupted her to ask:

'Pardon me, Pippinella. Could that have been the Inn on the road from London to Liverpool?—I believe it is called The Inn of The Seven Seas.'

'That's the one, Doctor,' answered the little bird. 'Have you been there?'

'Indeed we have,' replied John Dolittle, 'several times.'

Gub–Gub jumped up so suddenly from his chair that he crashed into the table where Pippinella sat telling her story and sent the water out of the canary's drinking dish sloshing over the sides.

'I remember!' he cried. 'That's where the turnips were especially good—done with a parsley sauce and a little dash of nutmeg.'

'If I'm not mistaken,' said Jip. 'I felt a perfectly good knuckle–bone buried there. Cook gave it to me right after dinner and I planned to eat it later. But the Doctor was in such a hurry to move on I hadn't a moment to dig it up before we left.'

'I'll bet you wished many times that you had it, eh, Jip?' said Too–Too. 'But then, you must have had plenty of bones buried back at Puddleby.'

'Not more than three or four,' Jip replied. 'Those were lean days.'

'They would have been leaner if I'd not found that gold sovereign just as we were leaving,' piped up Whitey.

'Gold sovereign?' asked the Doctor. 'You didn't tell me about it. Whatever did you do with it, Whitey?'

Whitey looked confused and kept glancing from Dab–Dab back to the Doctor. He wished he'd kept quiet about the sovereign.

Dab–Dab ruffled her feathers and made a clucking noise.

'He gave it to me. John Dolittle!' she said crossly. 'How do you think we would have eaten at all after that scoundrel, Blossom, departed with all the circus funds? You know our larder was empty, Doctor. Except for about a tea–spoonful of tea and some mouldy tapioca.'

'But the sovereign didn't belong to you,' said the Doctor.

'It did—just as much as to anyone else,' said Whitey. 'It was lying in the dust right smack between the hind feet of one of the coach horses. And he was trampling and kicking up the dirt so that I could hardly keep my eyes on it—good as they are.'

'No one but Whitey—with his microscopic eyes—would ever have seen it,' said Dab–Dab. 'There was no point in running around asking stable–boys and kitchen–maids if it belonged to them. Who could recognize a gold sovereign as his? Anyway, it's spent now—that was almost a year ago.'

'Well, well,' sighed the doctor. 'I suppose it was all right. Shall we get on with the story, Pippinella?'

'I was treated with great respect and admiration by the owner of the inn and his wife and children,' continued the canary. 'And I made many friends there. Everybody stopped to speak to me and listen to my songs—it was very gratifying.

'The coming and going of coaches from all directions, and the busy, cheerful people who worked for my master, inspired me with no end of ideas for new songs. It was a wonderful place for composing!

'On nice days my master would hang my cage on a hook high up beside the entrance to the inn. There I would greet the incoming guests with my very best songs. One little verse I made up and set to music became very popular with everyone who heard it. I called it "Maids, come out, the coach is here," and whenever I heard the sound of approaching horses I'd sing it at the top of my lungs to announce to the stable–boys and porters that another coach–load of travellers was nearing the inn.

'Among the people who came to be my friends was one named Jack, who drove the night coach from the North. For him I composed a merry tune called "The Harness Jingle Song". Old Jack would call out to me, as he rolled his coach into the noisy courtyard, "Hulloa, there Pip! Hulloa!" and I'd answer him by singing another verse of his song.'

2 The Inn of the Seven Seas

AFTER a short pause in which the green canary seemed to be lost in thought she continued her story.

'Besides the many friends that I made among the people in that place I made lots more among the animals. I knew all the coach horses and I would hail them by names as they came trotting into the yard. And dog friends I had too: the watchdog who lived in a kennel by the gate and several terriers who hung about the stables. They knew all the local gossip of the town. There was a dovecote above the loft where they kept the hay for the horses. And here carrier pigeons lived who were trained to fly long distances with messages. And many were the interesting tales that they could tell of an evening, when they sat on the gutters of the roof or strutted about the yard beneath my cage, picking up the bits of corn that had fallen from the horses' nosebags.

'Yes, as I look back over all the places I have been, that nice, busy old inn seems as good a home as any cage bird could wish to find.

'I had been there, I suppose, about five months when, just as the poplars were beginning to turn yellow, I noticed a peculiar thing: knots of people used to gather in the yard of an evening and talk with serious, worried faces. I listened to such conversations as were near enough for me to hear. But although I knew by this time the meaning of a great number of human words I couldn't make anything out of this talk. It seemed to be mostly about what you call politics. There was an air of restlessness. Everybody seemed to be expecting or fearing something.

'And then one day for the first time I saw soldiers. They came tramping into the inn yard in the morning. They had heavy packs on their backs. Evidently they had been marching all night, because many of them were so weary that they sat down against the stable wall with their boots covered with dust, and slept. They stayed with us till the following day, eating their meals in the yard out of little tin dishes which they took from the packs they had carried.

'Some of them had friends among the maids of the inn. And when they left I noticed that two of the maids who waved to them from the dining–room window were weeping. There was quite a crowd to see them go off. And very smart they looked in their red coats, marching out of the gate in rows of four with their guns on their shoulders and their packs on their backs, stepping in time to the drummer's rap—rap, rappatap, tap, tap!

'Not many days after they had gone we had another new kind of excitement, another army. But this one did not wear smart uniforms or march to the beat of a drum. It was composed of ragged people, wild–eyed, untidy and disorderly! They came scrambling into the inn yard, shouting and waving sticks. A leader among them stood on an upturned bucket and made them a speech. The owner of the inn begged the leader to take them away. He was evidently very worried about having them in his yard. But the leader wouldn't listen. When one speech was finished another would begin. But what any of them was about I couldn't make out.

'Finally the ragged mob drifted away of its own accord. And as soon as the yard was clear the innkeeper shut and locked the gate so they couldn't come back.

'I asked one of my pigeon friends what it all meant. He shook his head seriously:

'"I don't quite know," he said. "Something's been going on for weeks now. I hope it isn't war. Two of the carriers, the best flyers in the dovecote, were taken away last Monday. We don't know where they went to. But those two pigeons were used for carrying war messages before."

'"What is war?" I asked.

'"Oh, it's a messy, stupid business," he said. "Two sides wave flags and beat drums and shoot one another dead. It always begins this way, making speeches, talking, about rights, and all that sort of thing."

'"But what is it for? What do they get out of it?"

'"I don't know," he said. "To tell you the truth, I don't think they know themselves. When I was young I carried war messages myself once. But it never seemed to me that anyone, not even the generals, knew any more of what it was all about than I did."'

Pippinella stopped in her story long enough to take a sip of water and then went on again.

'That same week that the ragged people came to the inn to make speeches we had still another unusual arrival. This was a frightfully elegant private coach. It had a wonderful picture painted on the door, handles and mountings of silver, outriders on fine horses to guard it, and altogether it was the grandest equipage I had ever seen.

'On its first appearance way down the road I had started singing my usual song, "Maids, come out," and so forth. And I was still singing when it came to a halt in the yard and a tall superior sort of gentleman got out of it. The innkeeper was already on the steps, bowing low, and porters were standing around to help the guest out and to attend to his luggage. But strangely enough, the first thing that the elegant person took any notice of was myself.

'"By Jove!" he said, putting a quizzing glass to his eye and sauntering towards my cage. "What a marvellous singer! Is it a canary?"

'"Yes, my lord," said the host, coming forward, "a green canary."

'"I'll buy it from you," said the elegant gentleman. "Buckley, my secretary, will pay you whatever the price is. Have it ready to travel with me in the morning, please."

'I saw the innkeeper's face fall at this. For he was very much attached to me and the idea of selling me, even for a big price, evidently did not appeal to him. But this grand person was clearly someone whom he was afraid to displease by refusing.

'"Very good, my lord," said he in a low voice, and he followed the guest into the hotel.

'For my part I was greatly disturbed. Life here was very pleasant. I did not wish to exchange it for something I knew nothing of. However, I had been sold. There was nothing I could do about it. That is perhaps the biggest disadvantage in being a cage bird: you're not allowed to choose your own owner or home.

'Well, after they had gone inside the inn I was sitting on my perch pondering rather miserably over this new turn of affairs, when along came my chaffinch friend who nested in the yard.

'"Listen," I said. "Who is this haughty person who drove up in the coach just now?"

'"Oh, that's the Marquis," said he. "A very big swell. He owns half the country around here, mills, mines, farms and everything. He's frightfully rich and powerful. Why do you ask?"

'"He has bought me," I said. "Just told the innkeeper to wrap me up, like a pound of cheese or something—without even asking first if he wanted to sell me."

'"Yes," said the chaffinch, nodding his head, "the Marquis is like that. He takes it for granted that everybody will do what he wants—and most people do, for that manner. He's awfully powerful. However, there are some who think things are going to change. That meeting, you remember, when the workmen and ragged people came here making speeches? Well, that was mostly over him. He has put a whole lot of machinery into the mills and mines, it seems. There has been a terrible lot of grumbling and bad feeling over it. It is even widespread that the Marquis's life is in danger all the time now."

'"Well," I said, "he won't get me to do what he wants. If he takes me away from here I won't sing another note. So there!"

'"I don't see why you should grumble," he said. "You will have the most elegant home. Why, he lives in a castle with over a hundred servants, they say. I know he has a tremendous lot of gardeners myself, because I've built my nest in his garden and I've seen them. If you ask me I should say you are very lucky."

'"I don't care anything about his hundred servants," I said. "I don't like his face. I want to live here with the host and his family and old Jack and the other coach drivers. They are my friends. If the Marquis takes me away I'll stop singing."

'"That's rather a joke," chuckled the chaffinch thoughtfully. "The all–powerful Marquis getting defied by a cage bird. He got his way with everybody till he met a canary who didn't like his face! Splendid! I must go to tell that to the wife."

'Well, the next morning my cage was wrapped up while the children of the family stood around weeping. I was ready to weep myself, too, to tell the truth. After I was all covered up the youngest one broke a hole in the top of my paper to say a last farewell to me. She dropped a couple of large tears on my head, too. Then I felt myself being carried out into the yard.

'And so, after weeks and months of watching people arrive and depart from my inn, I, too, was to set forth by coach along the white road that led away to the horizon. Whither was I going? What adventures were in store for me? I fell to thinking of good old Jack. I wondered how his cheery face would look as he swung into the gate this evening to find my cage gone from the wall and no Pip to whistle "Thank you" for his lump of sugar. Would he care very much, I asked myself. After all, to him I was only a canary—not even his canary at that. Oh, well, I thought, as the horses started forward with a jerk, it was no use being sentimental over it, I would face the future with a stout heart.'

3 At the Marquis's Castle

'IT was long journey. Sometimes I felt the coach going uphill, the horses panting, slowed to a walk. At other times we descended into valleys with the brakes creaking and groaning on the wheels. At last, after about seven hours of driving, we came to a halt and I heard the patter of hurrying feet. By the echoes I gathered that we had passed into some kind of a courtyard or the stone portico to a big building. My cage was taken out and carried up a long, long winding flight of stairs.

'At length, on the wrapping paper being taken off, I found myself in a small, very beautifully furnished round room. There were two people in it—the Marquis and a woman. The woman had a very nice face. She seemed sort of scared of the Marquis.

'"Marjorie," said he, "I've brought you a present. This canary is a magnificent singer."

'"Thank you Henry," said she. "It was very thoughtful of you."

'And that was all, I could see there was something wrong. Marjorie was evidently the Marquis's wife. But after his being away from her for several days that was all she said: "Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you."

'After he had gone a cage was produced by the servants, the most elegant thing in cages you ever saw. It was made of solid silver. It had perches of carved ivory, food troughs of enamelled gold and a swing made of mother–of–pearl. As I was changed into it I wondered what other birds had lived in this gorgeous home and whether they had led happy lives.

'Well, after a few days at the castle I decided that I had not made such a bad move after all. Fortune had again been kind. I was certainly treated royally. My cage was cleaned out scrupulously every day. A piece of apple was given me in the morning and a leaf of lettuce in the evening. The quality of the seed was of the very best. I was given a silver pannikin of warm water to bathe in every other day. And altogether the care and service given me left nothing to be wished for.

'To all this, Marjorie, the Marquis's kind and gentle wife, herself attended—although she evidently had any number of servants to wait on her if she only rang the bell. I became very much attached to her. A thing that bothered me a good deal was that she did a lot of secret weeping. She was clearly very unhappy about something and I wondered what it was. You remember I had sworn I wouldn't sing a note if I was taken from the inn. And I didn't for over a week—much to the Marquis's disgust. He was all for sending me back to the inn when he found out that I hadn't sung since I had been in the castle. But his wife begged him to let her keep me, and he consented. That night—later, I saw her weeping again. And I felt so sorry for her that I suddenly started singing at the top of my voice to see if I could cheer her up. And sure enough she raised her head and smiled and came and talked to me. After that I often sang to drive her tears away all the happy songs I knew, like "Maids, come out, the coach is here," and the jingling harness, curry–comb song. But I wouldn't sing for the Marquis—not a note. And whenever he came into the room, if I was in the middle of a song, I'd stop at once.

'In that same small, round room I lived all the times I was at the castle. It was apparently a special, letter–writing room, part of the private apartments of the Marquis's wife—or the Marchioness, as she was called. On warm days she would hang my cage on a nail outside the window, and from there I had a wonderfully fine view of the grounds and all the country for miles and miles around.

'One evening I got some idea of the thing—or one of the things—that was wrong between the Marquis and his wife. They had a long argument. It was all about the workmen in the mines and the mills. She wanted him to be kinder to them and to keep more of them working. But he said that with the new machinery he did not need even as many as he had. She told him that a lot of workmen's wives and children were starving. He said that wasn't his fault.

'Further, I gathered from this discussion that in one mine some distance away the workmen who had been dismissed had come back in a crowd and smashed the machines and wrecked the mine. Then soldiers had been called in and many workers were shot and women left widows and children orphans. The Marchioness begged her husband on her knees to stop this kind of thing. He only laughed. The machines were bound to come, he said, to take men's places and do more work. In all the mills and mines throughout the country machinery was being put in and idle men were opposing it. It was the march of time, he told her.

'After the Marquis had gone a letter came for the Marchioness. I could see her getting terribly agitated as she read it. She called in a trusted companion, sort of secretary she had, and told her all about it. It was from a woman in one of the mill towns within the Marquis's lands. It told of the awful distress in the homes of idle workmen, starving children and what not. And that night the Marchioness dressed herself like a working woman and stole out of the castle grounds by the little orchard gate. I saw her from my window in the tower. With loaves of bread and foodstuffs in a basket she went miles and miles on foot to find the woman who had written the letter. When she came back it was after two in the morning. And I, who had been left on my peg outside the window all that time, was nearly frozen in the chill morning air. She brought me in and wept over me when she discovered her forgetfulness. But I quite understood—and, anyway, it was the only time she had ever neglected me.

'Two days after that news came in that another factory had had its machinery smashed. The Marquis was furious, though, as usual, he was very quiet and dignified and cold even in his fury. He sent word for more soldiers to protect the mines and factories. And it seems that the same day that the soldiers arrived one of the sergeants got into a quarrel with a workman. Before anybody knew what was happening a general battle had begun between the troops and the workers. When it was over it was found that one hundred and fifty workers had been killed.

'This caused a tremendous sensation and everybody was talking about it. I heard the servants who swept the room saying that this was war—that the Marquis had better look out. Powerful though he was he couldn't shoot people down in crowds like dogs, they said. One maid there was who used to bring trays up from the kitchen to the Marchioness's little tower room. She had a brother among the workmen who had been killed. I remember her going off in tears to help her sister–in–law, who now had no husband. Many of the castle servants were for going with her, they were so indignant. They were talking angrily around the weeping maid on the front steps when suddenly the Marquis appeared from the garden. He asked them what was all the noise about. And so great was the respect and fear in which he was held that the group without a word melted away, leaving the maid all alone. The Marquis gave her several guineas and turned to go into the house. But the maid flung the money after him and screamed:

'"I want my brother back, not your dirty money!"

'Then she fled, weeping, through the garden. It was the first time I had seen the Marquis openly defied.

'After that,' Pippinella continued, 'feeling began to run high. From all quarters came word that workmen were saying what they thought about the big fight—or slaughter, as they called it. Nearly all those who were employed to run machines went on strike out of sympathy for the relatives of those who had been killed. That, of course, made matters worse, because even more wives and families went hungry than before.

'One morning I was sitting in my cage beside the tower window, looking out at the peaceful woods down below when I saw a man urging a panting horse up the hill towards the castle as fast as he could go. The Marchioness saw him also from the window and sent a maid down at once to find out what news the man brought. The maid returned in a few minutes in a great state of excitement and told her mistress that the whole countryside was up in arms. Thousands of workers, some from towns miles away, were marching towards the castle. The messenger had come to warn the Marquis that his life was in danger. Word had been sent to the soldiers, but no regiments were near enough to come to the rescue for some hours yet. The workers had been joined by many farmers on the Marquis's lands and now an army, thousands strong, was on its way here bent on mischief and destruction.

'Hearing this the Marchioness ran downstairs at once to find her husband. When she was gone I heard a very peculiar noise from beyond the woods. It was a dull, low roar, coming nearer all the time, growing louder and louder. Presently I saw the Marquis and his wife in the garden at the foot of the tower. She was trying to persuade him to fly. At first he refused. But soon, as the howling army of workmen drew nearer, he consented and led the way towards the stables to get horses. The Marchioness had not gone many steps before she evidently remembered me. Because she stopped, pointed up at my cage and said something to her husband. But he only took her by the wrist and dragged her on towards the stables. She looked back several times but the Marquis wouldn't let her linger. Presently they disappeared from view around the hedge and that was the last I ever saw of either of them.

'When finally the workmen came in sight they were certainly a strange army to behold. You never saw such a ragged, half–starved, wild–looking lot. At first they were afraid they might be fired on from the battlements and windows. And they approached cautiously, keeping within the cover of the woods.

'When the workmen saw there was no danger they gathered in hundreds and thousands in front of the castle, howling and swearing and singing songs, waving hammers and pitchforks. Some of the servants came out to join them. But the butler, an old, old man, who had the keys, was determined to defend his master's property to the last. He locked the doors and barred the windows and would let no one in.

'But the leader of the workmen sent for a heavy beam. And with this as a battering–ram they soon beat in the main door, drove the old butler out and had the place to themselves.

'Then a crazy feast of destruction began. Bottles and barrels of wine were hauled up from the cellar, opened on the lawn and drunk by the workmen. Costly silks, hangings, clocks and furniture were thrown from the windows. Anything of value that wasn't smashed was stolen. They didn't come up the tower stairs as high as my room, but I could hear them in the rooms below me, laughing and roaring and breaking things with hammers.

'Looking downwards into the castle forecourt again I saw the leader calling to everyone to leave the buildings. I heard the men in the rooms below mine go clattering down the stairs. Soon I was the only one left in the castle. I wondered what this new move meant. When they were all gathered about him outside I saw the leader raise his hand for silence. He was going to tell them something. As the crazy mob grew quiet I strained my ears to catch his words. I heard them. And they almost made my heart stand still. For he was ordering them to bring straw from the stables and oil from the cellars. They were going to set the castle on fire!'

It was now quite late—long after midnight—and Pippinella's story still seemed far from being finished. The Doctor was by this time so thoroughly absorbed and interested that it is not likely he would have thought of the time at all had not the sudden neighing of one of the horses from the nearby stables reminded him that the circus must open to the public at ten o'clock, as usual, tomorrow morning, and that he must be up to see it upon. So, in spite of the protests of Gub–Gub (who dearly loved, you will remember, any excuse for staying up late), the green canary was put in her cage and the Dolittle family circle was packed off to bed. But this was not done before a promise had been obtained from the Doctor that, without fail, the story should be continued the following evening.

4 The Rescue

The following evening, after the crowds had left the circus enclosure and the sideshows had been closed up and everything put in shipshape for the night, Too–Too went over the accounts with the Doctor before supper, instead of after, so as to leave the evening free for the continuation of Pippinella's story. And as soon as Dab–Dab had cleared away the supper things the door of the little green canary's cage was opened and she flew down on to the table and took her seat on the Doctor's tobacco box.

'All right,' said John Dolittle, opening his notebook and taking a pencil from his pocket. 'As soon as you are ready—'

'Just a minute,' said Gub–Gub. 'My chair's too low, I must get a cushion. I don't listen well when I'm not sitting high.'

'Fussbox!' snorted Dab–Dab.

'Well,' Pippinella began, 'you can imagine how I felt—or rather you can't imagine it. No one could without bearing in my shoes. I really thought my last hour had come. I watched the crowd below in fascinated horror. I saw groups of men running between the front entrance of the castle and the stable, bearing bales of straw. These they piled against the great oak door, and some more inside the main hall, all along the wooden panelling that ran around the room. Then they brought up from the cellar jugs of oil, cans of oil, barrels of oil. They soaked the straw with this and threw more of it over the long curtains that were floating from the open windows in front of the castle.

'Then I saw the leader going around, getting all his men out of the building before he set fire to it. He sent some off singly down into the woods—to be on the lookout for anyone's approach, I suppose. He was probably afraid of the soldier's coming. For a moment there was a strange awed silence while the match was being put to the straw. It was clear that they all realized the seriousness of the crime they were committing. But as the bonfire flared up, sudden and bright, within the hall, a fiendish roar of delight broke from the ragged crew. And, joining hands in a great ring, they danced a wild jig around the burning home of the man they hated.

'What horses were left in the stables had been taken out and tethered in safety among the trees some distance away. Even the Marquis's dogs, a Russian wolf–hound and a King Charles spaniel, had been rescued and led out before the straw was lit. I alone had been overlooked. After the flame had taken well hold of the great oak doors and fire and smoke barred all admittance, some of the men at last caught sight of me, high up on the tower wall. For I saw several pointing up. But if they had wanted to save me then it was too late. The panelling, the doors, the floors, the stairs, everything of wood in the lower part of the building was now a seething, roaring mass of flame.

'Waves of hot air, clouds of choking smoke, flurries of burning sparks swirled upwards around my silver cage. The smoke was the worst. At first I thought I would surely be suffocated long before I was burned.

'But luckily, soon after the fire started a fitful breeze began. And every once in a while, when I thought I had reached my last gasp, the wind would sweep the rising smoke away to the side and give me a chance to breathe again.

'I pecked and tugged at the bars of my cage. Although I knew there wasn't the least possibility of my getting out, like a drowning man I still hoped that a lucky chance would show me something loose or weak enough to bend or break. But soon I saw I was merely wasting my strength in struggling. Then I started calling to whatever wild birds I saw flying in the neighbourhood. But the swirling smoke terrified them so they were afraid to venture close. And, even if they had, I doubt if there would have been anything they could have done to help me.

'From my position I could see inside the tower through the open window, as well as down on to the woods and all around outside. And presently, as I peered into the room, wondering if any help could come from that quarter, I saw a mouse run out into the middle of the floor in a great state of excitement.

'"Where's the smoke coming from?" she cried. "What's burning?"

'"The castle's on fire," I said. "Come up here and see if you can gnaw a hole through this cage of mine. I'm going to be roasted if somebody doesn't let me out."

'"What do you think I am," she said, "a pair of pliers or a file? I can't eat through silver. Besides I've got a family of five children down in my hole under the floor. I must look after them."

'She ran to the door, muttering to herself, and disappeared down the winding stair. In a minute she was back again.

'"I can't take them that way," she said. "Below the third landing the whole staircase is burning."

'She sprang up on to the window–sill. It's funny how little details, in moments of great distress, stick in your mind. I remember exactly how she looked, not six inches from the wall of my cage, this tiny creature gazing over the lip of the stone window–sill, down from that tremendous height into the garden and the tree–tops far below. Her whiskers trembled and her nose twitched at the end. She wasn't concerned about me, shut up and powerless to escape—though goodness knows she had stolen my food often enough. All she was thinking of was those wretched little brats of hers in the nest beneath the floor.

'"Bother it!" the mouse muttered. "What a distance. Well, it's the only chance. I might as well begin."

'And she turned around, sprang down into the room, shot across the floor and disappeared into her hole. She wasn't gone more than a moment. When she showed up again she had a scrubby little pink baby in her mouth, without any fur on it yet and eyes still closed. It looked like a pig the size of a bean. She came to the edge of the sill and without the least hesitation started out on the face of the wall, scrambling her way along the mortar cracks between the stones. You'd think it would be impossible even for a mouse to make its way down the outside of a high tower like that. But the weather and rain had worn the joints deep in most places; and they have a wonderful way of clinging, have mice.

'I watched her get two–thirds of the way down, and then the heat and smoke of the fire below were too much for her. I saw her looking across at the tree, whose topmost boughs came close to the tower. She measured the distance with her eye. And, still clutching her scrubby youngster in her teeth, she leapt. She just caught the endmost leaves with her claws. And the slender limb swayed gently downwards with her weight. Then she scuttled along the bough, reached the trunk, dumped her child in some crack or crevice and started back to fetch the rest.

'That mouse, to get her five children singly over that long trip, had a terrible lot of hard work ahead of her. As I watched her scrambling laboriously up the tower again, disappearing in and out of the mortar cracks, an idea came to me. And when she regained the window–sill I said to her:

'"You've got four more to carry down. And the fire is creeping higher up the stairs every minute. If I was out of my cage I could fly down with them in a tenth of the time you'd take. Why don't you try to set me free?"

'I saw her glance up at me shrewdly with her little beady eyes.

'"I don't trust canaries," she said after a moment. "And in any case there's no place in that cage that I could bite through."

'And she ran off to her hole for another load.

'She was back even quicker than the first time.

'"It's getting hot under the floor," she said. "And the smoke is already drifting through the joints. I think I'll bring all the children out on to the sill, so that they won't suffocate."

'And she went and fetched the remainder of her precious family and laid them side by side on the stone beside my cage. Then, taking one at a time, she started off to carry them to safety. Four times I saw her descend that giddy zigzag trail of hers into the welter of smoke and sparks that seethed, denser and blacker every minute, about the base of the tower. And four more times she made that leap from the sheer face of the stonework, with a baby in her mouth, across the tips of the tree boughs. The leaves of these were now blackened and scorched with the high–reaching fire. On the third trip I saw that mouse actually jump through tongues of flames. But still she came back for the fourth. As she reached the still for the last load she was staggering and weak and I could see that her fur and whiskers had been singed.

'It was not many minutes after she had gone for good that I heard a tremendous crash inside the tower and a shower of sparks came up into the little round room. The long spiral staircase, or part of it, had fallen down. Its lower supports had been burnt away below. I sometimes think that that was the thing that saved me as much as anything else. Because it cut off my little room at the top from the burning woodwork lower down. If the fire had ever reached that room I would have been gone for sure. For, although my cage was in the open air outside, it was much too close to the edge of the window to be safe. Below me I could now see flames pouring out of the windows, just as though they were furnace chimneys.

'I saw the leader of the workmen shout to his men to keep well back from the walls. They evidently expected the whole tower soon to crumble and fall down. That would mean the end for me, of course, because I would almost certainly fall right into the middle of the fire raging on the lower floors.

'In answer to their leader's orders the men were moving off among the trees, when I noticed that some new excitement had caught their attention. They began talking and calling to one another and pointing down the hill towards the foot of the woods. With the noise of the roaring fire I could hear neither what they said nor what it was they were so concerned about. Soon a sort of general panic broke out among them. For, gathering up what stolen goods they could carry, they scattered away from the castle, looking backwards over their shoulders towards the woods as they ran. In two minutes there wasn't one of them left in sight. The mouse had gone. The men had gone. I was alone with the fire.

'And then suddenly, in a lull in the roaring of the flames, I heard a sound that brought hope back into my despairing heart. It was the rap–rap–rap, rap–a–tap, tap, tap of a drum.

'I sprang to my perch and craned my neck to look out over the woods. And there, winding towards me, up the road, far, far off, like a thin red ribbon, were soldiers marching in fours!

'By the time the soldiers reached the castle the smoke coming up from below was so bad that I could see only occasionally with any clearness at all. I was now gasping and choking for breath and felt very dizzy in the head. I managed to make out, however, that the officer in charge was dividing his men into two parties. One, which he took command of himself, went off in pursuit of the workmen. The other was left behind to put out the fire. But the castle, of course, was entirely ruined. Shortly after they arrived one of the side walls of the main hall fell in with a crash and a large part of the roof came down with it. Yet my tower still stood.

'There was a large fish pond not far from the front door. And the soldiers got a lot of buckets from the stables and formed a chain, handing the water up to some of their companions, who threw it on the fire.

'Almost immediately the heat and smoke rising around my cage began to lessen. But, of course, it took hours of this bucket work to get the fire really under control.

'The officer with the other party returned. He had caught no one. Some of his men held the horses which they had found tied among the trees. These and some provisions in the cellars and a few small outhouses were all of that magnificent property to be saved. And it had been one of the finest castles in the country, famous for its beauty the world over.

'The officer, seeing there was nothing more he could do, now left a sergeant in charge and, taking one of the soldiers with him, went back down the road leading through the woods. The rest continued with the work of fighting the fire and making sure that it did not break out again.

'As soon as my ears had caught the cheerful beating of that drum I had started singing. But on account of the smoke my song had been little more than coughs and splutters. Now, however, with the air cleared, I opened my throat and let go for all I was worth, "Maids, come out, the coach is here." And the old sergeant, who was superintending the soldiers' work, lifted his head and listened. He couldn't make out where the sound was coming from. But presently he caught sight of my cage, way, way up at the top of the blackened tower.

'"By Jove, boys!" I heard him cry.—"A canary! The sole survivor of the garrison. Let's get him for good luck."

'But getting me was no easy matter. Piles of fallen stonework now covered every entrance. Then they searched the stables for a ladder. They found one long enough to reach the lowest of the tower windows. But the soldier who scaled up it called down to his companions that the staircase inside was one and he could get no higher. Nevertheless, the old sergeant was determined to get me.

'The sergeant was convinced that I, who had come through such a fire and could still sing songs, would bring luck to any regiment. And he swore a tremendous oath that he would get me down or break his neck. Then he went back to the stable and got some ropes and himself ascended the ladder to the bottom window of the tower. By throwing the rope over broken beams and other bits of ruined woodwork that still remained within, he hauled himself upwards little by little. And finally I saw his funny face appear through the hole in the floor of my room where the staircase had been. He had a terrible scar across his cheek from an old wound, I suppose. But it was a nice face, for all that.

'"Hulloa, my lad!" said he, hoisting himself into the room and coming to the window. "So you're the only one who stood by the castle, eh? By the hinges of hell, you're a real soldier, you are! You come and join the Fusiliers, Dick. And we'll make you the mascot of the regiment."

'As my rescuer stuck his head out of the window to lift my cage off its nail his companions down below sent up a cheer. He fastened his rope to the silver ring of the cage and started to lower me down the outside of the tower. I descended slowly, swinging like the pendulum of some great clock from that enormous height. And finally I landed safe on solid earth in the midst of a crowd of cheering soldiers.

'And that is how another chapter in my life ended—and still another began.'

5 The Midget Mascot

'AND thus I became a soldier—the Mascot of the Fusiliers. There are not many canaries who can boast of that—that they have travelled with the troops, taken part in battles and skirmishes and led a regular military life.'

'Well, I've led a sailor's life.' said Gub–Gub—'sailed all around the world, and without getting seasick, too.'

'Never mind that, now,' said the Doctor, 'Let Pippinella get on with her story.'

'Those soldiers,' the canary continued, 'had no love for the Marquis. They had been ordered to come to the rescue of his home and they had obeyed. But their hearts were more with the workers in this struggle. And I think they must have known that he was already dead when they arrived at the castle, or they would never have dared to take me just the way they did. As a matter of fact, he had been killed outside the next town. The Marchioness, who had always been so kind to the poor, of course was not molested. But the whole thing saddened her dreadfully and she went abroad immediately and remained there the rest of her days.

'My beautiful silver cage was sold by one of the soldiers (they were afraid to keep it, of course, lest it be recognized as the Marquis's property) and I was changed into a plain one of wood. That old sergeant with the funny scarred face took me under his own particular care and protection. He had my new wooden cage enamelled red, white and blue. The crest of the regiment was painted on the side and ribbons were hung on the corners to make it even still gayer.

'Well—it's funny—those men were convinced that I bore a charmed life. The story of how they found me singing in the burning castle was told over and over and over again. And each time it was retold an extra bit was added on to it to make it just a little more wonderful. I came to be regarded with an almost sacred importance. It was believed that nothing could kill me, and that so long as I was with the Fusiliers the regiment must have good luck. I remember once, when I was ill—just an ordinary case of colic, you know, nothing serious—those soldiers stood around my cage in droves for hours on end, with the most woebegone expression in their faces you ever saw. They were terrified, terrified that I was going to die. And when I finally got well and started to sing again they cheered and bellowed songs the whole night through to celebrate my recovery.

'Once in a skirmish two bullets went right through my cage, one smashing my water–pot, the other carrying away the very perch I was standing on. When the fight was over and this was discovered, my cage was handed round the whole regiment, to show everybody the proof (as they thought it) that I did indeed have a charmed life and could not be killed. Those funny, funny men spoke in whispers, almost as though they were in church, as they took my cage in their horny hands and gazed with reverent wonder at the smashed perch, the broken water–pot and me hoping around unharmed.

'That night they went through the ceremony of giving me a medal for distinguished conduct under fire. A whole platoon of them lined up and presented arms while my old sergeant hung the decoration on the corner of my cage. The next day the commanding officer got to hear of it and I was sent for and carried to the officer's mess, where everything was very grand and elegant. The colonel and the major and the adjutant listened while the old sergeant recited the record of my military career. But when they asked him where he had got me from he suddenly blushed and became all embarrassed. Finally he blurted out the truth and told them of my rescue from the fire. The colonel frowned and said something about looting. But finally he agreed to let the man keep me till he had written to the Marchioness and got her consent—which later she willingly gave. Then the adjutant pointed to the medal hanging on my cage and they all laughed. The major said that even if I'd begun by being stolen I was surely the only canary who ever had been decorated for distinguished conduct under fire and that any regiment ought to be proud to claim me as a mascot.

'Well, it was a funny life, the army. I had always thought that if you were a soldier of course you spent most of your time fighting. I was astonished to find that you don't. You spend the greater part of it polishing buttons. Polishing with the military is a perfect passion. If it isn't buttons, it's belt buckles or bayonets or gun barrels or shoes. Even on my cage they found something to polish. A small drummer boy was given the job of shining up the little brass feet on the bottom of it every morning—and a great nuisance he was shaking and joggling me all over the place when I wanted to get my breakfast in peace.

'I used to love the marching and I always had a real thrill when I heard the bugler blowing the fall–in, for it often meant that we were moving off to new scenes and new adventures. I used to travel with the baggage cart that carried the cooking implements and other paraphernalia in the rear. And as they always put my age on the top of everything I was quite high up and in a splendid position to see all there was to be seen.

'The men used to sing songs to cheer themselves upon long, tiresome marches. And I, too, made up a marching song of my own and sang it always when I saw them getting tired and hot and weary.

Oh, I'm the Midget Mascot, I'm a feathered Fusilier, it began. And then I put a lot of twiddly bits, trills, cadenzas and runs, to imitate the piping of the drum and fife band. It was one of the best musical compositions I ever did. There was a real military swing to it and it had four hundred and twenty–five verses, so as to last through a good, long march. The men loved it. And as I watched them trudging down the road ahead of me I again felt that I was taking an active part, even though a small one, in the lives of men.

'War at its best is a silly, stupid business. And this form of soldiering that my companions were engaged in was a particularly disagreeable one. For at this time they were not fighting with a foreign enemy. The machinery riots of which I have already spoken had spread all over that part of the country. And the Fusiliers, and several other regiments, too, were kept busy these days going from town to town to suppress lawlessness and the mob violence of striking workmen.

'Shortly after I joined the Fusiliers our regiment was ordered to proceed at once to an outbreak in a region to the North and we started off. At inns and villages along the road we were told that one of the factory towns at which we would shortly arrive was entirely in the hands of the rioting workers. They had heard of our coming and were preparing to give us a hot reception. But it was lucky for us that the town was not a walled or fortified one. Weak places were found where our soldiers could slip in among the houses. And immediately they had gained the streets, they doubled around and came back upon the gunners unawares from the inside. In less than an hour after the fight began more than half of the guns had been captured in this way, and the rest were still shooting cannon balls harmlessly across the fields at cows and dogs and bushes which they mistook for skirmishing infantry in the distance. The crews of these captured guns usually escaped. For the soldiers, who were doing their work with as little slaughter as possible, let them go without firing at them whenever they did not actually stand and fight.

'When the battle was over it was discovered that nearly all the fighting workmen had retired to a big mine in the western half of the town. In the buildings of this and in a large factory alongside it they were going to make a last stand against the soldiers and die rather than be captured. But it didn't work out that way. When my Fusiliers were ordered to fire on the buildings they deliberately aimed the guns so that the cannon balls whistled harmlessly over the roofs. Again and again this was repeated until the general was livid with rage.

'By this time the workers inside the buildings, watching through loop–holes, had realized that the soldier were inclined to side with them. And while the general broke out into another tirade and confusion reigned, they suddenly opened the doors of the buildings and rushed forward towards the square at top speed.

'Well, in the end my gallant Fusiliers were defeated by a crowd of ragged workmen, half of them without arms of any kind. But of course they wanted to be defeated. Rather than be compelled to fire canons on unfortified buildings full of their fellow countrymen they were quite willing for once in their lives to be taken prisoners. I heard afterwards that they were sent abroad to more regular warlike fighting, where there would be no danger of their sympathizing with the enemy.

'In the meantime the baggage wagon on which my cage was tied was treated as the booty of war. And I suddenly found myself taken over by a couple of very dirty men and trundled out of the square, down some winding streets that seemed to be leading into the workmen's quarters of the town.

'My short but brilliant military career was over.'

As Pippinella came to the end of this part of her story Dab–Dab began to bustle around busily making preparations for bed. Although she enjoyed every word of the canary's account of her life, Dab–Dab was the practical one. She had to keep an eye on the Doctor and his family else they would sit up the whole night.

'Time for bed!' she said firmly. 'Tomorrow's another day—and a busy one.'

Then the Doctor and his family began tucking themselves away for the night. Too–Too perched high on a shelf in a dark corner of the caravan, Whitey curled up in the pocket of an old jacket which belonged to the Doctor, and Jip lay on a mat folded under the Doctor's bed.

Pippinella, of course, returned to her cage which hung on a hook near the window of the wagon; and Dab–Dab, after seeing that everyone was comfortable and that the lights were out, waddled off to a small nest–like bed the Doctor had made out of an empty wooden crate.

'I'm hungry!' wailed Gub–Gub from his place beside the vegetable bin. 'These turnips smell so good it keeps me awake.'

'Sh–sh–sh!' whispered Dab–Dab. 'There'll be no eating here until morning!'

6 The Fortunes of War

'MY captors were evidently in a hurry,' began Pippinella the next evening when the Doctor and his animals had settled themselves to hear the continuation of her story. 'The baggage wagon was pushed over the jolting, cobbly streets on the run. It was growing dark, and I could not see whither I was being carried. The horses had been removed from the shafts and taken somewhere else.

'I think that these men who ran off with the regimental cart must have thought that it contained food. Because when they came to a quiet corner of the street they stopped and felt through the inside of it. I heard them cursing in the dark when their groping hands touched nothing but pots and pans and spare harness. And after they had put me back and hurried on I saw their faces in the glimmer of a street lamp, and the poor fellows looked dreadfully pinched and thin.

'I then supposed that their intention was to sell me and the wagon to get money to buy food with. And I was right. After they had gone a little further we turned into a narrow alley, passed under an archway and came into a big, big hall. It seemed to be some kind of factory workshop and the place was jammed with workers. It was dimly lighted with only a few candles and sputtering torches. The men were gathered in groups, talking in low voices, with their heads together. When my fellows pushed open the doors and entered all the whispering ceased. The crowd turned and glared at us.

'As soon as we were admitted the door was carefully locked and barred. And then I noticed that all the windows were covered with wooden shutters, so that the lights could not be seen from outside. And all of a sudden its dawned on me that I had been brought to the mine, or the big factory alongside of it, and that this was one of the buildings that the general had commanded the Fusiliers to bombard. I began to wonder how long it would be before he would have other troops brought to the town who would not hesitate to fire cannon–balls into crowded factories.

'As soon as the barring of the door had been attended to the men thronged around my little cart and started to claw through it to see what it contained. Suddenly a big man, who seemed to be a leader, ordered them in a rough voice to leave it alone. They fell back, evidently much afraid of him. Something in the man's face struck me as familiar and I began to cudgel my brain to think where I had seen him before. And then in a flash I remembered: it was the same man who had led the workers in their attack on the Marquis's castle.

'He went through the cart himself and told the disappointed crowd that it contained no food.

'"Then let's sell it and buy some,'" cried the man.

'But as it clearly would not bring enough to buy food for all of them, it was finally agreed that lots should be drawn and that the winner should get the cart.

'"And what about the canary?" called on. "Likely a man could get as much for him as for the old truck and all the pans put together."

'"All right," said the leader. "Then draw lots for the bird separate. We'll put two marked papers in the hat—one for the cart and one for the canary. The first winner gets his choice; the second gets what's left, and the rest get nothing."

'"Aye, Aye!" called the crowd. "That's fair enough."

'"Sh!" hissed the leader. "Not so loud! How do we know who's sneaking around outside? I don't trust them bloomin' Fusiliers—even though they did give in so easy. Talk low, talk low!"

'So my next experience as to have a lot of ragged workers draw lots for me. As I saw them crowding around the hat that contained bits of paper I wondered which of them I would fall to. Some of them looked hungry and wild enough to cook me and eat me. The prospects for the future were no pleasing.

'One by one they began picking out their bits of paper. Five, ten, fifteen opened them—and with a grunt of disgust flung them on the floor. It seemed to be taking hours, but of course it was really only minutes.

'At length a cry announced that a lucky ticket had been drawn. The owner brought it, smiling, to the leader and showed a rough cross in pencil on it.

'"Well, that gives you the first choice," said the big man. "Which are you going to take, the cart or the canary?"

'The man, a thin fellow with a limp, looked from the wagon to me and back to the wagon again, I didn't like his face.

'"The cart," he said at last, to my great delight.

'Another cry. A second lucky ticket had been drawn. I craned my neck to peer over the crowd and get a glimpse of the man's face. I finally saw him and my heart lifted. Although his cheeks were lined and gaunt with hunger it was a kind face.

'"The canary's yours," said the big man, handing him my cage. "And that's the end of the show."

'The winner took my cage in his hands and left the building. The question of food interested us both at this point more than anything else. Heaven only knows how long he had been going on half rations or less, and I had had no seed or water all day. As we went along I saw lots of autumn seed on weeds and wild flowers that would have made good eating for me—if only I could get at it. He, of course, not knowing what wild seeds are edible for canaries, couldn't help me. He did, however, stop by a stream and fill my water–bowl for me, which I was very glad of. And later he found some groundsel growing among the standing corn, and that, too, he gave me. I still felt hungry, but far less so than I had been.

'After he had come near to a farmhouse he hid my cage under a hedge and went forward to the door to ask for food for himself. Evidently the farmer's wife took pity on his haggard and hungry looks and gave him a good, square meal of bread and cold meat. He brought back a small crust when he came to fetch me and stuck it into the bars of my cage. It was good home–made bread and I could have eaten two more of the same size.

'So, both of us fortified with food, we set out to do the ten miles to the mining town that we eventually reached. It was a pleasant, sunny morning. And something of the sadness with which the grim night had weighed me down left my spirits as the man strode forward in the fresh early air, with my cage beneath his arm. He, too, seemed in cheerier mood. We were now upon a main highway running North and South. Wagons and carriages passed us occasionally, going either way. I hoped that one of these would offer us a lift, because travelling in a cage under a man's arm is not the most comfortable kind of journeying by a great deal. And, sure enough, after we had tramped along for about half an hour, the driver of a covered cart—a sort of general grocer's wagon—stopped and asked if we would like a lift. He was evidently going to the town we were bound for and I was delighted when my man put me in the back among the groceries and got up himself beside the driver.

'As it happened, my cage had been placed right next to a picket of oatmeal. I smelled it through the paper bag. It didn't take more than a moment for me to peck a hole through the covering, and I helped myself to a thimbleful of the grocer's wares. I felt rather mean doing it to the man who was giving us a free ride. But it was only a very little I took—not enough for anyone to miss—and I hadn't tasted food except for the crumb of bread for over twenty–four hours.

'My man chatted with the grocer as we drove. I gathered from the conversation that he had a brother, who was also a miner at this town we were coming to. Apparently it was his intention to stay at his house, if there was room, till he got a job in the mines.

'If I had known,' Pippinella continued in rather a sadly reminiscent voice, 'what sort of life I was coming to I wouldn't have been half as cheerful over that journey in spite of the nice, fresh morning. I had for some time now been among miners. But I didn't yet know anything what ever of their homes, their lives or their work.'

7 The Coal-mine

'THE first impression that I got of the town as we approached it was anything but encouraging. As I have said, there had been no rioting here and work was proceeding as usual. For more than a mile outside all the grass and trees seemed sick and dirty. The sky over the town was murky with smoke from the tall chimneys and foundries and factories. In every spare piece of ground, instead of a statue or a fountain or a garden, there was a messy pile of cinders, scrap iron, or furnace slag. I wondered why men did this; it did not seem to me that all the coal and all the steel in the world was worth it—ruining the landscape in this way.

'And they didn't seem any happier for it. I looked at their faces as we passed them, trudging down the streets to work in the early morning. Their clothes were all black and sooty, their faces pale and cheerless. They carried little tin boxes which contained their lunches, to be eaten in the mines or at the factory benches.

'In the middle of the town my man got down from the cart, took me out and thanked the driver for his ride. Then he went off through some narrow streets, where all the houses seemed alike—plain, ugly red brick—and finally knocked on a door.

'A pale–faced untidy woman answered it, with three dirty children clinging to her skirts. She greeted him and invited him to come in. We passed to the back of the house into a small kitchen. The whole place smelled terribly of stale cooking. The woman went on with washing some clothes, at which she had evidently been interrupted, and the man sat down and talked with her. In the meantime the children poked their jammy fingers through the bars of my cage, which had been placed upon the table among a lot of dirty dishes. I was afraid they were going to upset it while the man was busy talking, so I pecked one on the hand, just slightly, to warm him to be careful. He immediately burst into howls. Then my cage was taken and hung up in the window, where I got an elegant view of two dust–bins and a brick wall.

'"Good Lord," I thought to myself, "is this what I've come to? Such a home! What a life!"

'In the evening the brother returned from work, covered with coal grit, tired and weary. He washed his face in the kitchen sink while the newcomer told him how he had left his own town and journeyed hither, seeking work. The brother said he would speak to the foreman and try to get him a job in the same mine he worked in.

'Then they had supper. Ordinarily the cheerful noise of knives and forks and dishes would have made me sing. It always did in the castle, when the marchioness took her meals with me in the little tower room. And so it did with the soldiers when they all sat around my baggage cart and rattled their dishes and ate stew with a hissing noise like horses. But somehow, here in this squalid, smelly room, among these tired, dirty people, I just couldn't sing. I felt almost as though I'd never be able to sing again.

'And after the woman had put some broken rice and breadcrumbs into my seed–trough I ate a little, put my head under my wing to shut out the picture of that wretched room and miserably went to sleep.

'Well, my man got his job. And two days later he started out with his brother to go to work in the morning; and he returned with him in the evening. And, supposing that I was going to be here for some time I tried to settle down and take an interest in the household and in the family. But I found it very hard work. Their conversation was so dull, what there was of it. In the morning the men got up, leaving only time enough to gobble their breakfast and rush off to work. In the evening the poor fellows were so tired that they went to bed almost immediately supper was over. And in between all I had to listen to was the children bawling and the woman scolding them.

'Many a time I'd say to myself, "Look here, my girl, this won't do. You must cheer up. Laugh at your troubles and sing a song."

'And then I'd throw my head back and try to fool myself that I was out in the green woods, all merry and bright. But before I'd sing more than two notes one of the brats would start crying or the harassed mother would interrupt with some complaint. It was no use. I just couldn't sing in that house.

'After I'd been there a week I gathered from the conversation of the men one evening that I was going to be taken somewhere the following day. I was delighted. For I thought to myself that, no matter where it was, the change couldn't be for the worse.

'But I was wrong. Where do you suppose I was taken? You could never guess. I was taken down into the coal–mine. I didn't know at the time that it was customary to keep canaries in coal–mines. It seems that there is a very dangerous kind of gas, called coal damp, that sometimes comes out underground and kills the men working there if they are not warned in time to escape. The idea of having canaries down there is, apparently, that the birds being higher up than the men—hung on the walls of the passages—will get the gas first. Then if the birds start to suffocate the men are warned that it is time to get out of the mine. While the canaries are lively and hopping about they know it's all right.

'Well, I had never seen the inside of a coal–mine before. And I hope I never will again. Of all the dreadful places to work and live I think that must be the worst. My cage was taken by my owner and his brother the next morning, and he walked a good mile before we came to the mouth of the pit. Then we got into a sort of a big box with a rope to it. And wheels began to turn and we went down and down and down and down. The sun could not be seen. For light the men had little lamps fastened to their hats. The box stopped and we got out and went along a long, narrow passage which had little rails with wagons on them, running the length of it. Into these little wagons the coal was put, a long way back in the inside of the mine. Then it wa trundled along till it came to the big shaft, where the sliding box, or lift, took it up to the top.

'After we had gone a good distance underground the men stopped and my owner hung my cage on a nail high up on a wall of the passage. There they left me and went to their work. And all day long men passed and repassed with little wagons of coal, while others picked with pick–axes and loaded the trucks with shovels. Again I was taking an active part in the lives of men. Such lives, poor wretches! My job was to wait for gas—to give warning, by coughing or choking or dying, that the deadly coal damp was stealing down the corridors to poison them.

'At first I feared I was going to be left there all night after the men went home. But I wasn't. When a whistle blew at the end of the day I was taken down from the wall back to the sliding box and up into the open air—and so home to the kitchen and the squalling children. It was now late in the autumn and the daylight was short. It was barely dawn when we went to work in the morning, and dark again before we came up at night. The only sunlight we saw was on Saturday afternoon and Sunday. I had been an inn coach announcer; I had been a Marchioness's pet in a silver cage; I had been a crack regiment's mascot. Now I was a miner, working nine hours a day—sniffing for gas! … It's a funny world.

'This was, I think, the unhappiest part of my life. My fortunes had fallen very low—they couldn't get much lower than the bottom of a coal mine, could they? So I had that consolation, anyhow; whatever change fate brought along it was bound to be an improvement. And, curious though it may seem, I preferred the working hours in the mine to the so–called resting time in the miner's home. Down in the pit there was at all events a spirit of work. I felt something was being done, accomplished, as each loaded wagon rattled past my cage on its way to the hoisting shaft. And I was helping, doing my share. While the dingy, squalid home—well, it was nothing. One wondered why it had to be, that's all.'

'But in the mine,' Dab–Dab put in, 'weren't you always in continued dread of this horrible gas poisoning you?'

'At the beginning, yes, I was,' said Pippinella. 'But after I had my first experience of it I was not so scared. I had supposed that if the gas ever did come while I was there that, of course, would be the end of me. But I was wrong. We had several goes of it in my mine, but no fatal accidents. I remember the first one especially. It was a little after noon and the men had only been working about half an hour since lunch. I noticed a peculiar smell. Not knowing what gas smelled like I didn't at first suspect what it was. It got stronger and stronger. Then suddenly my head began to swim and I thought, "Gosh! this is it, sure enough!" And I started to squawk and flutter about the cage and carry on. There were men working not more than seven or eight feet from my cage. But with the noise of their own shovels and picks they did not hear me. And their heads, of course, being lower than mine, they had not yet smelled the gas, which always floats to the top of a room first.

'After a couple of minutes had gone by and still they hadn't taken any notice of me things began to look pretty bad. The beastly stuff was all in my nose and throat now, choking me, so I could hardly squeak at all. But still I kept on fluttering madly about the cage, even though I couldn't see where I was going. And just at the last minute, when everything was getting all dreamy in my head, the men put down their shovels and picks to take a rest. And in a voice that sounded all sort of funny and far away I heard out of them cry:

'"Bill—look at the bird!—Gas!"

'Then that signal word "Gas!" was shouted up and down the passages of the whole mine. Tools were dropped with a clatter on the ground; and the men, bending down to keep their heads low, started running for the hoist shaft. My man Bill leaped up and snatched my cage from the wall and fled after them.

'At the shaft we found hundreds of workers gathered, waiting their turn to go up in the sliding box. The whistle up at the top was blowing away like mad to warn any stray men who might still be lingering in the passages.

'When everyone had reached the open air big suction fans were set to work to draw the gas out of the mine before the men would go to work again. It took hours to get all the passages cleared and safe. And we did not go down again that day.

'And then I realized that these men were taking the same risk as I was. After that first time, when we nearly got caught and suffocated, they were more careful. And at least one of the workers always kept an eye on my cage. If I showed the least sign of choking or feeling queer they would give the alarm and clear out of the mine.

'The winter wore on. Sadly I wondered how long I was to be a miner. For the first time since I had been a fledgling in the nest I fell to envying the wild birds again. What did it matter how many enemies you had, hawks, shrikes, cats and what not, as long as you had liberty? The wild birds were free to sweep the skies: I lived under the ground—in a cage. I often thought of what my mother had told me of foreign birds—birds of paradise and gay–plumed macaws that flitted through jungles hung with orchids, in far–off tropic lands. Then I'd look around at the black coal walls of this underground burrow, at the lights on the men's caps glimmering in the gloom; and it seemed to me that one day of freedom in India, Africa or Venezuela would be a good exchange for a whole life such as mine. Was I here for the rest of my days? Nine hours of work; home; to bed; and back to work again. Would the end never come?

'And at last it did. You know a canary is a somewhat smaller creature than a human being, but his life and what happens in it are just as important for him. Only that, of the two, the canary is the better philosopher. I've often thought that if a man or woman had had my job in that mine he would probably have pined away and died from sheer boredom and misery. The way I endured it was by just refusing to think too much. I kept saying to myself; "Something must happen some day. And whatever it is it'll be something new."

'One morning at eleven o'clock a party of visitors came to look over the mine. You wouldn't think if you had ever worked in a coal mine, that anybody would want to go and look at one. But folks will do all sorts of things out of curiosity. And these people came to inspect us and our mine in rather the way they'd go to a zoo.

'The manager himself came down first to announce their coming. He asked the foreman of the gang in which my owner worked to see that the visitors were shown everything and were treated politely. And a little later the party itself arrived. There were about six of them altogether, ladies and gentlemen. They all wore long coats with the manager had lent them to protect their fine clothes from the coal dust and dirt. They were greatly impressed by things which to us miners were ordinary, everyday matters. And many were the sarcastic remarks the workers made beneath their breath as their fastidious folks poked around and asked stupid questions.

'Among them was an old lady, a funny, fussy old thing, with a plain but very kind face. She was the first in the party to notice me.

'"Good gracious!" she cried. "A canary! What's he doing here?"

'"He's for the gas, ma'am," said the foreman.

'And then, of course, she wanted to know what that meant and the foreman told her all about it.

'"Good gracious!" she kept saying. "I had no idea they had canaries in coal–mines. How very interesting! But how dreadful for the poor birds! Can I buy this one? I'd just love to have a canary who have lived in a coal–mine."

'My heart jumped. The chance had come at last, a chance to get back into the open air—to a decent life!

'A long talk began between the old lady and the foreman and my owner. My owner said I was a specially good bird for gas, very sensitive and gave warning at the first traces. But the old lady seemed very determined. She really wanted to help me, I think, to give me a better kind of life. But she was also greatly attracted by the idea of having a bird who had lived in a real coal–mine—as a sort of souvenir, perhaps. Also she seemed to have a good deal of money. Because every time my owner shook his head she would offer him a higher price. Till finally she got to ten guineas. Still he refused, and still the old lady went on higher. The workmen stood around listening, gaping with interest. But they weren't half so interested as I was. For on the result of this bargaining my life, or at least my happiness, depended.

'At last, when the bidding had gone to twelve guineas, my owner gave in. I suppose I ought to have felt very proud, for it was a tremendous sum for a canary to cost. But I was much too busy feeling glad to have time for any other kind of sentiment.

'My cage was taken down from the wall and handed to the old lady. She gave the man her address—where he was to come the following day to get his money.

'"Is it a cock? Does it sing?" she asked.

'"I don't know, ma'am," said the man. "I understand it was a cock. But he hasn't sung a single note since he's been with me."

'"I'd like to know who would—here," growled one of the miners.

'"Well, I'll take him anyway," said the woman. "I dare say he'll sing when he gets into the air and sunlight."

'And so ended another chapter in the story of my adventures. For when the old lady, with the rest of the party, took me up in the sliding box I left the lift of a miner behind me for good. I often thought afterwards of those poor wretches toiling away underground and wondered how the other canary got along who took my place. But, oh my, I was glad that for me it was all over and some new kind of a life was in sight!'

'I should think so!' declared the Doctor. 'I've always felt terrible sorry for canaries who were forced to do such disagreeable work.'

'Why must they use birds?' asked Whitey. 'Wouldn't cats do just as well? I'm sure it would be a great relief to know that some of them were shut up in the coal mines.'

The Doctor laughed at the mouse's remark.

'Yes, Whitey,' he said. 'For a mouse or a bird that would be a comfort. But, you see, birds—especially canaries—have a very sensitive respiratory system. They can detect the faintest odour of gas while any other animal would be unconscious of its presence.'

Then the Doctor closed his notebook for the night.

'Dab–Dab,' he said. 'Could we have some cocoa and toast before we go to bed. I feel a bit hungry. How about the rest of you?'

'Hurray!' cried Gub–Gub. 'There's nothing I like better than cocoa and toast—unless it's cauliflower.'

'Cauliflower!' howled Jip. 'That horrible stuff! I'd rather eat horseradish root!'

'That's good, too!' said Gub–Gub, smacking his lips.

'Well, there's not going to be any cauliflower—or horseradish root,' snapped Dab–Dab. 'It will be cocoa and toast—as the Doctor ordered—OR NOTHING!'

So they all sat down to steaming cups of cocoa and heaps of hot buttered toast which they finished to the last drop and crumb. Pippinella, remembering the happy days that followed her miserable sojourn in the mines, sang them a tender lullaby which she had composed while living at Aunt Rosie's house.

8 Aunt Rosie's House

'AT the mouth of the pit,' Pippinella began the next evening, 'there was a sort of cab or hired coach waiting for the old lady. And into this she put me and got in herself. And then we drove a long, long way through the country. I saw at once that she was a kind person, but dreadfully fussy and particular. She kept moving my cage from one part of the cab to another.

'"Little birdie mustn't be in a draught," she would say. And she'd take me off the seat and put me on the floor. But two minutes later she'd lift me up on to her lap.

'"Little birdie getting enough air down there?" she'd ask. "Tweet–tweet! Like to sit on Aunt Rosie's lap and look out of the window? See the corn sprouting in the pretty fields? Doesn't that look nice after living in a coal–mine, little birdie?"

'And it did look nice even thought Aunt Rosie's chatter was tiresome and silly. She meant well. And nothing could have spoiled the beauty of the country for me that morning. Spring was in the air. I had lived through the winter underground, and now when my release had come the hedges were budding and the crops showing green in the plough furrows. Out of the carriage window I saw birds hurrying here and there, in pairs, looking for places to build their nests. I hadn't talked to another bird for months and months. Somehow, for almost the first time since I had left my parents, I felt lonely for company of my own kind. I started to figure out exactly how long it was since I had spoken to another bird. But I was interrupted by Aunt Rosie speaking again.

'"Little birdie sing a song?—Tweet–tweet!"

'And then it flashed upon me that I had been practically dumb ever since I left the Fusiliers. I had sung them my marching song as they tramped to the town where all the fighting had been. I wondered if without practice for so long my voice was still any good at all.

'"Little birdie sing a song?" Aunt Rosie repeated.

'With a flourish of wings I sprang to the top perch and threw back my head to begin The Midget Mascot, but just at that moment two more birds, a thrush and his wife, sped by the carriage window with bits of dried grass hanging from their mouths.

'"I've never built a nest," I thought to myself. "It's spring, and I'm tired of being alone. It must be lots of fun to have a whole family of young ones to bring up. Aunt Rosie doesn't know whether I'm a cock or a hen. If I sing then I'm a cock, so far as she's concerned. But if I don't perhaps she'll decide I'm a hen and get me a mate. Then I'll build a nest the way mother and father used to do. It's worth trying anyway. All right; I'll stay dumb for a while longer."

'The town to which the old lady brought me in her cab was very different from the one we had left. It was what is called a cathedral town. Here no factories blackened the air with smoke or poisoned the trees with bad air. Here no droves of pale–faced workers hurried the underground in the early morning and dragged their weary bodies up again at night. In this town all was peace and leisured, comfortable life. The old, old cathedral rose in the centre of it, grey against the sky, and choughs and crows circled around it and built their nests in the belfry tower. Soft–toned, deep–voiced bells rolled out the hours through the day, chiming a pleasant little tune at all the quarters. There were lots of nice gardens and old houses, substantial and well built—and all different style.

'The front of Aunt Rosie's house was right on a street, but it had a fine garden at the back. It was the kind of house and the kind of street that she would live in. When my cage was first hung in the window I noticed two peculiar things. One was that the other window to the same room had a small mirror fixed outside of it on a little bracket. I wondered what this was for at first. But later on, when the old lady sat in her armchair and did her knitting, I saw that it was for watching the neighbours. From where she sat she could, in the mirror, see who was coming down the street. And I noticed that several houses across the way had similar arrangements fixed outside the windows. Apparently watching the neighbours pass while you did your needlework was a favourite occupation in this town. It was the kind of town where people had time to sit at their windows.

'The other thing that I observed was a street lamp outside, close to the wall of Aunt Rosie's house. It was not more than a few feet from the bottom of my cage. And every evening an old lamplighter would hobble round with a ladder and climb up and light this lamp, and in the very early morning he'd come and put it out. The light used to shine right into the room—even though the blind. It kept me awake the first few nights—until the old lady noticed that it disturbed me. Then she always put the cover over my cage as soon as the street lamp was lit. She embroidered a special one herself, made of heavy dark stuff, so that the light wouldn't shine through.

'I made a number of quite interesting friends while I stayed at Aunt Rosie's house. And the hobbling lamplighter was one of them. I never talked to him. But his arrival every night and morning was a regular and pleasant thing to make a note of. Life generally here moved along regular and pleasant lines.

'The old lady had lots of friends, all women. Several times a week they would come in to take tea with her, and they always brought their sewing with them. And so every new lot that came Aunt Rosie told the story over again of how she had bought me out of a coal–mine, way down under the earth. Then they'd gather round my cage and gaze at me.

'All through this I still kept mum and never a note did I sing, though often enough I felt like it, with the trees in the street growing greener every day and spring coming on in leaps and bounds. It was a nice place I had come to. But I wanted company of my own kind. And I was determined I wouldn't sing till the old lady got me a mate.

'It was on one of these sewing–circle occasions that a very peculiar incident occurred. Aunt Rosie was telling my story to a new group of women friends; when one of them stepped forward and peered closely at me through the bars of my cage. Although her face seemed familiar I couldn't, at first, remember where I'd seen her before. But suddenly, because of a queer way she had of squinting one eye when she looked at me, it came to me.

'She was the wife of one of my gallant Fusiliers!

'I forgot all about my determination not to sing and burst out with The Midget Mascot song.

'Aunt Rosie was so astonished to hear me sing that all she could say was:

'"Why, good gracious! My birdie is singing!"

'"Of course she's singing!" declared the woman. "She's one of the finest songstresses in the country!"

'"How do you know that?" asked Aunt Rosie, looking very puzzle indeed.

'"Because this is the same bird that belonged to my husband's regiment," replied the woman. "He told me before he went off to India that she'd disappeared during the mine riots and that no one had seen her again. Naturally the whole regiment assumed she'd been killed…. I do declare!" she muttered. "This is the strangest thing I've ever seen."

'By this time Aunt Rosie was as excited as the woman was.

'"Are you sure it's the same one?" she asked. "You know, I found him working in a miserable coal–mine. It cost me twelve guineas to get that miner fellow to give him up."

'"He's not a he," the woman said, laughing. "He's a she! And her name is Pippinella."

'"Pippinella!" cried Aunt Rosie. "What a beautiful name. But if it's a hen how is it that she sings? I always understood hens couldn't sing."

'"Nonsense!" declared the woman. "Hens sing just as well as cocks.—Especially this one."

'Well,' Pippinella continued, 'I was glad at last to be identified. For a long time now I had been called Dick or Birdie—or just simply "it". But, of course, now I had to worry about Aunt Rosie discovering I could sing. How would I ever make her understand that I wanted a companion of my own kind?

'But it came about quite simply. I suppose I must have got to look rather sad and mopey after a while. It wasn't intentional, but the old lady noticed it. For one day, when she took the cover off my cage and gave me seed and water, I was delighted to hear her say:

'"Dear, dear, tut–tut–tut! How sad we look this morning. Maybe my little Pippinella wants a mate. Yes? All right. Aunt Rosie will got and let her another little birdie to talk to!"

'Then she put on her bonnet and went off to the animal shop to get me a husband. Well, I wish you could have seen the husband she brought back.'

Pippinella closed her eyes and shrugged up the shoulders of her wings.

'He was a fool—a perfect fool! I've never seen such a stupid bird in my life. The old lady supplied us with cotton wool and other stuffs to build a nest with. Now, building a nest in a cage is a very simple matter, provided the cage is big enough. And ours was amply large. My new husband—his name was Twink—said he knew all about it. We set to work. He didn't agree with anything I did; and I didn't agree with anything he did. And then he'd argue with me—my goodness, how he argued! Just as though he knew, you know! First it was about the position of the nest. I'd get in half done in one corner of the cage, and then he'd put his empty head on one side and say:

'"No, my dear, I don't think that's a good place. The light will shine too much in the children's eyes. Let's put it over in this corner."

'And he'd want to pull it all down and rebuild it the other side of the cage. And the next time it would be the way the inside was lined. Even when I was sitting in the nest he'd come fussing around, pulling bits out here and there—right from under me.

'Finally I saw that if I was ever going to get a brood raised at all that year I had better just rule him out of the building altogether. Then we had a violent row, during which he pecked me on the head and I knocked him off the perch. But I won my point. I told him that if he touched the nest again I wouldn't lay a single egg.

'But one thing must be said for Twink. And that was that he had a marvellous voice.'

'Better than your own?' asked the Doctor.

'Oh, by far,' said Pippinella. 'In the upper register—well, it almost seemed at times as if there wasn't any note he couldn't reach. And even in the bass his tones were wonderfully clear and full. Of course, like all husbands, he didn't care to have his wife sing. But, as a matter of fact, I never attempted to compete with him, because when eggs and youngsters have to be looked after we women don't get much time for it.

'And Aunt Rosie may not have known a great deal about canaries, but she knew enough to see that I got quiet and peace during setting time. She kept the cover on, half over the cage, even during the day, so that I shouldn't be disturbed by what was going on in the room. The only direction I could see in was outward, through the window. It was an ideal town anyway for hatching eggs—so restful. Nothing ever happened in the street more exciting than the regular visits of the old hobbling lamplighter, the arrival of the muffin–seller, with his bell and tray, or an occasional organ–grinder, who stopped before the house and ground out wheezy tunes till Twink sang songs to drown his sour music.

'So, while Aunt Rosie sat at her window and over her needlework watched the neighbours pass, I sat at mine and over the hatching of the eggs watched the leaves on the shady trees grow greener and denser—watched the spring turning into the summer. And every time the old lamplighter put the lamp out in the morning I'd say to myself: "Well, that's another day gone. I have only so many left now before the children will break open their shells."

'There was great excitement the day when our family at last appeared. They were five strong, healthy birds. Aunt Rosie was even more thrilled and worked up than we were. Ten times a day she would come to the nest and peer in; and every group of her friends who visited her would also be brought to have a look. And they all said the same things: "Oh, my, aren't they ugly!" Goodness! I don't know what they expected newborn birds to look like, I'm sure. Maybe they thought they ought to be hatched out with bonnets and capes on.

'It was now that the real work began for me and my husband. Feeding five hungry children is a big job—even when there are two of you at it. Aunt Rosie used to bring us chopped eggs and biscuit crumbs six times a day. Each lot only lasted about an hour and a quarter, for we had to shovel it into those hungry mouths every thirty minutes. And then there was the lettuce and apple and other green stuff which had to be given them as well.

'But it was lots of fun, even if it was hard work. Twink, I found, after the nest–building problems were over, was not nearly so stupid and irritating. We got along very well together. He used to sit on the edge of the nest and sing to me when I was keeping the children warm between meals, and many were the beautiful lullabies he made up.

'When the brood was strong enough to leave the nest we both felt awfully proud with the five hulking youngsters crowding on the perch, all in a row beside us. Of course, they quarrelled, the way children will, and the two biggest tried to bully it over the rest. Twink and I had our hands full keeping them in order, I can tell you. With seven full–grown birds in it, the cage was now none too big.

'Well, the day came when Aunt Rosie decided she would have to part with some of the family. Many of her friends wanted canaries, and one by one my children went off to new homes, till finally only Twink and I were left. And then because one of her friends had told the old lady that cocks sing better if they are alone (which is perfectly true) she gave Twink a separate cage and put him in another room.

'So towards the end of the summer I found myself alone again, now watching the leaves turn brown on the shade trees in the street. The old lamplighter used to come earlier in the evenings now and later in the mornings, because the days were shorter and the nights longer. A swallow had built her nest under the eaves of the roof, just above my window. During the course of the summer I had watched her hatch out two broods and teach them to fly. Now I saw her with many of her friends, gathering and chattering and skimming around the house. They were getting ready to fly south to avoid the cold of the coming winter. I wondered what adventures and strange things they would see on their long trip. And once more I had a vague sort of hankering for a free life which would let me wander where I would.

'For a whole day the swallows kept gathering, more and more arriving all the time. I could not see them sitting on the gutters of the roof, because it was out of sight from my window, but I could hear them twittering, making no end of noise. And the top of the street lamp was covered with them. In tight–packed rows, their white breasts framed the edges of it, presenting a very pretty picture. Seeing them made me feel like travelling, the way people going off always does.

'At last, with a great farewell fluttering and whistling, they took to the air and set off on their journey. I felt rather sad in the silence that they left behind. But presently through the window I saw Aunt Rosie's white Persian cat slinking along the street with a bird in her mouth. And once more I was reminded of the security and comfort I enjoyed as a cage bird; once more I consoled myself, as the old man came and lit the lamp, that a quiet, stay–at–home, regular life had its compensations. Who knows whether, if Twink and I had built our nest in some forest or hedgerow, instead of raising our brood to fine healthy growth, we would not have seen our children carried off before our very eyes by some prowling cat?'

9 The Old Windmill

'I HAVE told you that I made several rather odd friends while I was at Aunt Rosie's house,' Pippinella continued. 'Among them was a window–cleaner. The old lady was frightfully particular about having her windows cleaned—so, I supposed, would anybody be who spent so much time looking out of them. And, instead of having the maids of the house do it, she had a regular come, a man who made a business of cleaning windows.

'He was the funniest person to look at I have ever seen—one of those faces that makes you smile the moment you catch sight of it. He whistled cheerful tunes all the time while he was working. He had a very big mouth and when he breathed on the glass to put an extra shine on it I always had to laugh outright. I used to look forward to his coming no end. And he took a great liking to me. He always spent a specially long time over my window, getting it immaculately clean with his red and white polishing cloth. And he'd whistle and make faces at me through the glass, and I'd whistle back to him. I often thought it would be lots of fun to have him for an owner. I was sure he'd be much more interesting than Aunt Rosie.

'I always felt dreadfully sorry when he was gone. And I would spatter my bath water all over the window with my wings, so as to make it nice and dirty. I knew that Aunt Rosie had lots of money to pay for cleaning windows. And it seemed to me quite proper that I should help my friend's trade in his way. I could see from his clothes that he was very poor. And so I made it necessary for him to come once a week, instead of once a month.

'One day Aunt Rosie was speaking to him in my room while he was doing the inside of the window, and their conversation turned to the subject of canaries. He had made some very flattering remarks about me and, to my great joy, she asked him if he would like to have me. Now that she had another bird who sang all day, the novelty had worn off and she did not mind giving me away.

'Then my dirtying up of the windows every week may have had something to do with her willingness to part with me—she was one of those frightfully particular housekeepers. But so long as I was to go to the window–cleaner, I was just as well pleased.

'Well, my friend was quite overcome with joy when the old lady told him he could have me. And that night he wrapped me up and took me to his home.

'It was the strangest place. He lived in an old windmill. It had not worked for many years and was nearly a ruin. I imagine he got it very cheap—if, indeed, he paid any rent at all for it. But inside he had made it very comfortable. It was just a round tower, like most windmills, but of good, solid stonework. He lived in a little room at the bottom, which he had furnished with home–made chairs and tables and shelves. It had a little stove, whose pipe ran up the tower and out at the top. He had no family—lived all by himself and cooked his own meals. He had lots and lots of second–hand books, which he bought after the covers had fallen off them—very cheaply I suppose.

'He spent all his evenings reading and writing, I believe he was secretly writing a book himself, because he carefully kept all the sheets of paper he wrote on in a tin box in a hole in the floor. He was quite a character, but one of the nicest man I ever knew. He cleaned windows only because he needed money to live on. Of that I am sure. Because the windows of his own home were in a shocking state, so he evidently didn't polish glass for the love of it.

'And so I settled down to live with my funny new master. He was indeed an odd fellow. I believe if he had been able he would have spent all his time reading and writing. But he had to go to work in the morning and he was gone until tea–time. I used to look forward to Sunday, because then he was home all day. The rest of the week I felt rather lonely. When he left in the morning he locked up his old windmill with a home–made lock, and all day long I had nothing to do but watch the rats chase one another over his home–made furniture or look at the view through the window–cleaner's dirty window. And although the view was quite remarkable—the mill was on a hill on the outskirts of the town—you soon got used to it. And as for the rats, I always considered them vulgar creatures and their conversation and low games did not interest me.

'But the evenings were great fun. When he came home my friend would talk to me the whole time he was cooking his dinner. Of course, he had no idea I understood him. But I think he was glad of anyone to converse with. For he, too, led a very lonely life—and, what is more, he was not used to it, like me. Yes, he'd tell me the whole day's doings while he fried his eggs or stirred his soup—what houses he had been in, what sort of people he had seen, whether their windows were extra dirty, and if they had bird cages hanging in them or not. In this way he often brought me news of Aunt Rosie and my husband. Twink, and even of my children, who had gone to other houses whose windows he was accustomed to clean.

'I was puzzled about my strange friend a good deal—about what had been in his life before he took to this profession. If he had any relatives at all they did not live in these parts. He never got any letters, nor wrote any. He was a man cut off, as it were, from all his fellows. I often wondered whether he had brought this about himself, in order to keep his life undisturbed for studying and writing, or whether he had some secret which made it necessary for him to live thus—almost in hiding, as you might say.

'Well, the writer wore pleasantly on, and soon the spring was at hand once more. This was a time when my master was particularly busy, for everyone was doing spring–cleaning—which always means a lot of extra window washing. Some nights he did not get home till quite late. When the days got warmer he would put my cage outside on the wall. And one day he left me in the open air when he went to work in the morning.

'"It's a pleasant day, Pip," said he. "And I don't see why you should be shut up just because I'm not here. I'll be back early to lunch. It's Saturday and I mean to take a half holiday, no matter how many housekeepers want their windows cleaned."

'Then he took me up to the top of the mill tower, where there was an old, leaky, ramshackle room, which was never used. And he hung my cage outside the window on a nail. It was a difficult sort of place to get to because there wasn't any stair—just poles and ladders and things to scramble up by.

'"There you are, Pip," said he. "You'll be quite safe here. It's a sort of breaknecky place, but no worse than some of the window ledges I have to stand on at my job. I've put you here so you'll be safe from the cats, while I'm away. So long."

'Then he made his way down the tower again and I watched him come out of the door below and walk briskly away towards the town.

'It was very nice to be in the open. It was the first time my cage had been set out this year. The mild spring sunshine was invigorating and refreshing. From my lofty lookout I watched wild birds of various kinds flying here and there and everywhere.

'Lunch–time came, but my friend did not return.

'"Oh, well," I thought, "he has been delayed. He can't afford to disappoint his customers. Some old lady has asked him to stay on and do a few extra windows. He'll turn up soon."

'And even when tea–time came, and still he hadn't appeared. I continued to make excuses for him. But when the sun had set and the evening star was twinkling in the dusky sky and my cage had not yet been taken in I began to get really anxious.

'As the darkness settled down about my cage I began to shiver with the cold. It was still, you see, quite early in the year, and even indoors I was accustomed to have a cover over me.

'I got no sleep at all. All night I kept wondering what could have become of my friend. Had he fallen from some high place while cleaning windows? Had he been run over? Something must have happened to him, that was certain. Because he was always very thoughtful of me and he couldn't have forgotten that he had left me out in the open. And, even supposing that that had slipped his memory, he could never have forgotten that I would need food and fresh water by the end of the day.

'Well, the dawn came at last—after a night that seemed a whole eternity in length. As the sun gradually rose in the heavens and the warmth of it glowed upon my shivering wings my spirits revived somewhat. There was still a little seed left in my trough and some water in the pot. I was about to take breakfast—which I always did at sunrise—when it suddenly occurred to me that I had better economize and make my supply last as long as possible. Because the more I thought of it the more certain I became that I had seen the last of my good friend the window cleaner.

'You see, with an ordinary person who had a family living with him or friends calling at his house or tradesmen delivering daily goods, I would sooner or later have received assistance. But this man never had a soul come near him from one end of the year to the other. So I made up my mind to two things: first, something serious had happened to my owner; the second, that I need expect no help or food except by some chance accident. It was a bad outlook all around.

'Still, where there's life there's hope. I ate a very tiny breakfast—just enough to keep me going. Lunch–time came and I did the same—and the same again at dusk. Another cold, miserable night. Another shivering dawn. By now I had only a few grains of food left. My spirits were dreadfully low. I ate the last of my supply and, utterly worn out, fell asleep as the sun began to rise.

'Just how long I slept I don't know—till an hour or so beyond noon, I imagine. I was awakened by a great racket, and, opening my eyes, found the sky dark with rain clouds. A storm was brewing. Every few seconds great tongues of lightning flashed across the face of the gloomy heavens, followed by deafening crashes of thunder.

'As the first big drops of rain came plopping into the floor of my cage I saw I was in for a good soaking, in addition to my other troubles. But that storm was a blessing in disguise. Such a storm! I have never seen anything like it. My mill tower, placed where all the winds of heaven could reach it, got the full benefit of its fury. Five minutes after I woke up I was drenched and chilled to the marrow of my bones. I tried to crouch down under my water–pot and get some shelter that way. But it was no use. The gale blew the rain in every direction and there was no escaping it. The floor of my cage was just swimming in water.

'Suddenly I heard a rending crackling sound and saw a piece of mill roof hurtle earthward, through the air, just wrenched off the tower by the strength of the wind. In between the claps of thunder I heard other crashes below me. All sorts of things were being blown down or smashed by the tempest.

'And then, Zip! I felt my cage struck upwards, as though someone had hit the bottom with the palm of his hand. And the next minute I, too, was sailing earthwards. My cage had been blown off its nail.

'After my cage jumped off its nail and started smiling through the air, I haven't a very clear recollection of things. I remember feeling it turn over and over till I was giddy, and on its way down I think it struck a roof or something and bounced off. I clung to the perch with my claws—more out of fright than anything else—and just turned over with it as it spun.

'Then there was a crash. Suddenly I found myself sitting in a puddle on the ground, quite unharmed but very wet. The two halves of my cage, neatly broken in the centre, lay on either side of me. The rain was still beating down in torrents. I had landed on a cobble pavement, right in front of the mill. Under the steps there was a hole between the stones. I crept into the shelter of it and tried to collect my scattered wits while I waited for the rain to stop.

'"So," I thought to myself, "I am a free bird at last! If this storm hadn't come along and blown my cage down I would have starved to death up there in two or three more days, at most. Well, well! And now, after wondering so often what it would feel like to be uncaged, here I am—free! But oh, so hungry, so cold and so wet!"

'And thus—'

'But what happened to the window–cleaner?' Gub–Gub interrupted. 'Why hadn't he come back?'

'Wait and you will see,' said Pippinella severely.

'And thus began still another chapter of my story—when, after being born and brought up a cage bird I was suddenly made by Fate into a wild one. For the present, sad and unhappy though I was about my good friend the window cleaner, I only had two ideas in my mind—to get dry and to find food. I was literally starving.'