CHAPTER II
BIRDS'-NESTING
'The busy birds with nice selection cull Soft thistle-down, gray moss, and scattered wool; Far from each prying eye the nest prepare, Formed of warm moss and lined with softer hair.'
Peggy and Bobby sat at the top of a high apple-tree in a cunning littleseat just where one bough crossed another, and, bending up, formed akind of armchair with a back to it. Below them the pink apple-blossomspread like a rosy cloud against the bluest of skies, and a blackbird ina neighbouring bush was trilling his loudest.
Easter had fallen late, so that the children's spring holidays were notyet over when the first early delightful days of May brought a foretasteof the coming summer. Peggy and Bobby were out the whole day long,following their father about the farm, riding on the slow plough-horses,helping to drive the sheep, or bringing home the cows from the pasture,sowing seeds in their little gardens, and generally revelling in thedelicious freedom.
Sometimes Lilian would join them, but more often she was busy indoors,helping her aunt and Nancy, the maid, and learning the mysteries ofhousekeeping and dairy-minding; for she was growing quite a nice littlecompanion to Aunt Helen, and becoming so useful that Nancy declared theyshould scarcely know what to do without her when the term began again.
'What shall we do this afternoon?' said Bobby, leaning back among thebranches in a way that would have brought Aunt Helen's heart to hermouth if she had not long ago come to the conclusion that small boyshave nine lives, like a cat.
'I don't know,' replied Peggy, idly picking off bits of twig, andthrowing them at the old gander, which had strayed underneath.
'Then let's go birds'-nesting. You can't think how dreadfully I want tofind a cuckoo's egg. Arthur Hill has one at school, and he's so proud ofit, he wouldn't change it though a boy offered him five sticks ofmint-rock and a pea-shooter. I'm sure we ought to get one about here:I've heard such lots of cuckoos lately. We'll look in every nest wefind.'
'All right, we'll go down the meadows by the river into the hazel-wood.'
'No, no! Up the hill, over the gorse common, and down the yew-treelane.'
'You won't find any nests up there!'
'Yes, I shall!'
'I tell you you won't!'
'And I tell you I shall!'
'You were only eight last January, and I shall be twelve in November, soI ought to know best!' said Peggy crushingly.
'I don't care if you're a hundred!' replied Bobby with scorn. 'Joe wasup there last night, and he found twelve nests, and, what's more, hetold me just where they all are.'
'Then, why couldn't you say so at first? Are you sure you can findthem?'
'Certain; and one of them's a long-tailed tit's, with ever so many eggsin it. Do you want to go down by the river now?'
'No,' replied Peggy, giving in graciously. 'A bird in the hand is worthtwo in the bush, and if Joe really found the nests up there, it's worthwhile going to see.'
Bobby climbed down in triumph, for Peggy so generally took the lead thatit was sweet for once to get his own way. He was rather a gentle littleboy, ready as a rule to follow at Peggy's bidding, and to make a livelysecond to any scheme she might have in hand. Aunt Helen sometimesthought the two must have got changed, and that Peggy should have beenthe boy and Bobby the girl; for though the latter was not withoutcourage, it was certainly Peggy who had the most of that enterprisingspirit which is generally thought a characteristic of the masculinemind.
Though she would not have minded being a genuine boy, Peggy had thegreatest objection to be called a tomboy--a term of reproach that hadbeen hurled at her head from her earliest infancy by indiscriminatingfriends.
'If they meant anything nice by it, I shouldn't care,' she complained.'But they don't, for a tomboy is a horrid, rough sort of creature whoisn't fit to be either a boy or a girl. It's too bad that I can't evendo useful things without people howling at me. Mrs. Davenport lookedperfectly shocked when I harnessed the pony, though I told her Joe wasmilking, and there was no one else to come and do it; and when old Mr.Cooper saw me help Father to drive cows down the pasture, he popped outwith "Miss Tomboy" at once, though he did say afterwards I was the rightsort of girl. People didn't call Joan of Arc and Grace Darling tomboys,though they did other things besides stay at home and darn stockings.Why can't I climb trees and jump fences, and enjoy myself like boys do,and yet be a thorough girl all the same?'
To do Peggy justice, I think she was right, for though she delighted inoutdoor life, she was in no sense a rough or ill-mannered child, andloved pretty things and dainty ways as well as quieter Lilian; but itwas a case of a dog with a bad name, for however indignantly she mightremonstrate, people had got into the habit of dubbing her 'tomboy,' andat that valuation she seemed likely to remain.
The walk which Bobby had proposed this afternoon was somewhat of ascramble, for the country rose behind the Abbey into undulating hills,which were fairly steep, though not so high as the Welsh mountains, andwere covered for the most part with gorse and rough grass, where thesheep and young bullocks were turned out to graze. It was rather a stiffpull up to the common, but the Vaughans were as accustomed to climbingas mountain goats, and would have thought it far more wearisome to walkthe length of a London street.
Half-way up was a spot very dear to the children's hearts. At a turn ofthe road a great slab of Welsh slatestone lay at a sloping angle,shelving down for a distance of about twenty feet, and with its surfaceso flat and even, and so smooth and polished by the weather, that itmade a natural sliding-board, down which it was delightful to tobogganat full speed. It seemed expressly formed for the enjoyment of smallboys and girls, for as it lay across a corner, you had only to walk upthe road to get to the top, then settling yourself firmly with feetstraight in front, you let go, and slid like a bolt from an arrowdown--down--till you found your feet on the road again, and could climbup once more and repeat the performance.
Of course, it was not very nice for the backs of boots andknickerbockers, and frocks and pinafores were apt to get sadly torn ifthey caught on a projecting angle; but what child ever thought ofclothes when a twenty-foot slide might be enjoyed? Certainly not Peggyor Bobby, whose well-worn garments were generally made of the stoutestand most serviceable materials.
They spent quite half an hour at this enthralling pastime, till a verypersistent cuckoo in a little copse over the hedge recalled them to theprincipal object of their ramble.
'Come along!' shouted Peggy. 'We're wasting time!'
'Let's take the short cut,' cried Bobby, hopping nimbly over the fenceinto the meadow, where the kingcups were lying, such a bright mass ofgold in the sunshine that you might have thought the stars had fallenfrom the sky and were shining in the fields instead. Little rabbitsscuttled away before them into the hedgerows, and a cock pheasant,disturbed in his afternoon nap, flew with a great whir into the coppiceclose by. Two fields brought them out on to the common, where the gorsewas a blaze of colour and the bees were busy buzzing among thesweet-smelling blossom.
'Joe said there was a yellowhammer's nest just there, close by theelder-bush,' said Bobby.
'All right,' said Peggy; 'you take one side of the tree, and I'll takethe other.'
A few minutes' search resulted in a delighted 'S'sh!' from Bobby, for ona little ledge of rock under an overhanging tussock of grass was thecosiest, cunningest nest in the world, and the yellowhammer herself saton it, looking at them with her bright little eyes, half undecidedwhether to stay or to fly away in alarm.
Peggy crept up as quietly as a mouse. Though the children were veryanxious to find nests, it was not in any spirit of ruthless robbery. Mr.Vaughan was a keen naturalist, and had taught them to watch the birds intheir haunts, but disturb them as little as possible, taking anoccasional egg for their collection, but only when there were so many inthe nest that it would not be missed.
'Isn't she stunning?' whispered Bobby. 'And how tight she sits!'
But a human voice was too much for the yel
lowhammer, and she flew like adart into the gorse-bushes.
'Five eggs,' said Peggy, 'but not one of them a cuckoo's. You don't wantone, do you, Bobby?'
'No, I've got three at home. I had five, but I swopped two of them withFrank Wilson for a redstart's.'
'Come along, then; she'll soon fly back when we're gone; I believe sheis watching us out of the elder-tree. Where did Joe say the long-tailedtits had built?'
'Right in the middle of a gorse-bush, just on the top of the mound wherethe goat was tethered last year. He calls them bottle-tits, but it'sjust the same thing, Father says. Whew! isn't the grass scratchy on yourlegs!'
'Horrid! My boots are full of prickles. I shall have to take them offsoon. It's so deep here, it's scratching my very nose. Oh, look, Bobby!There goes one of the tits! I saw just where she flew from. Oh, here itis! See, isn't it just the prettiest little nest that ever was?'
The tit's nest would certainly have gained the prize if all the birdshad been asked to take part in a building competition. It was made ofthe softest moss and lichens, fashioned together in the shape of abottle with the neck downwards; for the tit must have some place inwhich to bestow her long tail, and she builds her home to suit herperson.
Peggy thrust a cautious finger through the tiny opening in the side.
'It's full of eggs!' she exclaimed; 'I should think there must be sevenor eight. I'll take two, one for you and one for me. They're thesmallest you ever saw, and so warm. I hope they'll blow easily.'
Bobby had brought a box full of sheep's wool in his pocket, to holdanything they might find, so Peggy laid the eggs in with great pride,for bottle-tits were rare in that neighbourhood, and they had longwished to find such a treasure. Joe had certainly not misled them, andBobby's memory, though defective as regarded Latin declensions andhistorical facts, was unerring where it was a case of locatingbirds'-nests.
He found three thrushes' nests low down in the elder-bushes, all filledwith gaping yellow mouths, the pretty little chaffinch's up in theivy-tree, with only two speckly eggs as yet, and Jenny Wren's household,hidden away in a bank, full of so many children that she surelyresembled the old woman who lived in a shoe, and it was a marvel how shecould remember which little chirping atom she had fed last. The robinhad built early and her brood had flown and left the empty nest; but twoblackbirds were sitting in the hawthorn-hedge, and flew away with criesof indignation and distress.
The cuckoos were still calling loudly in the distance.
'Tiresome things!' said Bobby; 'if they would only build nests likeother birds, one might have a chance of finding them.'
'"In April the cuckoo comes, In May she'll stay, In June she changes her tune, In July she prepares to fly, Come August, go she must,"'
quoted Peggy.
'But you haven't said it all,' put in Bobby.
'"And if the cuckoo stays till September, It's as much as the oldest man can remember."'
'I wish the rhymes would tell us where she lays her eggs,' said Peggy.
She was poking about in the mossy bank as she spoke, when ahedge-sparrow flew out from the low bushes above almost straight intoher face. It did not take Peggy long to find the neat little nest oftwisted twigs and grass woven into the fork of a branch. There were fourlovely blue eggs inside, and a slightly larger one of a greenish-graycolour. Peggy flushed all over with excitement.
'Bobby, Bobby!' she screamed, 'come here, quick! I do believe I havefound a cuckoo's egg!'
There seemed little doubt about it, for the egg really looked quitedifferent to the others; so the treasured find was safely put away inthe small box, to be shown to Joe, who was wise in such lore, though heonly knew the birds by their country names, and had never heard of sucha science as ornithology. Quite elated with their success, the childrenhunted down the lane, searching in every bush and hedgerow, but theyfound nothing but a few last year's nests, full of acorns and deadleaves.
They came out by Betsy Owen's cottage--a little low, whitewashed,tumble-down building, standing in the midst of a neglected garden, witha very forlorn and deserted air about it.
'Joe says no doubt there'd be lots of nests in the ivy there,' confidedBobby, peeping through the hedge. 'But he wouldn't go in and see, not ifyou gave him five pounds for it.'
'Why not?' demanded Peggy.
'Because old Betsy's a witch, and you never know what she might do ifyou made her angry. John Parker and Evan Williams took some sticks fromher hedge last autumn, and she came out in a rage, and crossed herfingers at them, and in six weeks John broke his leg, and Evan had soreeyes all the winter. And once Joe and another boy were coming home verylate at night past the cottage, and they saw a bright light, and just asthey reached the gate it went out, and they heard a most fearful shriek,and they were so frightened they ran all the way home.'
'What nonsense!' said Peggy. 'I expect the old woman was blowing out hercandle to go to bed, and a screech-owl flew over their heads. Joe wouldhave run away from his own shadow. But if you're afraid, stay outside inthe lane, for I'm going in to see if there's a nest in that ivy; itlooks such a likely place. I don't believe anyone's in the cottage,either, for the door's shut.'
But Bobby much resented such a slur on his manly courage, and insistedupon being the one to climb the ivy-covered chimney. He crept quietlyround to the back of the cottage, and swung himself up by the thickstems, feeling in every little hole where he could lay his hand. Thelarge old chimney was so wide at the top that he found he could peepright down it, as if he were looking into a well, and could see a goodpiece of the hearth underneath, with a small fire of sticks burningunder a large, three-legged iron pot, and the old woman sitting close byon a low stool, smoking a short clay pipe.
Betsy Owen was a withered, cross-grained old dame, who by dint of theknowledge of the uses of some simple herbs and a good deal of cunning,had contrived to establish a reputation something between a witch and aquack doctor. People came to her from remote farms to have warts charmedaway or the toothache cured; she dressed burns and wounds, and concoctedlotions for sore eyes and bad legs. Her one room was hung all round withplants in various stages of drying, and she was always ready toprescribe a remedy for an ailing cow or a sick child, generally at muchprofit to herself, whatever might be the benefit to the sufferer. Shewas bending over her iron pot now, stirring the concoction with along-handled spoon. Bobby could see her quite plainly in the fire light,and could catch the curious aromatic smell which rose up from thesmouldering wood. I do not know what prompted him--probably the love ofmischief which dwells in all small boys--but he picked up a loose pieceof mortar which was lying on the roof, and dropped it suddenly down thechimney. It fell plump into the iron pot with a loud, hissing sound.
Out rushed Betsy from the cottage, scolding furiously. Down droppedBobby from the chimney, and was through a hole in the hedge and awaydown the lane as fast as his sturdy legs could carry him. Peggy had beenwaiting in the garden, and, before she could realize what had happened,she found herself seized and shaken violently by the angry old woman.
'I'll larn yer to come into other folk's places and drop stones downdecent body's chimleys!' shrieked Betsy. 'Be off with yer, yerill-mannered young good-for-naught; and if ever I catch yer here again,yer'll get such a hidin' yer won't forget it for a month!'
Peggy was so amazed by the suddenness of the attack that for the momentshe offered no resistance; but, finding a storm of blows descending onher head like hail, she managed to squirm out of Betsy's ungentle grasp,and fled after Bobby down the lane, followed by a shower of epithetsfrom the gate, where the old woman stood shaking her fist until longafter the children were out of sight.
When they judged themselves to be at a safe distance the pair sat downon a fence to get their breath, and talk over their adventure.
'We're in for it now,' laughed Peggy. 'She was so fearfully angry I'msure Joe would say she'd bewitched us!'
'Yes, he'll be in a great state of mind when we tell him. He'll quit
eexpect us to break our arms or legs or necks or something before long!'
'You'll do that without her if you try to swing head downwards on oneleg like that,' said Peggy; for Bobby was executing some marvellousgymnastics on the top rail of the fence.
He came down feet foremost, however, and they sauntered off along theroad to the old water-mill, where the miller's man was slinging a sackof flour on to a patient donkey who stood, with drooping ears, eyeingthe burden which he must carry up far into the mountains, while hismistress, a little black-eyed Welshwoman, poured forth a torrent ofgossip in high-pitched tones.
The wheel was standing idle, and the children went down the slipperysteps to the pool below. It was cool and dark there, for the trees grewlow over the stream, and the water, escaping from the race above, poureddown by the side of the wheel in a foaming cataract. A dipper washopping about from stone to stone in the centre of the stream, pruningher sleek feathers, and calling her lively 'chit, chit' to her mate.Peggy grasped Bobby by the arm.
'Keep still,' she whispered. 'Let us watch her. Perhaps she may have anest somewhere close by.'
All unconscious of her audience, the little bird jerked her short tail,dived rapidly into the water, and, emerging at the other side of thepool, flew suddenly into the green, moss-grown wall which overhung themill-wheel.
'That's her nest,' cried Bobby. 'Oh, don't you see it? It looks justlike a great lump of moss; you can hardly tell it from the wall, only Isee a little round hole at the bottom. What a shame it's in such ahorrid place! We can never get it up there.'
'Yes, we can,' replied Peggy stoutly. 'I'm going up.'
'But how?'
'Up the mill-wheel, of course, stupid! No, you're not coming too. Youclimbed the chimney, and it's my turn. Just hold my hat, and I'll manageall right, you'll see!'
It was a slippery climb, for the wheel was green with slime, and itneeded a long step to get from one blade to the other; but Peggy wasutterly fearless, and she had soon pulled herself to the top. Balancedthere, she could easily reach to the nest, which was only a few feetaway from her. Out flew the dipper in a panic, and in went Peggy'sfingers.
'Three eggs, Bobby--lovely white eggs! Look! I think I shall take thisone, at any rate.'
She held out her hand to show her prize, but at that instant themill-wheel began to turn, and she was whirled from the dizzy summitdown--down--into the dark pool below.
Bobby's agonized shrieks brought out the miller's man, who, dashing intothe stream, caught the child just as she rose to the surface, andbefore she had drifted into the swifter current further on. It was avery forlorn and draggled Peggy which he laid upon the bank, but she wasgame to the last.
'I haven't broken the egg,' she gasped out, with the water streamingfrom her hair.
'Better thank the Lord you're not drowned, miss,' said the miller's man,looking ruefully at his own wet garments. 'Let me take you into thehouse, and Mrs. Griffiths'll get you some dry clothes to your back;you'll catch your death of cold sitting there.'
Peggy essayed to get up and walk, but she was such a very water-loggedvessel that to hasten matters her rescuer picked her up in his arms, andbore her off like a sack of flour.
Stout old Mrs. Griffiths was sitting knitting in the chimney-corner, butshe jumped up in a hurry when John carried in his dripping burden.
'Sakes alive!' she screamed, 'what is it? Is she dead? Lay her out onthe parlour sofa. Sarah Grace, run for the parish nurse and theRector--quick!'
But Peggy's voluble tongue assuring her that she was very much alive,and only in need of drying, she soon hustled that young lady upstairs,and out of her wet clothes. Ten minutes later Peggy sat on the settle bythe kitchen fire, an odd little figure, attired in Sarah Grace's Sundayjacket over Mrs. Griffiths' best red flannel petticoat, and a steamingglass of hot elder wine in her hand.
'Just to keep you from catching cold, miss; and Master Bobby must haveone too, bless his heart! He's as white as my apron, and small wonder,after seeing his sister half drowned!'