Woodside

  IV.

  _JACK AND THE GARDENER._

  "Oh! fie upon you, little birds, To eat up _all_ our cherries!Why don't you go into the woods And dine upon the berries?"--C. H.

  A few days after Tom had shown his cousins his collection of birds'eggs, Jack, as he was coming away from a visit to Lion, passed by theend of the potting-shed. The gardener was in there, and he called out,"Master Jack, I've got something for you in here."

  Jack went into the shed, and the gardener fumbled about on a shelf tillhe found what he was looking for.

  "There," he said, "is a thrush's nest; I thought you'd like it. I tookit out of one of the trees in the orchard. It has got four pretty eggsin it."

  JACK AND THE THRUSH'S NEST._Page 36._]

  "Oh," said Jack, "how splendid! What a treasure! It does seem a shame,though, to take it from the birds."

  His delight soon got the better of his scruples, especially when heheard the gardener say,--

  "There are too many birds about here already. Missus does encourage themso, that they are as bold as possible. I can tell you, Master Jack, whogets most of the cherries. It is not us that does; it's them birds,especially the thrushes and blackbirds. I'm up early, and I see; and Ihear 'em too before I'm up. There they are, at the fruit as soon as 'tislight. They have their breakfasts hours before you get yours. Onewouldn't grudge them a few cherries now and again; but to clear thetrees as they do is downright greediness, I say. And I wouldn't be hardon them for taking a few currants, for we have plenty of them; but theyjust go and strip off the largest and reddest of them, and leave thestalk hanging, and that's all that's left of a fine bunch. Then as tothe pease--you like pease, don't you, Master Jack? your grandpa'suncommon fond of 'em--well, I have to sow the pease pretty thick, or,I'll warrant ye, we shouldn't have a tidy row come up at all. I have tododge about with netting and scarecrows to keep what we do get; for Ihate a patchy row, I do. Last winter was a very cold season. I don'tknow how you found it in London, Master Jack, but here there was a longhard frost for three weeks. We'd had a good deal of rain; then it turnedto snow, and froze and snowed again till the snow lay pretty thick allover the ground. Then it cleared up, and the sun shone; but the sunhasn't much power at that time of the year, so it did not melt the snow.It was bitter cold by day, and worse at night. The birds that eat grubsand insects could not get any food at all. So your grandma had a biglump of fat put into a piece of coarse netting, and it was hung up in alikely place--the long branch of a tree--where the birds could get wellat it. You should have seen the poor creatures pecking away! It was soongone, and we had to put more lumps into the net before the frost went. Ithought to myself it was almost a pity to try to save their lives; itwas just a natural way of getting rid of a lot of them. They do say thatdying by cold is an easy way--it's like going to sleep; so I'm notwishing any great harm to the little things. And now, Master Jack, howdo you think these birds paid back your grandma for all her kindness?Why, as soon as ever the frost was gone, and the weather became warmer,and the yellow crocuses came into bloom, if these very birds, or some ofthem at least, did not slit the flowers all to pieces with theirbills--that's what _they_ did. The ground was covered with bits offlowers.--Do you know Mrs. Jones who lives on the green, Master Jack?"

  "No," he said; "I don't."

  "Well, she's a great friend of your grandma's; but she is notover-strong, and doesn't get out in the winter. She likes to have thebirds about her, and she fed them on her lawn with crumbs and pieces;and her fine bed of crocuses in front of her windows was just spoiled.It was mostly the yellow ones that they tore to shreds; and theprimroses too--there was hardly one fit to pick. The starlings and thesparrows were the worst; they did a lot of mischief."

  "Oh," said Jack, "perhaps they were after insects, or something theywanted to eat. I don't believe they _meant_ to do any harm."

  "Perhaps not," said the gardener; "but the crocuses were spoiled all thesame. You know, Master Jack, I'm about the place summer and winter, andI see a lot. Now, if there's one thing more than another that I hateabout a garden, it's cats. They do trample down things and spoil thebeds. As this house is lonesome rather, we don't get much of that pest,I'm glad to say; and then Smut is not a sociable cat. But I'll tell youof a curious thing that happened to him one day. There was a pair ofthrushes who had built their nest in the laurel hedge at the bottom ofthe garden next to the field. You know, Master Jack, there's a broadgravel path along the garden side of the hedge. One day, just as theyoung birds were able to get out of the nest, the young cat at mycottage close by walked into this garden, where, of course, she'd nobusiness; but there she was in that gravel path, and she saw one of thebirds and caught it. I saw her with it. The thrushes scolded her, flewat her with a sharp, angry cry, and puss was soon off the premises. Thenext day, Mr. Smut was walking along this gravel path, enjoying thesunshine in a quiet way, never thinking of birds, for he's a deal toolazy to put himself out of the way to catch anything. I've tried himwith a mouse, but he never put out a paw to touch it. He blinked at itin the most unconcerned way, and didn't show the least bit of interestin it. Well, as I said, Smut was walking along, when out flew thethrushes from the hedge, swooped down upon him, pounced on his back,pecked his head, and screeched at him, till poor Smut was quite dazed.They fairly chased him out of that part of the garden. You would havelaughed to have seen sober old Smut take to his legs as fast as he couldrun. The robins, too, soon afterwards began the same game, and wouldstand and scold within two or three yards of the cat, if he was asleepin the garden. I have often seen them sit just over him, and scold himtill he woke up and came indoors. As to the gravel path by the thrushes'nest, Smut never came into that path again all the summer through.Smut's a deal too particular," added the gardener; "but I have heard ofanother cat that was almost as bad. The house-maid told me that in oneof her places there was a fine tabby cat, or rather a good-sized kitten,which would never eat anything in the kitchen, and was so particular inhis ways that he was called 'Sir Thomas.' At dinner time he had a trickof jumping up as quick as lightning just when any one was going to puthis food into his mouth with his fork. He would give the fork a knockwith his paw, so that the meat tumbled off; which he ate before onecould see what had happened! Such behaviour was not to be borne; so SirThomas was always turned out of the room at dinner time. He was a goodmouser, and foraged well for himself out of doors. One day he ate somepoisoned meat, at least it was supposed he did so. He became so thin,and his fur came off; so he had to be killed, and that was the end ofSir Thomas."

  "I hope poor Smut won't come to any harm," said Jack. "I should haveliked to see the birds chasing him, though. I wonder the thrush wasn'tafraid of getting on to a cat's back."

  "Why, the bird was safe enough; Smut couldn't reach it, and he wasalmost frightened out of his senses. You know animals, when they havetheir young to take care of or their lives to defend, can do thingswhich seem contrary to their nature. Birds don't make their perches oncats' backs, except for very good reasons.

  "I heard of a dreadful thing that happened once," said the gardener,lowering his tone. "There was a cat--it was a half-wild one--and someboys had a dog that was very fond of worrying cats. They set this dog onto the poor cat, expecting to see a fight. But puss made a clean jump onto the dog's back, and fixed herself there. Lifting up first one frontpaw, then the other, she beat and scratched the dog's head terribly. Theboys then wanted to get the dog away, but they durst not touch either ofthem--the cat would have flown at them; besides, they were cowards, ascruel people always are. Then a gentleman came up, and he got apitchfork, and secured the poor beasts, and they were both killed. Atleast the dog was, for certain. Now that's a fact," said the gardener.

  REYNARD HARD PUSHED._Page 45._]

  "I can tell you another curious thing," added he; "it's about a fox thistime. It didn't happen anywhere about here, but in a part of thecountry where there's a deal of hunting going on. This poor fox wasbeing hunted, and away he went through woods, over pl
oughed land andmeadows, the pack of hounds and the huntsmen in full cry after him, whenthey came to a small village. Up the street ran the fox, the dogs at hisheels, when he saw the open door of a house and ran inside, up thestairs, and crouched under a cot where a little child lay fast asleep!The mistress of the house saw the fox rush in, and she instantly shutthe front door, as she knew she would have the whole pack of hounds inher house. As it was, two dogs, a little in front of the others, rushedpast her through the hall into the kitchen, then into the yard; so theyat once shut the kitchen door, and the dogs just missed the fox. Therewas a sight all round the house; the dogs were just mad to get in, andtrampled down the flower-beds--for there was no keeping them out of thefront garden--making such a yelling and barking as you never heard. Atlast one of the huntsmen came into the house, caught the fox, andcarried him away in a bag. The next day a gentleman sent his gardener toput the garden straight again, after the dogs; but the crocuses, whichwere just showing nicely for bloom, were quite spoiled. They sent thefox's brush--that's his tail, you know--to the mistress. I've beeninside this very house, and seen where the fox went to hide himself.It's not the way of the creatures that live in the woods to come intohouses, but the poor fox was hard drove; he was.

  "But now, Master Jack, I've finished my job in this shed, and I mustgo."