“Have another slice of my head, Jack. As long as I have a turnip on my shoulders, you shall not want for nourishment, dear boy!”
So Jack sawed away and cut himself another little scrap of his master's head and chewed it hard with lots of water. But the poor Scarecrow was looking a great deal the worse for wear by now; Jack's knife had left deep gouges in the turnip, and the bits that were too tough to cut stuck out like splinters.
While Jack sat there gnawing the bitter root and trying to make it last a bit longer, the Scarecrow went off to inspect the grotto. He had an idea for improving the southern frontage, he said; but he'd only been gone a minute when Jack heard a furious yell.
He struggled to his feet and hurried to see what was the matter. He found the Scarecrow stamping with fury and shouting:
“You flying fiends! How dare you! I'll bite your beaks off! I'll fill you full of stones! I'll boil you! You vagabonds, you housebreakers! Squatting— squatting in our grotto! Shoo! Begone!”
“Calm down, master! You'll do yourself a mischief,” said Jack. “What's going on?”
He got down on his knees and peered into the grotto.
“Blimey!” he said.
For right in the center there was a nest, and sitting on the nest was a little speckled bird. As Jack watched, another little bird flew in with a worm and gave it to the one on the nest, and as the one on the nest reached up for the worm, Jack saw that there were four eggs beneath her.
Eggs, thought Jack. Eggs!
“Jack?” called the Scarecrow from behind him. “Be careful—they go for the eyes, these fiends. Stand back and let me deal with them!”
The two little speckled birds were looking at Jack. He licked his lips, and swallowed. Then he sighed.
“I suppose,” he said reluctantly, “you better stay there, since you've got some eggs to look after.”
They said nothing.
“Jack?” said the Scarecrow anxiously.
“It's all right, master,” said Jack, standing up and feeling dizzy, so that he had to hold on to the Scarecrow for a moment. “They're sitting on some eggs.”
“Eggs, eh?” said the Scarecrow severely. “Well, that obviously means that hostilities are suspended until they hatch. Very well,” he called, “you, you birds in there, in view of your impending parenthood, I shall not scare you away. But you must keep the place tidy and leave as soon as your chicks have flown.”
The male bird flew out and perched on a nearby twig.
“Good morning,” he said. “And what do you do?”
The Scarecrow blinked and scratched his turnip.
“Well, I, um—” he began. “Lord Scarecrow's in the agricultural business,” said Jack.
“Jolly good,” said the bird. “And have you come a long way?”
“All the way from Spring Valley,” said the Scarecrow.
“Splendid. Well done,” said the bird, and flew away.
Now Jack was sure he was hallucinating. As a matter of fact, he didn't feel at all well.
“Jack, my boy,” said the Scarecrow, “I wonder if I could ask you to adjust my turnip a fraction. I think it's coming loose.”
“Let's go down to the beach, master,” Jack said. “It's too bright to see here. There's a bit of shade there, under the coconut tree.”
Leaning on his digging stick, Jack made his way through the scrubby bushes with the Scarecrow holding the umbrella over him. It really was almost too hot to bear.
When they reached the coconut tree, they had a surprise, because a flock of pigeons rose out of it noisily, making the leaves wave. And just as the pigeons flew away, a coconut fell onto the sand with a thud.
“Oh! Thank goodness!” cried Jack, and ran to pick it up.
He turned it over and over, feeling the milk sloshing this way and that. He took out his knife and dug a hole in the end, and drank every drop. There wasn't actually as much as he'd thought, and what was more, it was going rancid.
“Jack—my boy—help—”
The Scarecrow was tottering and stumbling over the sand, trying to hold his turnip on. But it had been so bashed and hacked about that it wasn't going to stay on, and besides, as Jack saw when he helped his master sit down in the shade, the broomstick he'd had for a spine was badly cracked.
“Dear oh dear, master, you're in a worse state than me,” Jack said. “At least we can do something about you. Lie still, and I'll take your spine out first, then put my digging stick there instead.”
“Is it a dangerous operation?” said the Scarecrow faintly.
“Nothing to it,” said Jack. “Just don't wriggle.”
As soon as the new spine was in place, Jack picked up the turnip—but alas! It fell apart entirely.
And now what could he do?
There was only one thing for it.
“Here we go, master,” he said, “here's a new head for you.”
He jammed the coconut down onto the end of the digging stick, and at once the Scarecrow sat up.
He turned his new head from side to side and brushed the tuft of spiky hair on the top. He looked just like himself again; in fact, he looked much better than before.
“You look very handsome, master,” said Jack.
“I feel handsome! I don't think I've ever felt so handsome. Jack, my boy, you are a wonder. Thank you a thousand times!”
But the wandering about, and the hot sun, and the rancid coconut milk on his empty stomach were all too much for Jack.
“Can I sit under your umbrella for a minute, master?” said Jack. “I'm feeling ever so hot and dizzy.”
“Of course!”
So they sat side by side for a few minutes. But Jack couldn't keep upright; he kept slipping sideways and leaning on the Scarecrow's chest. His master let him rest there until he fell asleep.
And once again Jack had a dream and heard voices. This time one of them belonged to the Scarecrow himself, and he was speaking quietly, but with a great deal of force:
“It's just as well for you that my servant is asleep on my breast, because otherwise I'd leap up and scare you in a moment. But I don't want to wake him. You chose your moment well, you scoundrel!”
“No, no, you've got it wrong,” said the other voice, a light and musical voice that seemed to come from a bush nearby. “I've got a message for you, from the Grand Congress of All the Birds.”
“Grand Congress of All the Birds!” said the Scarecrow with bottomless scorn. “I've never heard of it.”
“Your ignorance is legendary,” said the bird.
“Well, thank you. But don't think you can get around me with your flattery. Since I can't move, I suppose I shall have to listen to your preposterous message.”
“Then I shall read it out. ‘The Eighty-Four Thousand Five Hundred and Seventy-Eighth Grand Congress is hereby convened on Coconut Island, that being the place chosen by Their Majesties the King and Queen of All the Birds. The President and Council send their greetings to Lord Scarecrow and invite him to attend as principal guest of honor, to receive the thanks of the Congress for his gift of a Royal Palace, and to discuss the matter of Spring Valley, and—'”
“Spring Valley!” cried the Scarecrow. “What's all this?”
“I haven't finished,” said the bird. “‘To discuss the matter of Spring Valley, and to make common purpose in order to restore the good working of the land, to our mutual benefit.’ There,” he concluded. “That's it.”
“Well, I'm astonished,” said the Scarecrow. “Spring Valley is a very important place. And if you're going to start deciding what to do about it, I insist that I have the right to speak on the subject.”
“But that's exactly what we're inviting you to do!”
“Well, why didn't you say so? Now, you understand, I shall have to bring my servant with me.”
“Out of the question.”
“What!”
“He is a human being. We birds were meeting in Congress for hundreds of thousands of years before human beings existed, and
they have brought us nothing but trouble. You are welcome, as our guest of honor, because we're not scared of you, whereas we're all scared of humans. And—”
The Scarecrow leapt to his feet.
“Not scared of me? How dare you not be scared of me! I've got a good mind to make war on the whole kingdom of the birds!”
And he stamped away, waving his arms in a fury.
Jack couldn't keep his eyes closed any longer. He sat up and blinked in the burning sunlight, and the messenger bird flew to another bush a bit farther off.
Jack said quickly, “No, please, listen. Don't let my master's manner put you off. He's highly strung, Lord Scarecrow is, he's got nerves like piano wires. The fact is,” he added quietly, looking around to see the Scarecrow stomping up and down and gesticulating in the distance, “I don't think he'd manage very well without me. He's a great hero, no doubt about it, but he's as simple as a baby in some ways. Ever since his heart was broken by a broomstick, he's been desperate, just desperate. His brain even fell out. I'll see if I can get him to change his mind.”
“Don't be long,” said the bird testily.
Squinting against the glare, Jack stumbled through the bushes and out onto the beach. He fell over three times before the Scarecrow saw him. His master came hurrying over the sand, his anger forgotten.
“Jack! Jack! My boy, are you ill?”
“I think I'm going to croak, master. I think I'm going to kick the bucket. But listen—I have given you good advice, haven't I? What I've said to you made sense, didn't it?”
“The best sense in the world!” said the Scarecrow warmly. “No sense like it!”
“Then do as I suggest, and say thank you very much to this bird, and go and attend their Grand Congress. And maybe you can get to Spring Valley even if I don't.”
“Without you, my faithful servant?”
“I don't think I'll ever see it, master. I'm done for, that's what I think.”
“I shall never leave your side! And you may tell that crested charlatan so, in no uncertain terms.”
So poor Jack had to haul himself up and stagger back to the bird.
“He says he'd be delighted to accept your invitation,” he said, “and he sends his compliments to the President and Council.”
“I should think so, too,” said the bird.
“Did I …,” Jack tried to say, but he could hardly get any words out. “Did I hear you right, or was I dreaming? Those two little speckled birds that made their nest in the grotto—you said they were the King and Queen of All the Birds?”
“That is correct.”
“Oh, good,” said Jack.
But he couldn't say anything else, because he felt himself falling sideways, and then he felt nothing at all.
Chapter Twelve
The Grand Congress
Jack woke up to find himself lying on his back and gazing up at a bright blue sky. He was lying on something soft and comfortable, so he naturally thought he was dead.
But the angels were making a lot of noise. In fact, he wondered why St. Peter, or the Holy Ghost, or someone didn't come along and tell them all to stop quarreling. They sounded like a lot of squawking birds.
Birds!
He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and looked around.
He was sitting in the middle of the island, a little way from the reservoir and the grotto-palace, under the shade of a bush whose leaves and branches had been woven together over his head.
But where was the Scarecrow? Jack stood up and shaded his eyes against the brilliant sun and gazed all around. Near the beach he saw his master's familiar shape striding along stiffly, talking and gesticulating to a flock of birds that were moving along with him.
Well, I'm blowed, said Jack to himself, and set off through the bushes to find out more.
“Jack, my boy!” said the Scarecrow, waving cheerfully. “You've woken up at last! And how are you feeling, my dear servant?”
“Well, I dunno, master,” Jack said, making his way shakily over to where his master was standing.
Although the birds didn't seem afraid of the Scarecrow at all, they flew away when Jack came up, and he and the Scarecrow were able to talk without being overheard.
“I suppose I'm still alive,” Jack went on, “and my arms and legs are all working, so I reckon I must be all right. But what's going on, master? Where did the birds come from?”
“Ah. What happens is that every ten years the King and Queen choose somewhere to make a nest, and then they summon all the birds to the Grand Congress. Very simple, you see; primitive, really— suits their childish minds. But they were so pleased with the palace we built for them that they just wouldn't go anywhere else. Oh, and I made them let you stay, and bring you some fruit and nuts and so on. I said I wouldn't accept their gold medal otherwise.”
“They're going to give you a gold medal? That's wonderful, master!”
“Yes, they were thrilled. But look, they're calling everyone together.”
On the topmost branch of a shrub near the grotto-palace, a chaffinch was calling loudly. All the other birds stopped what they were doing and flew, or strutted, or waddled, or glided into the space in front of her and settled down to listen.
“Birds of every degree!” the chaffinch called. “Waders, swimmers, fliers, and walkers! Welcome to the Eighty-Four Thousand Five Hundred and Seventy-Eighth Grand Congress of All the Birds! I call upon our noble President to open the proceedings and welcome our guests.”
An elderly pelican hopped onto a rock and spoke in a deep and sonorous voice.
“I declare this Congress open,” he said. “We have much urgent and important business to discuss. But our first task is the pleasant one of announcing the winner of our gold medal. We have acclaimed many distinguished laureates in the past, but few whose accomplishments were as varied as those of our guest today. With no regard for his personal safety, he clambered high up a stone wall to restore the fallen chick of Dr. and Mrs. Owl to his parents' nest. Secondly, ignoring the danger of riot and pursuit, he bravely set free five linnets, six goldfinches, and seven blackbirds from their sordid and miserable captivity. Thirdly, in the midst of a deadly battle, and at great personal risk, he carried the nest of Signora Robin to a place of safety.”
Lots of little birds were gazing in admiration at the Scarecrow, who stood beside Jack with a pleased expression on his coconut.
“And finally, using the utmost resources of his architectural skill, our gold medalist built a palace of jewels for Their Majesties our King and Queen to nest in. I am happy to report the appearance of four chicks this morning. The parents and the chicks are all very well.”
The birds cheered loudly. Several took off and flew around in delight before landing again.
The chaffinch called for silence. All the birds fell still once more, and then he said:
“I now invite Lord Scarecrow to come forward and receive the gold medal and to say a few words.”
The Scarecrow moved with great dignity between the ranks of watching birds and stood beside the President, while four hummingbirds flew up over the Scarecrow's head and dropped a scarlet ribbon very neatly around his neck. The medal hanging from it gleamed proudly on his tattered chest.
The Scarecrow cleared his throat and began, “Your Majesties! Mr. President! Birds of every kind and degree!”
Everyone fell still. Jack crossed his fingers.
“It gives me great pleasure,” the Scarecrow went on, “to stand here today and receive this tribute. It is true, in the past we may have had our disagreements; some of your people may have stolen—”
The President coughed disapprovingly and said, “We don't refer to it as stealing, Lord Scarecrow. Please confine yourself to general remarks of a friendly nature.”
“Oh, you're trying to censor me, are you?” said the Scarecrow, bristling. “I must say that's typical. I come here in a spirit of friendship to do you the honor of accepting this paltry bauble, and you treat me like—”
The
birds were squawking with indignation and raising their wings and shaking their heads. The President clattered his beak loudly for silence and said:
“Paltry bauble? How dare you! I never heard such insolence!”
The Scarecrow was about to lose his temper. There was only one thing to be done.
“Excuse me,” Jack called out, “excuse me, Your Majesties, Mr. President, Lord Scarecrow, and everyone, I think there's just been a bit of trouble with the translation.”
“But we're all speaking the same language!” protested the President. “There's no doubt whatsoever about the monstrous and unpardonable insult that this thing has just expressed. No doubt at all!”
“Thing, sir? Thing, did you call me?” cried the Scarecrow, and his umbrella opened and closed in a passion.
“Well, you see, that's just what I mean,” said Jack, carefully making his way through the ranks of the birds. “Mr. President, sir, it's clear to me that you're speaking in different languages. You're talking Bird, which is a rich and noble tongue worthy of the great nation of feathered heroes who speak it,
and Lord Scarecrow is talking Coconut, which is a subtle and mysterious language full of wisdom and music. So if you'd let me translate for you—”
“And who are you? You're a human being. What are you doing here?” demanded the President.
“Me, sir? My name is Jack, sir, just a boy, that's right, no more than a lowly servant, sir. But I humbly offer my services, at this most dangerous time in world affairs, in the interests of peace and harmony. So if you'd just let me tell Lord Scarecrow what you're saying, and tell you what he's saying, I'm sure this Congress will get on very happily.”
“Hmph,” the President snorted. “Well, you can begin by saying that unless Lord Scarecrow apologizes for that intolerable insult, we shall have no alternative but to strip him of his gold medal and declare war.”
“Certainly,” said Jack, bowing low.
He turned to the Scarecrow and said, “Lord Scarecrow, the President offers you his profound apologies and begs you to regard this little exchange of words as merely a storm in a teacup.”