The Story of a Robin
She was a strange child, and led a lonely life, shut up in the almostdeserted castle with no one but her miserly old grandfather and oldNanny for company. It was no wonder that she grew up with curiousunchildlike fancies, which were yet not altogether unchildlike. Hermind found food for itself in the woods with their ever-changing tints,the sky, the clouds, the sunset, and last, but by no means least, therestless, never-silent sea, which bathed the foot of the rock wherestood the picturesque old castle.
robin]
Of friends Elsie had none. The Squire could not afford to keepcompany--he was as poor as a rat, he used to say. Old Nanny was nearlyas miserly as he--you would have said she counted the grains of oatmealthat she put into the porridge; not a particle of anything was everwasted in that frugal household. Report said--but I am not responsiblefor the truth of this statement--that the miser had once had a piece ofcheese which was always brought to table, not to eat, mind you, oh dear,no! but so that the odour might give a relish to the dry bread! Elsiehad not even a dog for a companion--for that would have required, atleast, some food. She used to look out of her little turret window andwatch the clouds floating about in the sky, and the stars smiling downat her as they twinkled merrily up above. The moon was a very greatfriend of hers; she loved to see his broad cheerful face rising over thetree tops, and peeping in at her latticed windows.
Almost the only living creatures that she could make friends with werethe bats and owls that found an abode in the ruined walls of the castle,and the robins that came hopping merrily around in search of the crumbsthat were not there. She loved, too, to watch the spiders that camecrawling stealthily out of their webs to catch any unwary fly that mightbe so bold as to venture into such an inhospitable mansion.
She had no toys--never in her life had she even seen a doll. Think ofthat, little Dorothy, with your collection of all kinds, from the ragbaby to the beautiful wax and china ones with real hair and eyes thatopen and shut, and with all the dolls' clothes a child's heart coulddesire. She did not miss them--never having known the pleasure of suchpossessions.
But one real live pet she had--a robin that used to come hopping on toher window sill every morning, and for whom she saved a few crumbs fromher scanty breakfast unknown to "gran'fer" or old Nanny, who you may besure would never have countenanced such waste. He was a merry littlebirdie, with such a knowing twinkle in his eyes, that seemed to say heknew all about little Elsie and her ways, and was glad to come and cheerher up, and to make up to her for the lack of other friends by singingto her every morning his sweetest song. Fine times they had, too, when"gran'fer" was busy counting his money, and old Nanny was out gatheringsticks. They never bought anything at Castle Grim that they could getwithout paying for. "Castle Hopeful" she called it, though why she chosesuch a very inappropriate name for it, it would be hard to say. If youcome to think of it though, there was some sense in it, seeing that itleft so many things to be hoped for--things that never came. As forsuch a thing as a new hat or a new frock, _that_ was too great a treatto be ever wished for. When the frock she wore would no longer hang onthe fragile little form, when the bony arms came out half a yard belowthe sleeves, and the long thin legs from under the short skirt, then oldNanny grudgingly took out of the moth-eaten old wardrobe an old one ofElsie's mother's, and cut it down until the child could get inside itwith something like ease. To be sure Nanny was no dressmaker, and thefrock was neither pretty nor elegant; and as for fit, why, that was amere trifle not worthy of serious consideration. Elsie could havejumped into it, but it was a frock, and that was enough. The littlefisher-children who used to come gathering sea-weed and shells on thebeach used to look up with wistful eyes at the lonely little figure inthe turret-window, singing and talking to herself; but she was neverallowed to speak to them--Nanny was very strict about that. Elsie wasone of the "quality," and must not mix with the fisher-children.
The child had learnt her letters, no one knew how. Moreover, she wasthe happy possessor of a few ragged old books--minus the covers and afew of the pages--which she had found in rummaging about in the oldlumber room amongst broken furniture that would not sell, but was toogood for firewood.
Such treasures these books were to Elsie--strange reading for a child,but very precious to her all the same. No "Alice in Wonderland," no"Little Folks," no "St Nicholas," or "Fairy Tales"; but the "Pilgrim'sProgress," garnished with pictures--such pictures, enough to make yourhair stand on end,--Foxe's "Book of Martyrs," and last, but by no meansleast, that most delightful of all books, "Don Quixote." How Elsieloved the Don and his bony steed! She knew all his adventures byheart--all that were in the book, that is--for, of course, both thebeginning and the end were lost.
If you will promise not to mention it, I will tell you a great secret.Elsie was writing a story herself. It was the nicest story you ever readin your life; but it was not very easy to read, being written in largebadly-formed childish characters on odd leaves of old copy books, andsometimes the story and the copies got rather mixed; and the spellingwas, to say the least of it, quite unique, but it was a lovely story forall that. Perhaps some day you will read it yourself. Elsie used toread it aloud to her little friend the robin, and he listened with hispert little head on one side as he hopped about picking up the crumbsshe had saved with so much difficulty for him; he was a most gratefullittle birdie, and never forgot a kindness. She always knew his tap!tap! at the window, and used to run to open it for him. It is very niceto have a little bird for a friend, for it never quarrels or sulks likesome little boys or girls do, when it cannot get its own way.
Elsie]
It was a bitterly cold day in December. The snow had been falling allnight, and when morning came the earth was covered with a beautiful softwhite carpet. It was lovely to look at. Elsie sat up in her littleturret chamber watching the happy little fisher-children snowballingeach other. She would have liked a game with them, but she knew thatNanny would not let her go. It was so cold, too, for there was no fireanywhere but in the kitchen, and Nanny was making what she called thedinner, and was always very cross when Elsie got in the way, so Elsiesat upstairs in her little turret chamber trying to warm her cold littlehands by wrapping them up in an old shawl which had certainly been agood one in its day, but unluckily there was very little of it left.After watching the children for a time, she crept downstairs into thekitchen.
"Oh, Nanny, let me help you with the dinner," she said pleadingly, "it'sso cold upstairs."
The old woman was not a bad sort, but she was rather cross; everythinghad gone wrong with her that morning. First, she could not get anysticks on account of the snow, and the ones she had were damp and wouldnot burn; then the Squire had grumbled at her for extravagance.
"Oh, get out of the way, you are more of a hindrance than a help," sheanswered pettishly.
Elsie went back again to her little room and looked out of the window atthe pure white snow. How lovely it looked! She would just run out tosee what it was like on the soft white carpet. How happy the hardyfisher-children looked, with their fresh glowing faces and sturdy limbs,as they pelted one another with the soft powdery snow!
She put on her old shawl and her apology for a hat, and stole quietlyout to the enchanted land. Old Nanny saw her go, but took no notice,muttering to herself as she went on with her household duties. Thefresh keen air made little Elsie feel quite gay and happy as she friskedabout revelling in her new-found liberty.
"Oh, the snow! the lovely snow! I wonder who put it up in the sky? Iwish I could go up to see who is making the dear little feathers. Is itthe Man in the Moon, I wonder? I'd like to see him make the feathers.Perhaps if I go far enough I'll get to the end of the world, and thenI'll get up into the clouds, it does not look very far," she said toherself.
On she went merrily, with her eyes eagerly fixed upon the near horizon;but the way was long, and the poor little feet grew heavy and tired.Her boots, much too large fo
r her, and very thin, were wet through andthrough, but still she struggled bravely on. The snow was fallingthickly and silently. The large flakes filled the air, blotting out thefamiliar landscape. There was everywhere nothing to be seen but snow!snow! snow!
"I wonder if this is the right way," thought Elsie, as she ploddedpainfully along. "Perhaps gran'f'er will be cross if I get lost."
robin]
She turned round to try and retrace her steps, but the little footmarkswere covered with the fast falling snow, she could not see which way shehad come. For a time she wandered on wearily and aimlessly, until shetook a false step and felt herself slipping, slipping. Where? Was itinto the middle of the earth? or was it into Snow Land? Only Snow Landwas up above, and she was going down, down, down! In vain she tried tokeep her footing; she sank down into the drift. The snow came downblinding and choking her. The cruel cold snow that looked so soft andgentle and yielding. She shut her eyes to try to keep it out.
"I wonder if gran'fer will be sorry if his little girl is lost? andNanny? and oh! my dear little Robin, who'll save him the crumbs if Ihave to stop down here? My dear little Robin! I wish gran'fer wouldcome! I'm getting so sleepy!" and the poor tired child lay still withclosed eyes.
Tap! tap! tap! What was that on her forehead.
Elsie opened her heavy eyes and looked around. There was her own dearlittle Robin flapping his wings and hovering around her. Was it a dream?Elsie rubbed her eyes. No, there he was in reality, in his warm red andbrown coat.
"Oh dear Robin! fly home and tell gran'fer I'm lost in the snow!" shecried entreatingly.
Robin perched his saucy little head on one side, and looked at her withhis bright twinkling eyes as though he quite understood what she said.
The snow had ceased falling, and the sky looked thick and yellow asthough it were lined with cotton wool. Elsie felt cold and stiff, andher limbs ached--she felt she could not stay much longer in her snowybed.
"Fly home, Robin, and tell gran'fer," she repeated, and Robin flew away.
Elsie sighed, and half wished she had not sent him. He was company, atany rate; she was tired of being alone. But gran'f'er would soon know,and come to fetch her home.
She tried to keep her eyes open to watch for his coming, but it was hardwork, and oh! she was so tired! so tired! Would gran'fer never come?Perhaps he was so busy counting his money that he would never think ofhis little girl lying out there under the cruel snow!
At Castle Grim, in the old-fashioned kitchen, sat Nanny over the fire,shivering, but not with the cold, though it was cold enough.
Where could the child be? The soup was ready for the master as soon ashe should come in, but the child, little Elsie, where was she? Presentlya shuffling step outside was heard, and the miser came in. He was acurious looking figure, with scanty grey locks hanging over his stoopingshoulders. His clothes were green with age, but well brushed andmended. He seated himself at the table, and looked round for his littlegrand-daughter.
"Where is Elsie?" he asked with a frown.
The old woman's voice trembled.
"She went out into the snow, and has not come back," she answered,putting her apron to her eyes; "and these old bones are not fit to goout to look for her."
The old man got up and went to the window. The dusk was beginning tocome on in the short December afternoon.
"Which way did she go?" he asked at length.
"I don't know. I did not watch her go," mumbled the old woman. "I wastoo busy--I can't be always watching folks."
"We must track her footsteps," said the miser, getting his greatcoat.But in the grounds in front of the house the snow lay in an unbrokensheet; no signs of any footmarks--they were all covered by this time.Nanny and the miser looked at each other in consternation.
"She is lost in the snow," muttered the old woman sitting down in frontof the fire, with her apron over her head, rocking herself to and fro.The miser, too, sat down, and covering his face with his hands, groanedaloud.
What was he to do? Where to go? On one side of the castle lay the sea,on the other the moor. It was like looking for a needle in a bottle ofhay to search for her--and there were no tracks to follow. The old manwas greatly distressed; miser though he was, he had a man's heart, andin his own way he loved his little granddaughter, though, to be sure, heloved money more--or thought he did. But the child was very dear tohim--she was all that was left to the lonely old man.
The pair sat in silence for a while, plunged in thought; suddenly themiser arose.
"Light the lantern," he said briefly.
"What are you going to do with it, master?" she asked in a shrillquavering treble.
"To search for the child. Be quick."
Nanny groaned. "You'll go and get lost too," she whined. "And there'llbe nobody left but me."
Tap, tap, tap, at the window pane.
"What's that?" asked the old man sharply.
Nanny hobbled to the window and looked out; there was nobody.
Tap, tap, tap again at the window. The miser himself went this time andopened it.
In flew a robin, hopping about with his head on one side, and his keentwinkling eyes fixed upon the miser.
"Bless me! It's a robin! What does it want? Crumbs? Can't afford tokeep birds," said the old man gruffly.
Robin flew to the window, and then turned as if to say, "Follow me."
The old woman watched it curiously.
"Birds are queer creatures; you would almost say it knew where the childwas," she said.
"Eh! What?" asked the old man sharply, looking more attentively at thebird.
Robin gave a little chirp, tapped at the window with its bill, and thenturned again as if to say "Why don't you come?"
The miser brightened up.
"Dear me! I really think you are right," he said, again taking up thelantern.
Robin flew out, stopping every now and then to see if the miser wasfollowing him. On, on they went a weary way. The moon struggled hardto pierce through the thick clouds, and shed a pale silvery light aroundto guide them on their way.
At last, with a succession of little chirps, Robin stopped beforesomething that looked like a dark speck. The miser followed cautiously,for he well knew the treacherous moors. He stood still while Robinscraped away the snow from her face with his little bill, and there laypoor little Elsie, fast asleep, nearly buried in the snow. Gran'f'ervery carefully lifted her out of the drift, and wrapping her in hisgreat coat, wended his way home with a great joy in his heart, Robinhovering around all the way.
Old Nanny was sitting by the dying embers with her apron over her head,rocking herself backwards and forwards, and crooning a doleful dirge;but she sprang up joyfully when the old man entered with the child inhis arms.
"Make up the fire," were the first words he said. Nanny put on a smallstick.
"A good roaring fire," added the old man. Nanny could hardly believeher ears, but she cautiously put on another stick.
The old man carefully laid Elsie down on the one arm-chair the roompossessed.
"More, put on more, pile it up the chimney, let us have a bright warmfire to bring her back to life," he said, rubbing his hands. Nannynearly dropped with surprise. Never, never before during the fifty oddyears that she had lived at Castle Grim had such an order been given.In a few minutes a bright cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, andthe kettle singing lustily.
Restoratives were applied to the little white-faced child, and she waswell rubbed and wrapped in blankets. Soon she opened her eyes. Thefirst thing they lit upon was the robin, who had followed them in andwas hopping about with his head on one side, looking very proud andclever indeed, as he had a right to be, for was it not he who had foundout where Elsie lay buried in the snow, and had brought gran'f'er tolook for her?
"Oh, Robin! dear Robin!" cried the child in a weak voice. "Deargran'f'er, it was Robin who came to tell you where I was. I sent him,you know."
Gran'f'er, who had
been sitting watching the pair, said suddenly, withan air of great resolution--no one knew how much it cost him to sayit--"Robin is to have some crumbs every day. I am very poor, and itwill nearly ruin me, but he shall have them."
Elsie's eyes sparkled. "Oh gran'f'er! My own dear little Robin! Doyou really mean it?" she asked, clapping her weak little hands.
"Yes," said the old man firmly. "He shall have them."
"Dear little Robin, do you hear what gran'fer says?" cried Elsiejoyfully.
Robin looked very knowing indeed, as if he understood all about it, andwith a jerk of his perky little head, as much as to say, "Good-bye, Imust be off to my family, or else they'll think I'm lost in the snowtoo." Off he flew.
Who says birds have no sense? Not Elsie certainly, nor yet gran'fer, forhe thinks Elsie's robin the most wonderful bird that ever lived.
Elsie is all right again now; and, indeed, she is not at all sorry shewas lost in the snow that day, for it has shown her how much gran'ferloves her. And gran'fer--you would not know him--he has quite turnedover a new leaf, and is a miser no more. He now wears a good suit thatis not more than twenty years old, and has become quite liberal too, forhe no longer counts the sticks, nor the peas that are put into the soup.He has kept his word about the crumbs; every morning a handful is thrownout, which Robin, with his head very much on one side, and accompaniedby his family and a select circle of friends, picks up with greatrelish, doing the honours in his best style. And not only that,but--believe it or not as you will, it is certainly true--everyChristmas a sheaf of corn is nailed to the barn door for the birds, moreparticularly for the robins, though all are welcome; and you never inyour life heard such a chirping and chattering as there is when thisinteresting ceremony takes place. The birds come from far and near, thefathers, the mothers, the sisters, the cousins, and the aunts, to joinin the feast; and gran'f'er, and Elsie, and old Nanny come out to watchthem eat their Christmas dinner.
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Sing a Song of Sixpence Page 2
