Aileen Aroon, A Memoir
Page 57
probably the last thing he heard in life was King Johncrowing, as he proudly perched himself on the edge of his water-tubthrone. One could almost afford to drop a tear of pity for the deadKing Cockeroo, were it possible to forget that, while in life and inpower, he had been both a bully and a coward.
"But bad as bullying and cowardice are, there are other faults in manybeings which, if not eradicated, are apt to lead the possessors thereofto a bad end. I have nothing to say against ambition, so long as it islawful and kept within due bounds, but pride is a bad trait in thecharacter of even old or young; and if you listen I will tell you howthis failing brought even brave and gallant King John to an untimelyend.
"After the death of King Cockeroo the pride of Jack knew no bounds. Hisgreatest enemy was gone, and there was not--so he thought--another cockin creation who would dare to face him; for did they not all prefercrowing at a distance, and did he not always answer them day or night,and defy them? His bearing towards the other fowls began to change. Hestill collected food for the hens, it is true, but he no longer tried tocoax them to eat it. They would doubtless, he said, partake of it ifthey were hungry, and if they were not hungry, why, they could simplyleave it.
"Jack had never had much respect for human beings--_they_! poor helplessthings, had no wings to clap, and they couldn't crow; _they_ had nopretty plumage of their own, but were fain to clothe themselves insheep's raiment or the cocoons of caterpillars; and _now_ he whollydespised them, and showed it too, for he spurred the legs of Gosling theploughboy, and rent into ribbons the new dress of Mary the milkmaid,because she had invaded his territory in search of eggs. Even the deathof the two favourite hens I have told you of, which took place somewhatsuddenly one Saturday morning, failed to sober him or tone down hisrampant pride. He installed two other very fat hens in their place onthe perch, and then crowed more loudly than ever.
"He spent much of his time now on his old throne; for it was always wellfilled with water, which served the purpose of a looking-glass, andreflected his gay and sprightly person, his rosy comb, and his noddingplumes. He would sometimes invite a favourite fowl to share the honoursof his throne with him, but I really believe it was merely that itsplainer reflection might make his own beautiful image the more apparent.
"`Oh!' he would cry, `don't I look lovely, and don't you look dowdybeside _me_? Kurr! Kurr-r-r! Am I not perfection itself?'
"Of course no one of the fowls in the yard dared to contradict him orgainsay a word he spoke, but still I doubt whether they believed him tobe altogether such a very exalted personage as he tried to make himselfout.
"And now my little tale draws speedily to its dark, but not, I trust,uninstructive close.
"The sun rose among clouds of brightest crimson one lovely summer'smorning, and his beams flooded all the beautiful country, making everycreature and everything glad, birds and beasts, flowers and trees, andrippling streams. Alas! how often in this world of ours is the sunrisein glory followed by a sunset in gloom. Noon had hardly passed ererock-shaped clouds began to bank up in the south and obscure the sun,the wind fell to a dead calm, and the stillness became oppressive; butit was broken at length by a loud peal of thunder, that seemed to rendthe earth to its very foundations. Then the sky grew darker and darker;and the darker it grew, the more vividly the lightning flashed, the moreloudly pealed the thunder. Then the rain came down, such rain asneither the good farmer of Buttercup Hill nor his wife ever rememberedseeing before. King John was fain to seek shelter for himself and hiscompanions under the garden seat, but even there they were drenched, anda very miserable sight they presented.
"`Oh I what a terrible storm!' cried a wise old hen.
"`Who is afraid?' said the proud King John, stepping out into the midstof it. `Behold my throne; it shall never be moved.'
"Dread omen! at that very moment a hoop suddenly sprang up with a loudbang, the staves began to separate, and the water came pouring outbetween them, deluging all the place, and well-nigh drowning one of thetwo hens which had bravely tried to share Jock's peril with him!
"`Kur-r-r!' cried the king, astonishment and rage depicted on everylineament of his countenance. `Kurr! kurr! what trickery is this? But,behold, I have but to mount my throne and crow, and at once the thunderand the rain will cease, and the sun will shine again!'
"He suited the action to the word, but, alas! the sun never shone againfor him. His additional weight completed the mischief, and thetottering throne gave way with a crash.
"There was woe in the farmyard that day, for under the ruins of histhrone lay the lifeless body of Jock--the once proud, the once mightyKing John."
"Oh!" cried Ida, "but that is _too_ short. Pray, just one little onemore, then I will sleep. You shall play me to sleep. Let it be about adog," she continued. "You can always tell a story about a dog."
I looked once more into the old portfolio, and found this--
------------------------------------------------------------------------
SINDBAD; OR, THE DOG OF PENELLAN.
"Unless you go far, very far north indeed, you will hardly find a moreprimitive place than the little village of Penellan, which nestles quiteclose to the sea on the southern coast of Cornwall. I say it _nestles_,and so it does, and nice and cosy it looks down there, in a kind ofglen, with green hills rising on either side of it, with its pebblybeach and the ever-sounding sea in front of it.
"It was at Widow Webber's hostelry that there arrived, many years ago,the hero, or rather heroes, of this short tale. Spring was coming in,the gardens were already gay with flowers, and the roses that trailedaround the windows and porches of the pilchard fishermen's huts were allin bud, and promised soon to show a wealth of bloom.
"Now, not only Widow Webber herself, but the whole village, were ontiptoe to find out who the two strangers were and what could possibly betheir reason for coming to such a little outlying place--fifteen miles,mind you, from the nearest railway town. It appeared they were notlikely soon to be satisfied, for the human stranger--the other was hisbeautiful Newfoundland retriever, `Sindbad'--simply took the widow'sbest room for three months, and in less than a week he seemed to havesettled down as entirely in the place, as though he had been born there,and had never been out of it. The most curious part of the business wasthat he never told his name, and he never even received a letter or avisitor. He walked about much out of doors, and over the hills, and hehired a boat by the month, and used to go long cruises among the rocks,at times not returning until sun was set, and the bright stars twinklingin the sky. He sketched a great deal, too--made pictures, the pilchardfishermen called it. Was he an artist? Perhaps.
"The `gentleman,' as he was always called, had a kind word and apleasant smile, for every one, and his dog Sindbad was a universalfavourite with the village children. How they laughed to see him gosplashing into the water! And the wilder the sea, and the bigger thewaves, the more the dog seemed to enjoy the fun.
"Being so quiet and neighbourly, it might have been thought that thegentleman would have been as much a favourite with the grown-up peopleas Sindbad was with the young folk. Alas! for the charity of thisworld, he was not so at first. Where, they wondered, did he come from?Why didn't he give his name, and tell his story? It couldn't possiblybe all right, they felt sure of that.
"But when the summer wore away, and winter came round, and thosepolicemen, whom they fully expected to one day take the gentleman away,never came, and when the gentleman seemed more a fixture than ever, theybegan to soften down, and to treat him as quite one of themselves.Sindbad had been one of them for a very long time, ever since he hadpulled the baker's little Polly out of the sea when she fell over arock, and would assuredly have been drowned except for the gallant dog'stimely aid.
"So they were content at last to take the gentleman just as they hadhim.
"`Concerts!' cried Widow Webber one evening, in reply to a remark madeby the stranger. `Why, sir, concerts in our little village! Whoeverwill sing?'
&
nbsp; "But the stranger only laid down his book with a quiet smile, and askedthe widow to take a seat near the fire, and he would tell her all aboutit.
"With honest Sindbad asleep on the hearthrug, and pussy singing besidehim, and the kettle singing too, and a bright fire in the grate, theroom looked quite cosy and snug-like. So the poor widow sat down, andthe stranger unfolded all his plans.
"And it all fell out just as the stranger wished it. He was anaccomplished pianist, and also a good performer on the violin. And hehad good-humour and tact, and the way he kept his class together, anddrew them out, and made them all feel contented with their efforts andhappy, was perfectly wonderful. The first concert was a grand success,a crowded house, though the front seats were only sixpence and the backtwopence. And all the proceeds were handed