‘But Grannie, I didn’t even know you had a magic wand.’
‘Well, it’s rather old and cracked so I expect most of the magic has run out of it now,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘Still, there’s no harm in trying. Deary me! We shall be busy for the next few days!’
Judy clapped her hands. ‘I’m so excited. Let’s begin now, this very minute. What is the first thing you would like me to do?’
Mrs Judy thought hard for a moment. ‘Well, my dear, I think that the first thing you should do is to say “Thank you” to the Tree for giving you such a good idea.’
‘Thank you,’ said Judy, rather shortly.
‘You must say it much more nicely than that,’ corrected Mrs Judy. ‘Say … “Thank you, Tree, for all that you have done for us, for your shelter and for your shade and for your wisdom.”’
So Judy said these words. And once again a little breeze sighed through the topmost branches, so that you would have sworn that the Tree had heard, and had bowed its head.
‘And now,’ cried Mrs Judy … ‘and now … to work!’
Chapter Five
BRUNO ESCAPES
MEANWHILE SAM WAS not being idle; his wicked little head was full of all sorts of crafty schemes for enticing the animals to The Shop in the Ford; and though we very much hope that he will meet with his deserts in the end, at the moment it must be admitted that he was having a great deal of success. The Shop in the Ford was crowded from dawn to dusk, and you could hardly hear yourself speak for the purring and the twittering and the squeaking and the grunting.
And it so happened that on the very morning that Judy and her grannie were planning their Beauty Parlour and Surgery, Sam had a tremendous stroke of luck. The luck came in the shape of a bear, by the name of Mr Bruno. He is going to play a big part in our story, so please listen very carefully.
If you had seen Mr Bruno, lumbering happily along on that sunny morning, you would certainly never have guessed that he was a bear with a Secret; you would have said he was just a nice comfortable middle-aged bear, with a shaggy coat of which he was very proud, and a Mrs Bruno of whom he was very fond, and three small Master Brunos, whom he was bringing up to be good citizens of the wood.
‘What a happy person!’ you would have said. ‘With a freehold cave and a quantity of honey stored away for the winter and a loving family to look after him – what more could he want?’
But he was not a happy person at all – not really, because of his Secret. Sometimes he forgot his Secret for a while, and would dance and play and make the most amiable growls; and then suddenly he would remember it again, and stop dancing and playing, and wander off alone, to sit down under a tree and weep.
It was such an awful secret that, if we tell it to you, we hope you will keep it to yourselves.
We will tell you at once, in order to get it over.
This was Bruno’s secret:
HE HAD ESCAPED FROM A CIRCUS.
It was years and years ago, and you may be surprised that he had not forgotten it. But when you have heard his story, you will understand.
THE STORY OF BRUNO
Bruno was four years old when he escaped. Even in those days he was a big bear but he was very thin; they always kept him half-starved so that he should not grow strong enough to bite; and it was only because he had such a thick coat that you did not see his bones sticking out.
He could not remember anything about his parents, because he had been stolen from them when he was a baby. All he knew about life was his cage and the circus. His cage was so small that he had to twist his neck to get into it, and he always had cramp when he woke up in the morning. But the cage was better than the circus – oh, very much better! For in the circus he had to dance, even though his limbs were cramped, and jump through terrible flaming hoops which scorched his fur, and if he flinched or faltered, they prodded him with sharp sticks which made him bleed. The men with the sticks always had smiles on their faces, because they did not want the crowd to know how cruel they were. But though there were smiles on their faces there was sharp steel on the sticks, and if you are being beaten, it does not hurt any the less even if the man who beats you does it with a smile.
You see, it was a very wicked circus. Not all circuses are like that; there are many in which the animals are quite kindly treated. All the same, I think that they would much rather not be in circuses at all; they would rather be dancing by themselves under the green trees, and flying away where they wanted, into the blue sky.
It would be too long and sad a story to tell you all of Bruno’s life in the circus; all that you need know is how he escaped.
Although his keeper was always a little drunk at the end of the show, he usually managed to walk without stumbling. He used to prod Bruno into the cage and give him a final cut of the lash when he was inside, crying out ‘Pleasant dreams, you ugly beast, pleasant dreams!’ But this night there was no need for Bruno to crouch in the corner, covering his face with his paws, for the keeper was too drunk to lift the whip. He just slammed the door and staggered off. And before he was out of sight Bruno realized that he had forgotten to turn the key.
Bruno gasped, and stared at the door which was swinging on its hinges. One jump through that door, and he would be free. He blinked; he felt he must be dreaming … but no, he was wide awake. He took a step forward and then he paused, his heart thumping against his ribs. ‘Careful!’ he thought, ‘I must wait.’ The circus was still full of light and life and laughter; there were many people about; they would catch him before he had gone more than a few yards. Besides, he had a heavy iron chain round his wrist, which would clank and rattle and give him away.
So he lay down and pretended to be asleep. His throat was dry with excitement and his heart beat so fast that it hurt him; but he managed to stay very still.
But it seemed an eternity that he lay there, and every moment was filled with the fear that the keeper might remember, and come back to lock the door. Nobody came. One by one the lights of the circus were quenched, like coloured candles dying into the night, until there was no light but the moon.
*
All this time, Bruno had been trying to get his chain off. He gnawed at it with his teeth, he tugged at it with the claws of his left paw; all to no avail. He would willingly have cut off his arm to gain his freedom, but that was impossible.
Then he had an idea. It was a very brave idea, and it made him tremble to think of it, but it was the only thing to do, he would have to tie the chain to the cage and jump, knowing that the weight of his body would drag his paw through the iron ring. It would be agonizingly painful, it would scrape all the fur off, and it might break the bone, but it was worth going through any pain to escape.
Once he had thought of this plan he wasted no more time. He tied the chain fast to one of the strong iron bars; then he shuffled to the door and flung it open. For a moment he stood there trying to pluck up his courage for the jump. Everything was very quiet; now and then there was a growl from the lions’ cages and a neigh from the paddock where they kept the performing ponies, but there were no sounds of humans. There was only one danger now – that the pain of his paw, as it was dragged through the ring, would be so acute that he would cry out and would wake somebody up.
He took a deep breath. It was now or never. ‘Courage, Bruno,’ he muttered to himself. He closed his eyes.
He jumped.
There was one sharp cry; he could not possibly prevent it; he felt as though his paw, from the wrist down, had been plunged into boiling water, as though it were being crushed beneath heavy weights. But when he looked down he saw that the chain had gone; it had torn the fur away; his paw was bare and bleeding. And he did not cry out any more, he just lay there and sobbed beneath his breath, licking his paw very gently, till the pain grew a little less fierce and he felt he could begin to crawl away.
He crawled on his three legs, holding his bleeding paw close to his side, and always keeping to the shadow of the tents. Luck favoured him, for a cloud
had drifted over the moon; before he reached the outskirts of the circus he was able to stand upright and run, over a field, through a little coppice, over another field, and finally on to a broad road.
He was free!
Now it so happened that the road on which he found himself was one of the main highways to the North; there was always a good deal of traffic on it; and you can imagine that the sight of a tall shaggy bear, with a bleeding paw, hurrying down the road in the middle of the night, was not one to which the lorry drivers were accustomed. And very soon the news began to spread abroad that there was a bear on the road; the police were called out; and before he knew where he was, he was flying for his life with a whole procession after him, made up of policemen with whistles and villagers with flashing torches and dogs with sharp teeth that glistened in the moonlight.
We need not take too long in describing that chase, though it seemed to him to go on for ever and ever. He was torn by brambles, drenched with the water of bogs into which he stumbled, famished and exhausted, but after a couple of hours he had run many miles, and he began to notice something strange about the country. It was growing wilder and wilder and yet – in some way that he could not explain – it was also growing more friendly. You see, he was on the slopes of the Magic Mountain, and nearing the outskirts of our wood. He was getting faint and dizzy, and as he could go no farther, he fell down, waiting for the worst.
He lay there panting and bleeding, staring with frightened eyes into the undergrowth, waiting for his pursuers to catch up with him. Once they came very close, a whole crowd of them, led by the keeper holding a torch high above his head; he could see the cruel lines on his face, lit by the torch, and could hear the hiss of the whip which he sent curling savagely into the shadows. But he lay so still that they did not notice him, and soon they turned aside, cursing. He saw the torch drifting farther and farther away, and heard the curses growing fainter and fainter, till at last there was darkness again and the wood was still. About an hour later he noticed a chain of lights far below in the valley, moving towards the south. They were the lights of the circus, making for the next town. At last he knew that he was safe. With a sob of thankfulness he dropped his head on his bleeding paw and fell asleep.
It was thus that they found him in the morning – stiff, cold and almost dead.
Chapter Six
MORE ABOUT BRUNO
MISS FOX, WHO WAS the first to find Bruno, had thought that he was really dead, and had scampered off to Mr Justice Owl, who always had to be told of these things before anybody else, because he was so very old and so very wise.
He summoned PC Monkey and they all went back to the spot where Bruno was lying, but by the time they had traversed it, the whole wood seemed to have learned what was happening. Through the sunlit branches there was a great fluttering of birds, all eager to learn about this new excitement; and over the grass, and under the bracken, and across the glades all sorts of animals hastened to the spot. They knew that Mr Justice Owl was on his way, so they did not go too near the body (they all thought that Bruno was dead, he lay so still); they formed a wide semicircle, and waited. There was a great deal of twittering and whispering, but they were very grave and reverent, for animals understand death much better than humans.
Mr Justice Owl fluttered his feathers, blinked, and closed his eyes. For a moment there was silence. Then, in his best legal voice, he demanded:
‘Where is the Body?’
He knew quite well where the body was because he was almost standing on it. But he felt that it would be more dignified to be led up to it.
‘Here, your Honour.’
Mr Justice Owl opened his eyes, blinked again, and regarded Bruno.
Then he took three steps forward, and paused. Surely his sharp eyes had detected a faint rise and fall beneath Bruno’s fur? He put his head down on Bruno’s chest. There was no doubt about it. The heart was beating.
Mr Justice Owl drew a deep breath. He looked first at PC Monkey, then all round the circle of the animals. And in ringing tones he proclaimed:
‘This is not a body. This bear is alive!’
There was an immediate sensation and a great buzz of twittering and chattering.
‘Silence!’ cried Mr Justice Owl.
They obeyed him at once.
He proceeded to issue orders. There was no time to waste. The animals hurried to and fro, bringing cool water from the brook to revive him, the leaves of the giant burdock to bind his bleeding paw, honey to give him strength, a cushion of moss to rest his head. While they were getting all these thing, Mr Justice Owl ordered Mr Peacock to spread his tail and wave it gently backwards and forwards over Bruno’s face … a task which Mr Peacock undertook with great pleasure, for he was very proud of his tail and liked to show it off.
So when Bruno at last came to, and opened his eyes, that was the first thing he saw – the stars on Mr Peacock’s tail waving above him, green, and gold and blue, and he thought that he had died and that they were the stars of heaven.
‘Thank you, Mr Peacock,’ said Mr Justice Owl. ‘You may desist.’
Mr Peacock slowly folded his tail. It was like somebody shutting a paint-box or rolling up a precious canvas. And when the stars faded from Bruno’s eyes, and he saw all the animals sitting round, watching, he no longer thought he was in heaven; he knew that he was back on earth, and the animals seemed to him like the crowds who used to watch him in the circus. You see, he was delirious. He thought he was back in the Ring.
A great fear seized him. He knew that he ought not to be lying down; they always beat him when he lay down – not in front of the crowds, but after the performance, when he had been led away. He must get up quickly, or he would be beaten – he must get up and dance.
He tried to stagger to his feet. But he sank back again exhausted, on to the moss.
‘I can’t,’ he panted, ‘honestly I can’t … give me a minute … just another minute.’ And he covered his head with his paws to ward off the lash of the whip which he felt would come hissing through the air.
But no whip came. Instead he heard the kindly voice of Mr Justice Owl:
‘Calm yourself!’ he murmured. ‘Calm yourself! You are among friends.’
‘Friends?’ Mr Bruno was not quite sure what ‘friends’ were; he had never had any friends; but the word had a pleasant sound. Friends … they did not sound as though they were the sort of people who would whip you or starve you or lock you up.
‘Friends?’ he muttered, in a sort of daze.
‘Indeed,’ said Mr Justice Owl. ‘We are all friends; we wish to help you.’
His voice was so kind that Mr Bruno slowly took his paws away from his face. And at last his head cleared; he remembered his escape, he remembered coming to the wood, he remembered, above all, the strange feeling of kindness and comfort that he had known as he had plunged deeper and deeper into it, as though the very branches were there to protect him. And as soon as he remembered all those things he began to revive very quickly – he was able to sit up and drink some water and take a nibble of the honeycomb.
But Bruno’s troubles were by no means over. Mr Justice Owl, seeing that he was now well on the way to recovery, decided that he was well enough to answer a few questions. He liked the look of Bruno; he was prepared to welcome him to the wood, but first he would have to explain where he came from. They could not have mysteries in the wood … and, after all, the sudden appearance of a large bear in the early morning, seriously wounded, and lying in a bramble bush, was something of a mystery.
In grave tones Mr Justice Owl demanded:
‘Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?’
Bruno closed his eyes for a moment. He had been afraid that this would happen. However, he would have to go through with it; he might as well get it over.
‘Yes,’ he whispered.
‘Good!’ Mr Justice Owl preened himself. ‘Now, first of all – where have you come from?’
*
It w
as the question Bruno had been dreading.
He looked round him desperately, trying to think of a reply. They said they were ‘friends’, these animals, but he did not trust them – not yet. How could he trust the animals, seeing that he knew nothing of their nature? He only knew human nature, and he had every reason for distrusting that.
‘Where do I come from?’ he repeated. They were waiting for his answer. At all costs he must avoid telling them the truth; they might give him away.
Then he had an inspiration. He remembered the big paper placard that they used to hang over his cage when the circus went on the road. It had been a long time before he had been able to read it, because he had always been inside the cage, looking through the placard, so that he had been obliged to read it backwards, and even then only when the sun was shining on it. This was what he had read:
If you take this book to the looking-glass you will be able to read the words on the placard. You will not be surprised to know that it took Bruno a long time to understand them, considering that he had to read them backwards in a tiny cage, with no mirror to help him.
‘The steppes of Russia.’ The words floated through Bruno’s head – it was as though they were coming to his rescue. He had never been to Russia, but he knew that it was hundreds of miles away, and that none of the other animals would have been there either. Besides, he had learned a little about it because there had been a Russian dancer in the circus who had sometimes slept in a tent near his cage, and late at night he had heard her talking about her country, which seemed to be very vast and always covered with snow. He never quite understood what the steppes were; he thought they were a sort of staircase, and it seemed very odd to spend your life on a staircase. However, none of the other animals knew either, so it did not matter.
He took the plunge.
‘Where do I come from?’ he said. ‘I come from Russia.’
The Tree that Sat Down Page 4
