The Tree that Sat Down

by Beverley Nichols

  ‘You’re being very obstinate,’ said Miss Smith, trying to keep her temper.

  ‘And you know what happens to obstinate bears?’ growled Sam.

  Yes – Bruno knew what happened. But he still refused to do their bidding.

  So then they changed their tune; instead of trying to coax him, they used force, kicking him, beating him, scorching his fur with red-hot tongs. It was no use; he would not do it. At last, they locked him up in the cave, with nothing to eat or drink. ‘And there you’ll stay,’ screamed Miss Smith, ‘till you change your mind!’

  But how could he change his mind? How could he go to the shop with those wicked things and leave them for Judy to find, knowing full well that if she used the kettle or ate the acid drops she would die of deadly poison? Why – they were so poisonous that he himself could only handle them if he were wearing the magic gloves, otherwise the poison would sink into his body.

  ‘What can I do? … What can I do?’ moaned Bruno. He had to make up his mind quickly for at any moment they would be coming for him. And if he said ‘No’ again, Sam had sworn to take him back to the Circus. At the thought of the Circus, Bruno trembled all over and buried his face in his poor bruised paws. Surely anything was better than that? But was it? Was it better, for instance, to be a murderer? His head seemed to go round and round, trying to find a way out, but the more he thought the dizzier he became, for he was faint from lack of food and drink.

  There was the sound of footsteps outside. Bruno stiffened. Here they were. Quick – quick – he must think! And suddenly Bruno’s brain seemed to grow clearer – he seemed to see where his duty lay. He must go back to the Circus.

  Yes, he must go back – back to the cage, back to the whips and the bright lights and the blaring music. He had borne it before, perhaps he would be able to bear it again. Perhaps even – once again – he might be able to escape, and find some other magic wood, and die in peace. But in his heart, Bruno knew that this was a very faint hope, for he was no longer young and strong, and his limbs were stiff and weary.

  A key turned in the lock.

  Quick – there was still something he must decide.

  What was it? His brain was growing dizzy again. Ah, yes! He must warn Judy before it was too late. He must pretend to Sam that he was going to poison her; he must set off with the kettle and the acid drops, and go to the Willow Tree, and wait for her return, and then …

  ‘You there! Come out!’

  There was no more time to think. The door swung open, and Sam stood there, with the witch by his side. He held a whip in his hand and she was brandishing a pair of red-hot tongs.

  ‘Well,’ snarled Sam, ‘have you made up your mind?’

  Bruno nodded.

  ‘And which is it to be?’ cried Miss Smith, waving the tongs so close to him that they almost singed his fur.

  For answer Bruno drew on the magic gloves and picked up the kettle and the acid drops.

  ‘He’s going to do it!’ yelled Sam, in delight.

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ retorted Miss Smith. ‘He’s got a nasty deceitful look on his face.’ She threatened him again with the tongs. ‘Are you going to play straight?’

  Bruno nodded again. And, indeed, he was going to play straight – with Judy.

  ‘Well, don’t you try any funny business, or it’ll be the worse for you,’ she snapped. ‘Now let’s see – have you got everything? Acid drops? Kettle? Gloves? Then you can get going. Mind you fill up the kettle and put it on the fire so’s it’ll be boiling when she comes back.’

  ‘And be sure to leave a note, “With love from Bruno” on it, so’s she won’t suspect,’ warned Sam, prodding him in the ribs.

  Bruno turned to go.

  ‘Wait!’ screeched Miss Smith.

  Bruno paused.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t forget to bring back my magic gloves!’

  For the last time Bruno nodded. And then, with bowed head and stumbling feet, he went his way.

  *

  If Judy had not found the mushrooms, on that fateful morning, our story would have taken a very different course. She would not have returned to the shop, she would not have surprised Bruno, and heaven knows what might or might not have happened.

  As it was, hardly had she been walking for five minutes than she saw a gleam of white in a sheltered hollow, and there, on a patch of grass, with the sun glistening on them, was a wonderful clump of late mushrooms. Never had she seen such beauties – there were some the size of saucers, and some the size of buttons, and they were all as clean and sweet as if they had just had a bath. If there was one thing Judy liked for breakfast it was mushrooms, so she tied her handkerchief to the bough of a tree, to mark the place, scrambled up the bank, and hurried back to the shop to get a basket.

  And there, to her astonishment, was Mr Bruno.

  He had his back turned to her, and he was taking little shuffling steps, first to the left and then to the right, as though he could not make up his mind. For a moment Judy thought it must be a burglar; after all, it was Sunday, and all the animals knew that the shop was shut and that she and her grannie would be out. But then, as she tiptoed closer, she saw who it was.

  ‘Why, Mr Bruno,’ she exclaimed, ‘whatever are you doing?’

  Bruno started back as though she had hit him, dropping the kettle and the acid drops. He stood there, panting, staring at her.

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything … I swear I wasn’t … I only came to warn you!’

  Judy could not think what he was talking about, but as he had dropped his things, she knelt down to pick them up.

  ‘Don’t touch them! Don’t go near them!’

  She looked up at him in astonishment. Then she noticed that the tears were streaming down his face.

  ‘Why, Mr Bruno, you’re crying!’ she whispered very gently, in a voice that was full of pity.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he muttered, turning away his head. ‘Please don’t touch those things – I’ll do it. And then I’ll go away, after … after you’ve heard what I came to tell you.’

  ‘But you mustn’t go, Mr Bruno. Not … not like that; not till you feel better. Besides, if I oughtn’t to touch these things, though I can’t think why, surely you oughtn’t to touch them either.’

  ‘It’s all right for me,’ he gulped. ‘You see, I’m wearing magic gloves.’

  Judy looked at the gloves and was more puzzled than ever. Such horrible gloves she had never seen, with their grinning death’s heads. She shrank back in fear.

  Mr Bruno bent down and began to pick up the things. But his eyes were so blinded with tears that he could not see properly, and he fumbled about hopelessly in the long grass.

  Judy could not endure to see him like this; in spite of her disappointment when he had joined The Shop in the Ford she had never really had any hard feelings about him. She could not forget how kind he had always been in the past, with his gifts of honey and his little bunches of flowers; and though he was so strong she knew that he had never abused his strength – even if a bumble bee were to fall asleep on one of his bunches, he would lift it off, ever so gently, with his giant paw, and lay it to sleep on another flower, so softly that it did not know anybody had touched it.

  And now – to see him like this, broken, terrified, in despair … and wearing those horrible gloves! No, no … there was some mystery here; and she was impatient to clear it up.

  ‘Mr Bruno,’ she said, trying to prevent her voice from shaking, for she, too, was feeling very near to tears. ‘What was it you wanted to warn me about?’

  ‘If you only knew!’ came the answer. He was still fumbling in the long grass.

  ‘Then why don’t you tell me?’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you – honestly I am, Miss Judy. It’s only that I …’

  ‘That you what?’

  He shook his head; how could he explain? How could anybody else understand how terribly frightened he was? He was going to tell her; yes; but he was certain that the minute the wor
ds were out of his mouth, something dreadful would happen – Miss Smith would suddenly drop down from the sky, or Sam would appear with his whip, or a flash of lightning might strike him dead. Even if none of these things happened, it would make no difference in the long run, they would find out what he had done and punish him cruelly and send him back to the Circus. Oh yes, he was going to tell, but he wanted just one minute longer, just one minute.

  Judy knelt down by his side. ‘Mr Bruno,’ she whispered, ‘don’t be afraid. Aren’t we … aren’t we … friends?’

  He moaned and threw himself on the grass, burying his face in his great arms. He could bear it no longer; he would tell her everything, this very minute.

  Softly, as though he were a child, Judy began to stroke the back of his head. But after a few minutes, her hand was still, for she was rigid with horror and indignation at the story which Bruno had to tell her. Little by little it all came out – his escape from the Circus, his recapture by Sam, his imprisonment and the deadly plot which they had laid for her own destruction.

  When he had finished she sprang to her feet. She was pale and trembling, but there was a fire in her eyes that boded ill for Sam and the Witch.

  ‘Come, Bruno!’ she cried. ‘Get up! We have no time to lose!’

  He blinked at her, wiping away his tears. ‘Must I, must I go back to them, now?’ he stammered.

  ‘Go back? You shall never go back!’

  ‘But they may come for me!’

  ‘Let them try!’ She gave him her hand. ‘You have saved my life, Mr Bruno.’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, yes, you have! And I shall never forget it. Go back, indeed! Even if we had no one to help us, even if we were all alone, you and I, we would fight them to the last. But we are not alone – we have friends, powerful friends, too! Watch!’

  From her pocket she drew the magic bean. Before she rubbed it, she closed her eyes. ‘Please, Mr Tortoise,’ she whispered, ‘please do not fail us now.’

  She rubbed the bean, once, twice, three times. Slowly she opened her eyes.

  There, on the grass before her, sat Mr Tortoise.

  ‘And about time, too!’ he snapped. ‘I’ve been expecting this for days!’

  ‘You knew?’ cried Judy.

  ‘I know everything, my dear. And one thing I know is that you have not sent for me a moment too soon!’

  *

  ‘Magic is not enough,’ explained Mr Tortoise, ‘not with desperate characters like these.’

  It was several hours later, and Judy and her grannie were sitting on the grass, with Bruno by their side, listening to the tortoise outlining a plan of campaign. Bruno felt very much better, for he had drunk a whole bowl of milk and had eaten two large honeycombs. Besides, to make sure that they were not disturbed he had shown Judy how to draw a magic ring all round the Tree, which would give Sam and the Witch a very sharp electric shock if they attempted to disturb them.

  ‘Magic is not enough,’ he repeated, addressing his remarks principally to Mrs Judy, for it was she who had expressed the opinion that since he had such wonderful powers, it would be simplest if he were to use them straight away. ‘Could you not turn them into toads, or something like that?’ she had suggested – of course, with the greatest respect. ‘Or rocks? Or blasted oaks? Or might it not be possible to cover them up in a huge iceberg so that they would all freeze to death? Naturally –’ she hastened to add – ‘you must be the judge – I was merely throwing out ideas at random.’

  Mr Tortoise bowed. ‘Thank you, madam,’ he replied. ‘Toads, of course, could be managed – and blasted oaks would present no special problems, though the idea of the iceberg is perhaps somewhat … somewhat academic. However, I think that we must use other methods – simpler methods, more human methods in fact. For in Sam, at least, we are dealing with a Human.’

  In crisp short sentences he told them his plan. It was very simple. They were to appeal to the protection of the law.

  There is a Law of the Wood, is there not?’ he demanded.

  ‘Of course there is a Law of the Wood!’ they agreed.

  ‘There is a Court of the Wood, is there not?’

  ‘But yes!’ they cried. ‘And it meets whenever there is any mystery or crime!’

  ‘And there is a Chief Justice, is there not?’

  ‘Mr Justice Owl!’ they exclaimed, in one breath.

  Mr Tortoise bowed. ‘Mr Justice Owl!’ he repeated. ‘A person for whom I have the highest respect. A person who is more than fitted to deal with this … with this outrage.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he cried, ‘we are going to Mr Justice Owl – now – this very moment!’

  Chapter Fifteen

  APPEAL TO THE LAW

  MR JUSTICE OWL lived in the ruins of an old barn that stood all by itself in a clearing on the highest part of the wood.

  The barn was the only building in the wood that had been made by Humans, and as such it gave Mr Justice Owl an extra feeling of authority. It seemed to set him above his fellows, and over the crumbling doorway – from which the door had long since vanished – he had caused PC Monkey to paint, in large white letters:

  MR JUSTICE OWL

  Underneath, in smaller letters, was painted:

  THE TRUTH, THE HOLE TRUTH

  AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH

  SWELPMEGOD

  ‘Excuse me, sir, but what does Swelpmegod mean?’ enquired PC Monkey, when he was painting the sign.

  Mr Justice Owl blinked and regarded him with a cold, legal eye.

  ‘You spoke?’ he demanded, sternly.

  PC Monkey, who always felt nervous when Mr Justice Owl stared at him, began to scratch himself. ‘Yes, Your Worship. Swelpmegod.’

  ‘What about Swelpmegod?’

  ‘I was just wondering what might be the meaning?’

  ‘It means,’ he proclaimed, ‘Thou Shalt Not Scratch Thyself.’ Being a lawyer, he always had an answer ready. However, he was not quite satisfied with this definition: it sounded rather like what his colleagues would have called a ‘quibble’. And if there was one thing he hated, it was a ‘quibble’. So he closed his eyes again, and added:

  ‘It is a Learned Expression.’

  Nobody could quarrel with that. It was an expression – and since he had expressed it himself, it must be learned. ‘Really,’ thought Mr Justice Owl to himself, ‘I am a remarkable person. Never at a loss – never! I am wasted here, quite wasted – I should be in a far higher position, where my talents would be properly appreciated.’ Of course, he did not really mean a word of this; he loved the wood so much that nothing would ever have persuaded him to leave it.

  *

  It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon before Judy, followed by Mr Bruno and the tortoise, arrived at the foot of the slope leading up to the barn. In spite of the lateness of the hour, Mr Justice Owl had only just breakfasted; it was only natural that he should spend most of the day in sleep, considering all the night work he had to do, patrolling the wood and making sure that nobody was getting up to mischief. However, he was secretly rather ashamed of these late habits, so when he saw our friends approaching he called out to PC Monkey to hurry up and clear away the breakfast things. ‘If it is an urgent matter,’ he said, brushing the last crumbs from his feathers, ‘you may say that I am in conference, and will be down in five minutes.’ With which, he fluttered off to his Study, which was really the remains of an old loft, comfortably furnished with soft wisps of hay which he refused to allow anybody to touch, although it was so old that it ought to have been sent to the cleaners long ago.

  Mr Tortoise made himself the spokesman of the party. ‘Will you please tell His Worship that it is a very urgent matter?’ he said. PC Monkey remembered his instructions, and assured them that his Worship would be down in five minutes. So they sat down and waited.

  After precisely five minutes he came, fluttering majestically down to them in a single swoop, and perched himself on the handle of an old plough that leant against the wall. He bowed first t
o Mrs Judy, then to Judy, then to Mr Tortoise, then to Bruno. After all this bowing, he closed his eyes, and in measured tones, he observed:

  ‘This is most irregular.’

  ‘Indeed it is, Your Worship,’ agreed Mr Tortoise, ‘but as the matter was so urgent …’

  ‘It needs to be very urgent indeed. Otherwise …’ He did not finish the sentence, but shook his head mournfully from side to side, as though dire penalties would be inflicted on them for disturbing him.

  ‘It is a matter of attempted murder,’ said Mr Tortoise quietly.

  Mr Justice Owl opened his eyes again with a start. ‘Attempted murder! Of whom?’

  ‘Of Miss Judy, Your Worship.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘By young Sam.’

  ‘Humans!’ quavered Mr Justice Owl. ‘Always Humans! Nothing but trouble, trouble, trouble!’

  ‘Well, really!’ snorted Mrs Judy.

  ‘Forgive me, madam,’ he protested. ‘I should have excepted the present company. None of us knows anything but good about you and your charming grand-daughter. But as for the rest of your race … He ruffled his feathers and blew through his beak, and shook his head once again.

  ‘How is Mr Bruno concerned in all this?’ he demanded. ‘Was he an accomplice?’

  ‘Oh, no, sir!’ cried Judy, putting her arm round Bruno’s shoulder, for at the mention of his name he had begun to tremble violently. ‘He was only an attempted accomplice. In fact, he saved my life.’

  ‘Attempted accomplice? Saved your life?’ Mr Justice Owl blinked several times in rapid succession, ‘I am bewildered.’ He turned to Mr Tortoise. ‘Mr Tortoise, kindly let us have the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. At once.’ And to make his command sound more effective he added as an afterthought … ‘Swelpmegod.’

  And Mr Tortoise, who wanted nothing better, plunged straightway into his story.

  When Mr Tortoise had finished, there was silence. Mr Justice Owl sat on his perch with his eyes closed, and Judy watched him breathlessly, waiting for him to speak. Night was drawing near; over the golden face of day there was drifting a veil of silver; and soon the silver veil would have turned to grey and it would be spangled with stars.