INTRODUCTION.
"Hoot toots, man, yon's a queer bird!"
_Bonnie Scotland._
I AM an Owl; a very fluffy one, in spite of all that that BadBoy pulled out! I live in an Ivy Bush. Children are nothing to me,naturally, so it seems strange that I should begin, at my time of life,to observe their little ways and their humours, and to give them goodadvice.
And yet it is so. I am the Friend of Young People. In my flight abroad Iwatch them. As I sit meditating in my Ivy Bush, it is their littlematters which I turn over in my fluffy head. I have established aletter-box for their communications at the Hole in the Tree. No otheraddress will find me.
It is well known that I am a Bird of Wisdom. I am also an ObservingBird; and though my young friends may think I see less than I do,because of my blinking, and because I detest that vulgar glare of brightlight without which some persons do not seem able to see what goes onaround them, I would have children to know that if I can blink onoccasion, and am not apt to let every starer read my counsel in my eyes,I am wide awake all the same. I am on the look-out when it's so darkthat other folk can't see an inch before their noses, and (a word to thefoolish and naughty!) I can see what is doing behind my back. AndWiseacre, Observer, and Wide-awake--I am the Children's Owl.
Before I open my mouth on their little affairs, before even I open myletters (if there are any waiting for me) I will explain how it cameabout that I am the Children's Owl.
It is all owing to that little girl; the one with the fluffy hair andthe wise eyes. As an Observer I have noticed that not only I, but otherpeople, seem to do what she wants, and as a Wiseacre I have reflectedupon it as strange, because her temper is as soft and fluffy as her hair(which mine is not), and she always seems ready to give way to others(which is never my case--if I can help it). On the occasion I am aboutto speak of, I could _not_ help it.
It was last summer that that Bad Boy caught me, and squeezed me into awicker cage. Little did I think I should ever live to be so poked out,and rummaged, and torn to shreds by such a thing as a boy! I bit him,but he got me into the cage and put a cloth over it. Then he took me tohis father, who took me to the front door of the house, where he iscoachman and gardener, and asked for Little Miss to come out and see thenew pet Tom had caught for her.
"It's a nasty-tempered brute, but she's such a one for taming things,"said the coachman, whipping off the cloth to show me to the housemaid,and letting in a glare of light that irritated me to a frenzy. I flew atthe housemaid, and she flew into the house. Then I rolled over andgrowled and hissed under my beak, and tried to hide my eyes in myfeathers.
"Little Miss won't tame me," I muttered.
She did not try long. When she heard of me she came running out, thewind blowing her fluffy hair about her face, and the sun shining on it.Fluffed out by the wind, and changing colour in the light and shade, thehair down her back is not entirely unlike the feathers of my own, thoughless sober perhaps in its tints. Like mine it makes a small head looklarge, and as she had big wise eyes, I have seen creatures less like anowl than Little Miss. Her voice is not so hoarse as mine. It is clearand soft, as I heard when she spoke:
"Oh, _how_ good of you! And how good of Tom! I do so love owls. Ialways get Mary to put the silver owl by me at luncheon, though I amnot allowed to eat pepper. And I have a brown owl, a china one, sittingon a book for a letter weight. He came from Germany. And Captain Bartongave me an owl pencil-case on my birthday, because I liked hearingabout his real owl, but, oh, I never hoped I should have a real owl ofmy very own. It _was_ kind of Tom."
To hear that Bad Boy called kind was too much for endurance, and I letthem see how savage I felt. If the wicker work had not been very strongthe cage would not have held me.
"He's a Tartar," said the coachman.
"Oh no, Williams!" said Little Miss, "he's only frightened by the light.Give me the cloth, please."
"Take care, Miss. He'll bite you," cried the coachman, as she put thecloth over the cage, and then over her own head.
"No he won't! I don't mind his snapping and hissing. I want him to seeme, and know me. Then perhaps he'll get to like me, and be tame, and siton the nursery clock and look wise. Captain Barton's owl used to sit onhis clock. Poor fellow! Dear old owlie! Don't growl, my owl. Can youhoot, darling? I should like to hear you hoot."
Sometimes as I sit in my Ivy Bush, and the moon shines on the spiders'webs and reminds me of the threads of her hair, on a mild, sleepy night,if there's nothing stirring but the ivy boughs; sitting, I say, blinkingbetween a dream and a doze, I fancy I see her face close to mine, as itwas that day with the wicker work between. Our eyes looking at eachother, and our fluffiness mixed up by the wind. Then I try to rememberall the kind things she said to me to coax me to leave my ivy bush, andgo to live on the nursery clock. But I can't remember half. I was insuch a rage at the time, and when you are in a rage you miss a gooddeal, and forget a good deal.
I know that at last she left off talking to me, and I could see her wiseeyes swimming in tears. Then she left me alone under the cloth.
"Well, Miss," said the coachman, "you don't make much of him, do ye?He's a Tartar, Miss, I'm afraid."
"I think, Williams, that he's too old. Captain Barton's owl was a littleowlet when he first got him. I shall never tame this one, Williams, andI never was so disappointed in all my life. Captain Barton said he keptan owl to keep himself good and wise, because nobody could be foolish inthe face of an owl sitting on his clock. He says both his godfathers aredead, and he has taken his owl for his godfather. These are his jokes,Williams, but I had set my heart on having an owl on the nursery clock.I do think I have never wished so much for anything in the world as thatTom's owl would be our Bird of Wisdom. But he never will. He will neverlet me tame him. He wants to be a wild owl all his life. I love him verymuch, and I should like him to have what he wants, and not be miserable.Please thank Tom very much, and please ask him to let him go."
"I'm sorry I brought him, Miss, to trouble you," said the coachman. "ButTom won't let him go. He'd a lot of trouble catching him, and if he's nogood to you, Tom'll be glad of him to stuff. He's got some glass eyesout of a stuffed fox the moths ate, and he's bent on stuffing an owl, isTom. The eyes would be too big for a pheasant, but they'll look wellenough in an owl, he thinks."
My hearing is very acute, and not a word of that Bad Boy's brutalintentions was lost on me. I shrunk among my feathers and shivered withdespair; but when I heard the voice of Little Miss I rounded my ear oncemore.
"No, Williams, no! He must not be stuffed. Oh, please beg Tom to cometo me. Perhaps I can give him something to persuade him not. If he muststuff an owl, please, please let him stuff a strange owl. One I haven'tmade friends with. Not this one. He is very wild, but he is very lovelyand soft, and I do so want him to be let go."
"Well, Miss, I'll send Tom, and you can settle it with him. All I say,he's a Tartar, and stuffing's too good for him."
Whether she bribed Tom, or persuaded him, I don't know, but Little Missgot her way, and that Bad Boy let me go, and I went back to my Ivy Bush.
Brothers of Pity and Other Tales of Beasts and Men Page 19
