Читать книгу The Lady-with-the-Crumbs - Flora Klickmann - Страница 5

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Bobbie found his way quite easily, and was hoping that his Aunt would give him something very nice to eat. But to his surprise she burst out crying when she opened the door, hardly looking at the note on the laurel leaf. And instead of telling him how pleased she was to see him, and how he had grown, and what a smart child he was to have come all that way by himself, and how was his mother and the baby?―all she said was:

“Your Uncle Twitter is gone! Clean gone!”

“Oh, Auntie! Where’s he gone?”

“How can I tell? If I knew where he’s gone, he wouldn’t be gone, would he, he’d be there!”

“Where would he be, Auntie, if he was there?”

“Where he isn’t, of course.”

“But, Auntie, if he isn’t where he is―I mean if he’s not where he isn’t―no, that’s not right―I mean, if he’s where he’s gone and he’s not there, why did he wash himself clean? It wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t washed behind his ears, would it, if his ears aren’t there?”

“Oh, for mercy’s sake, do stop asking questions, or I shall go out of my senses.” And poor Aunt Twitter mopped her eyes with her best handkerchief―a lovely silky one, which the spider next door had made specially for her, and given her on her last birthday, because she had persuaded Uncle Twitter to leave him alone, and not to turn him into Breakfast Food. You see Aunt Twitter found the long threads of his web so handy for a clothesline.

“Now go straight back to your mother,” she sobbed, “and tell her ‘Auntie says Uncle Twitter is gone, and she doesn’t suppose we shall ever see him again.’ Now, can you remember that?”

“Oh yes; that’s quite easy. ‘Auntie says Uncle Twitter says he doesn’t suppose he’ll ever see her again.’ ”

“No! No! That’s not it!” And she went all over it several times; till at last Bobbie had got it quite right. She gave him a currant to suck on the way home, and told him not to stop to play with any other little robins he might meet.

He felt very important when he flew back to his mother, because he knew he had some interesting news. He began at once:

“Auntie Twitter says he isn’t there; and he washed himself very clean, and he――”

“Who do you mean

Washed himself clean?”

his mother asked in surprise.

“Uncle Twitter, of course. He isn’t there because he isn’t. And Auntie says I was ‘specially to tell you that if he was there he wouldn’t be and she wouldn’t know it, and if she knew why he was there, he wouldn’t be gone. She’s crying like anything into her party handkerchief, and she says we’ll never see it again, and, Mother, can I have my tea? Auntie only gave me a currant, and it was a very teeny-weeny one. Can’t I have some of the Lady’s Crumbs?”

“No, they won’t be put out for us till the morning. She’s always busy unpacking them the day she gets here. You shall have some to-morrow. But I’m dreadfully worried about Auntie. Evidently something is wrong!”

And so it was!

Mr. Robin happened to come in at that moment.

“I’m so very anxious about poor Auntie,” said his wife. “It seems that Uncle Twitter has disappeared!”

“Disappeared? Twitter disappeared?”

“Yes, Father: gone clean where he isn’t.” Bobbie didn’t wish to be left out of it, being the one who had brought the news.

“Clean gone, has he! And he owes me three grasshoppers!” Mr. Robin was decidedly upset. “Borrowed them that evening―why it must be months ago, when they had unexpected company to supper, you remember. Promised faithfully to return them the next week. And now he skips off without paying his debts. A nice state of affairs to go robbing a hard-working father of a family!”

“Mother, why is he robbing father of his family?” But no one had any time to listen to Bobbie.

“Oh, don’t worry about the three grasshoppers, dear,” Mrs. Robin said. “Probably Auntie Twitter will see to all that. But”―lowering her voice―“I am so afraid it’s the Cat! You remember, Mrs. Chaffinch’s cousin disappeared, and Mr. Greenfinch’s father, and young Wren. I simply dare not let the youngsters out of my sight, or I would have flown over to hear all about it. I must see her in the morning. It’s too late now.―Children! Look at the sun! It will be behind the hill in a minute!”

Whereupon all the small robins hurried home.

For it is a fixed law of the Flower-Patch and the Forest that, so soon as the sun drops out of sight behind the opposite hills, every little bird must be safely in bed, even though the fathers and mothers stay up for just a tiny five minutes longer. And it is another fixed law that, when the youngsters are settled for the night, the Little People of the Forest sing an Evening Song.

Every wood has its own Evening Song. They are not all alike. But you can always hear it being sung by birds and bees, and brooks and trees, if you stand quite still among them when the sun is setting on any summer evening.

This is the Evening Song that they sang that night:

THE EVENING SONG OF THE WINDFLOWER WOOD

“Hush, Baby, hush!”

The Mother Bird is saying.

“Bed-time is Sleep-time―

It isn’t time for playing.

Shut both your little eyes;

The nest is nice and cosy;

Then wake up in the morning light,

All fresh and bright and rosy.”

“Hush, Baby, hush!”

The Bubbly Brook is chattering.

“Don’t be afraid if

You hear the Rain-drops pattering.

Some children like a Brolley―

―Brella always dry;

But little fishes love the wet

To drop down from the sky!”

“Hush, Baby, hush!”

The Silver Birch is sighing.

“Star-time is Quiet-time,

It isn’t time for crying!

Sleep till to-morrow comes,

Then wake, all smiles and sunny.

For children with a Criss-Cross face

Do look so very funny!”

“Hush, Baby, hush!”

The Nightingale is singing.

“All about the Windflower Wood

Are bluebells softly ringing.

Leaves whisper overhead,

And say the moon is peeping

To see our baby in its bed,

And watch it sweetly sleeping.”