GIRLIE sat down under a tree in the meadow after they had gone. It was very pleasant resting there in the shade, and she felt quite happy and contented, and was just making up her mind to gather some of the large marguerites, of which there were a great many growing amongst the grass, when a loud “S-q-u-a-a-k” above her head made her look up. A large Crow was sitting up in the tree gazing down at her. “I thought that would make you look up,” he said. “If it hadn’t I should have dropped an acorn down on to your nose.”
108
“‘NOW LET’S GO TO SLEEP.’”
109Girlie felt very glad that he had not found it necessary to do so, and civilly asked him what he wanted.
“Well, you see,” he said, “my spectacles have got very dull, and I thought that, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind lending me your handkerchief to polish them up with.
“Oh! certainly, with pleasure,” said Girlie amiably. “I wonder how he keeps them on?” she thought. “I’ve never heard of a bird wearing glasses before.”
But by this time she had got so used to strange things happening, that she was scarcely surprised at anything.
“Thanks,” said the Crow, “bring it up here, please.”
“How can I?” said Girlie. “I can’t climb right up there.”
“Of course not,” replied the Crow; “you must fly up.”
“How absurd!” laughed Girlie. “I can’t fly, I’ve no wings.”
“Can’t fly!” repeated the Crow in a tone of surprise, gazing curiously down at her. “Why, then, you must be a pig,” he said decidedly, after a minute or two.
“I’m sure I’m not,” said Girlie, feeling very indignant.
“But you must be,” said the Crow. “Pigs can’t fly, you know, and if you can’t either, you must be a kind of pig. Oh, you needn’t get so angry about it,” he continued, 110when Girlie began to remonstrate, “pigs are very nice in their way, if it wasn’t for their pride.”
“I didn’t know that pigs were proud before,” said Girlie; “I’m sure they’ve nothing to be proud of.”
“It’s just the people that have nothing to be proud of who usually fancy themselves most,” said the Crow; “look at the King’s Minstrel, for instance.”
“Well, yes, he’s proud enough, certainly,” said Girlie, laughing in spite of herself. “Do you know him?”
“Know him?” replied the Crow, “I should rather think I do. Why, I’ve known him ever since he was a boy, and he was as proud and stuck-up as an old tin kettle then.”
“As an old tin kettle,” repeated Girlie, “why, however can an old tin kettle be proud.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of the pride of a kettle?” said the Crow, who seemed surprised; “why, they’re the proudest things out. I knew one once,” he continued, “who came to a terrible end through his pride and folly. Shall I tell you about it?”
“I should like you to very much,” said Girlie, “if you wouldn’t mind coming down here, for it is making my neck ache dreadfully to keep looking up at you.”
The Crow obligingly flew down and, perching on the 111stump of a tree near to where she sat, he repeated the following story:—
“PRIDE.
“In a ditch at the back of the house there dwelt
A preserved meat tin and a kettle.
They were both very ancient, and battered, and bent,
In the kettle’s left side was a terrible dent,
And the tin was of rusty old metal.
“But haughty and proud to the last degree,
They both of them greatly desired
To be thought very grand, so they practised deceit,
They called their old ditch ‘A Suburban retreat,’
And spoke of themselves as ‘retired.’
“If any one happened to pass by that way,
The kettle with infinite scorn
Would turn up its spout and would haughtily stare,
The preserved meat tin with an ‘awful bored’ air
Would lift up its lid and then yawn.
“They flattered each other through thick and thin,
And the kettle would frequently say—
‘Such an elegant vessel I rarely have seen,
And your label in yellow, and crimson, and green,
Is got up in a charming way.’
“And the tin, in return, would reply to its friend
In terms that were dignified,
Would speak of its lid as ‘unique in design’
And would never allude by a word or a sign
To the dent in the kettle’s left side.
112“But alas and alack, for the pride of the two,
Just fancy their horror and fright
When they heard some one shout in a very cross way,—
‘John, pick up this rubbish and take it away,
Don’t let it remain in my sight.’
“They were carried off that very day,
And thrown on the rubbish heap.
The preserved meat tin was completely smothered
In ashes and dirt, while the kettle was covered
With cinders about a foot deep.”
“Poor things,” said Girlie, laughing; “but it served them right, though, didn’t it, for thinking such a lot of themselves?”
“Certainly it did,” replied the Crow, “and, besides that, the kettle had had one warning before. Pride always has a fall, you know, and he had had one—that was how he came to get the dent in his left side. Were you ever on speaking terms with a kettle?” he inquired.
“No, never,” said Girlie, laughing at the idea.
“No, I suppose not,” said the Crow in a pitying voice; “they are rather particular to whom they speak, and I suppose they would draw the line at a pig.”
“I tell you——” began Girlie; but the Crow didn’t allow her to finish the sentence.
“It’s their voices they are so proud of,” he went on. “I suppose you’ve heard them sing, haven’t you?” he asked.
113
“GIRLIE KINDLY RAN TO HIS ASSISTANCE.”
114“No, I haven’t,” said Girlie.
“Never heard a kettle sing?” asked the Crow in surprise.
“Oh, yes, I have,” said Girlie.
“I was going to say,” remarked the Crow, “why, I’ve known them to simply boil over with indignation when their singing hasn’t been properly appreciated. You might as well give me that handkerchief now,” he added, holding out his claw.
Girlie gave it to him and watched him while he rubbed away at his glasses, which he held in his beak.
“What do you use them for?” she asked presently.
“Oh! I’m out hunting for a Goo,” answered the Crow, “and, being rather short-sighted, I am obliged to wear glasses.”
“Oh, do you know what a Goo is?” asked Girlie eagerly.
“Yes,” said the Crow, “our family have come to the conclusion that it is a kind of worm, an enormously large worm, because everybody is so very anxious to find it, and a worm being the only thing in the world worth troubling about, it must be a worm. If it isn’t, it isn’t worth looking for, that’s all,” he added.
“O’ugh! I am sure I shouldn’t like to find one, then,” said Girlie, shuddering.
115The Crow lifted up his eyebrows (such as he had) in surprise.
“There’s no accounting for taste,” he said presently, in a sarcastic voice; “and pigs—but there, no matter! I won’t finish it. Hush! what’s that?” he went on, as a great bell tolled in the distance. “The curfew,” he said, after listen............