A LUCKY MAGPIE

“So you’ve kept old Mag safe all this time,” I called out, as I came

through the little croft under the apple-trees, and caught sight of the

farmer sitting at his door and smoking his evening pipe; and not

forgetting my duty as became a midshipman in Her Majesty’s Service, I

took off my cap and made three bows to the magpie, whose wicker cage was

hanging just over the farmer’s head.

Farmer Reynardson and his magpie and I had always been great friends.

Ever since I was a little fellow I had had a great liking for the

farmer’s friendly face, and a still greater reverence for his bird, for

he never would let me come within sight of it without making my

obeisance in due form.

“It’s a lucky magpie,” he always said, “and I don’t know what mightn’t

happen if you didn’t treat him with proper respect. Honour where honour

is due, my boy!”

So I always made my three bows, which seemed to please both the bird and

his master. I say “master” now, but in those days I never thought of him

as the magpie’s master, nor of the bird as his property. I considered

Mag as a member of the family, about whom there was something rather

mysterious. It was only when I grew older that I began to think of

asking questions about him, and it was not till the very last evening

before I left to join the training-ship that I ventured to ask the

history of my revered friend. But the farmer would not tell me then.

“When you’re ready to fight for the Queen, then I’ll tell you the

story,” he said.

So I had to wait a pretty long time; and whenever I came home from the

_Britannia_ and called at Slade Croft, I felt my curiosity increasing.

The story must be worth hearing, or I should not have been kept waiting

for it so long. And when I was gazetted midshipman, and ran home to my

grandfather’s for a week before joining my ship, I slipped off to the

farm the very first evening after dinner.

[Illustration: A Lucky Magpie.]

Farmer Reynardson rose, shook hands warmly, and slapped me on the back.

Then he turned me round and inspected my jacket and Her Majesty’s

buttons carefully.

“Now for the story,” I cried. “It’s all right, you needn’t look at my

boots too, you know,” as his eye travelled down my uniform trousers.

“Now for the yarn of the lucky magpie.”

“George,” said the farmer gravely, putting his hand on my shoulder, “you

shall have it, my lad, this very evening. But I must show you something

first.” He walked me through the orchard to a shady corner by the hedge,

and showed me a little stone set upright in the ground, on which I read

this inscription—

Here lies the body of

a lucky Magpie

and an

attached

Friend.

(J. R.)

“It’s a new one, he in the cage,” he said, quite sadly. “Neither I nor

the missis could get along without one. Old Mag died quite easy, of

nothing but old age, and old he was, to be sure. He’d have died years

ago, if he’d been any one else’s bird. He’d have been shot years ago if

he’d lived his own natural life. They say it’s cruel keeping birds in

cages; but if ever a bird was happy, that one was. And what’s more,” he

said, with a touch of pathos in his voice which I have often remembered

since then, when I have been telling his story to others, “he had his

share in making others happy, and that’s more than can be said for some

of us, my boy. However, come along, and I’ll spin you the yarn (as you

seafaring folks say); and, indeed, I’ll be glad to tell it to some one,

for poor old Mag’s sake. Honour where honour is due.”

We sat down on the bench by the front door, and Mrs. Reynardson, bonny

and bright-eyed, came and gave me her hand and sat down with us. The

farmer paused a bit to collect his thoughts, while he pensively tickled

the newly-installed genius of the house with the sealing-waxed end of

his long pipe. The genius seemed not unworthy of his venerable

predecessor, for he showed no resentment, and settled himself down

comfortably to hear the tale—or to roost.

“Now then. Once upon a time,” said I, to jog his memory.

But that dear old fellow never did things quite like other people;

perhaps that was why I was so fond of him. He withdrew his pipe-stem

from the cage, and patting the back of his wife’s hand with it in

passing (an action I did not then understand), he pointed it in the

direction of the hills which bounded our view.

“If you were to go up there,” he said, “just where you see the gap in

the long line of trees, you would see below you, on the other side, a

small village, and on beyond the village you’d see a bit of a hillock,

with three big elms on it. And if you got near enough, I’ll be bound

you’d see a magpie’s nest in the tallest tree to the right. There always

was one, when I was a boy there, and there has always been one whenever

I’ve happened to be over there since; and it was in that nest that my

old Mag was born, and I was born within sight of it.

“Of course, we knew of it, we boys of the village, and we’d have been up

there often, only that tree was a bad one to climb, as the magpie knew

very well. Easy work when you got to the branches, but, unlike most

elms, this one had fifteen feet of big broad stem before you reached

them. None of us could get up that fifteen feet, though the bark was

rough and we could get some hold with fingers and toes; sooner or later

we were sure to come slipping down, and it was lucky for us that the

grass was long and soft below.

“Well, when it’s a matter of fingers and toes, a girl is as good as a

boy, if she has some strength and pluck, and it was a girl that showed

me how to climb that tree. Nelly Green was her name; we were fast

friends, she and I, and it was between us two that the solemn treaty and

alliance—as the newspapers say—was concluded, by which we were to get

possession of a young magpie. First it was agreed that when we had got

our bird (we began at the wrong end, you see), I was to keep it, because

Nelly’s mother would have no pets in the house. Secondly, she was to go

no higher than the first branch, because girls were not fit to go

worming themselves up to the tops of trees in petticoats. And then—let

me see—she was to climb the bark first, because of her small hands and

feet, and was to carry a rope round her waist, which she was to tie to a

branch to help me in coming up after her. Fourthly, we were only to take

one nestling, and to leave the others in peace.

“Nelly said that this treaty was to be written out and signed with

hedgehog’s blood. Where she got the notion from I can’t tell, but no

hedgehog turned up in time, and we were neither of us too fond of

writing, so we let that plan drop.”

“What a dreadful tomboy she must have been, John!” said Mrs. Reynardson.

“Well, I won’t say she wasn’t a bit of one,” said the farmer, with a

twinkle in his eye; “but she turned out none so badly—none so badly, as

you shall hear, my dear.”

“We knew very well, of course, how the magpies were getting on, and when

the eggs were hatched; and a few days after that, we got our rope and

reached the hillock by a roundabout way, not to attract notice. Nelly

had been studying the bark of that tree for many a day, though I never

would let her go up lest she should come to grief coming down again. Up

she went just like a creep-mouse, got a good seat on the branch and tied

the rope round it. Then up I went too, hand over hand, and in five

minutes more I was at the nest; a huge bit of building it was, roofed

all over with sticks. The old birds flew round screaming, but I put one

young bird in my pocket, and came down safely to where Nelly was

sitting. Then the bird was put into _her_ pocket, and she let herself

down by the rope; and lastly I untied the rope (for it would never have

done to have left it there), and wondered how _I_ was to come down.

“At last I resolved on climbing out on my stomach to the very end of the

branch, where I could bear it down with my weight, and then dropping.

But my weight was too little to pull the big branch down far, and as I

came to the ground, I sprained my ankle badly.

“However, there was the bird all safe, and that was the great thing.

Nelly helped me home, and Mag was put into a wicker cage we had ready

for him. Of course we got scolded, but I was in too great pain to mind,

and Nelly was used to it from her mother, so we got off pretty well.

“Of course, too, I couldn’t go to school, and Mag was my companion all

day long. He had a tremendous appetite, and it was as much as I could do

to find food for him. If I let him out of his cage he would follow me

about, opening his bill and crying for food; and at night he slept

outside my bedroom window. I had never had a pet before, and I got to

love that bird better than anything in the world, except Nelly; and,

indeed, I’m not sure that Nelly was not a bit jealous of him those few

weeks.”

“_I_ should have been,” said Mrs. Reynardson.

“Of course you would, my dear,” said her husband. “Men were deceivers

ever, as they say; and boys too. But Mag was to be Nelly’s property as

much as mine, by that treaty of alliance, for ever and ever; and that

treaty was _never_ broken. But I must go on.

“When my ankle was getting well, there came a neat maidservant to the

cottage one day, and said that Miss Pringle wished to see me at six

o’clock precisely; and wondering what she could want with me, I made

myself uncomfortable in my best clothes and limped up the village to her

back door. I was shown into a very neat parlour, where Miss Pringle sat

in a stiff chair knitting.

“She was the old maid of our village, and when I’ve told you that, you

know a good bit about her. She was a tightish sort of an old maid—tight

in the lips, and tight in her dress, and tight, so they said, in her

purse-strings too; but you shall form your own opinion of that

presently. She had neat curls on each side of her head, and a neat thin

nose, rather large, and she sat a bit forward and looked at you as if

she’d found a speck of dirt on you somewhere. I always felt as if I had

a smut on my nose when Miss Pringle was speaking to me.

“‘Come in, John Reynardson,’ says she. ‘You may stand on that bit of

matting by the door. What is the matter with your foot?’

“‘Sprained my ankle, ma’am, climbing a tree with Nelly Green.’

“‘With Nelly Green?’ says Miss Pringle. ‘Then Nelly Green ought to be

ashamed of herself! Boys may be monkeys if they like, but not girls.

Tell Nelly Green I’m ashamed of her!’”

“Did she say that?” asked Mrs. Reynardson.

“She did, and she never liked Nelly Green too much after that. She asked

me several times afterwards if that monkey-girl was ashamed of herself.”

Here the farmer stopped a minute to laugh. “And I always told her she

wasn’t. No more she was—not a bit!

“Well, she told me frankly that she didn’t like boys—and that was very

kind of her!—but I could have told her so myself as soon as ever I was

put on the matting and had my face looked at for smuts. Miss Pringle was

not one of that soft kind of single ladies who think all boys angels—not

she! But, bless her old soul! the Jackdaw, as Nelly and I used to call

her, because of her grey head and her black dress and her pecking

way—the Jackdaw was nearly as lucky a bird for me as the magpie—in the

long run, that is.

“She told me she wanted a boy to look after her pony and carriage, and

as I was recommended by the Vicar, and was strong and active, she would

offer me the place. But I wasn’t to climb trees, and I wasn’t to spin

halfpence, and I wasn’t to do this, and I wasn’t to do that, and lastly,

I wasn’t to keep animals about the house. ‘Mind,’ she said, shaking her

nose and her forefinger at the same time, ‘I allow no pet animals about

this house, so if you take my offer you must give up your rabbits.’

“‘Yes, ma’am,’ says I, though I hadn’t any; but her nose was so tight

when she said that, that I knew I had better hold my tongue.

“Then she took me through her garden, making me pull up some weeds by

the way, and lay them neatly in a heap in a corner, with a spadeful of

ashes on them to keep the seeds from flying; and so to her little

stable, where she showed me the pony and harness, and a little

whitewashed room upstairs where I was to sleep. It was as neat as

herself, and over the bed was a large piece of cardboard with three

words on it—‘Tidiness, Punctuality, Obedience.’ Very good words for a

lad just beginning to serve the Queen,” added the farmer, “and very good

they were for me too; but if I’d stuck hard to them all three I

shouldn’t be here now, as you shall hear.

“So I said very humbly that I was very thankful to take the place, if my

parents agreed; and when I got home they were very thankful too. And

then I went off to find Nelly, and hold a council of war about poor Mag.

“We went up to the hillock and the three elms to be out of the way.

Nelly cried a bit when she heard that our climbing days were over, and

that I was to be what she called slave to a Jackdaw; but she dried her

eyes on her frock on my telling her that she should come and see the

pony when the Jackdaw was off her perch; and then we had our council of

war. I told her exactly what Miss Pringle had said—that she allowed no

pets about the house. Nelly’s mother was just as bad, and no one at my

home could be trusted to feed a young bird regularly; so we were rather

beaten, and I was for giving Mag his liberty.

“Nelly gave her hair a toss over her face, and sat down on the wet grass

to think for a minute. Then she tossed it back again, looked up, and

said, ‘Johnny, you old noodle, the stable isn’t the house, is it now?’

“She was a sharp one, you see—always was, and always has been. Men are a

bit half-hearted and shy-like; but it’s the women that know how to find

a hole in your hedge, and make a good broad gap for us to jump through.”

“Do you know Nelly Green still, Mr. Reynardson?” I asked.

“Yes, yes, my boy, I know her,” he answered; “and she’s not grown blunt

yet. Well, she it was that decided that, after waiting a week to see if

the Jackdaw would come poking about the stable or not, she should bring

Mag to me there, if all went well, and see the pony too; and in the

meantime she was to go twice a day to our cottage and feed him. And when

she had made the hole in the hedge, I jumped through, and never minded a

prick or two I got—meaning in my conscience, you know—from the brambles.

“All did go well; Miss Pringle—I really don’t like calling her the

Jackdaw now she’s dead and gone—soon found I was handy, and as she

disliked the smell of stables, she gave up pecking round there after the

first day or two. So Nelly brought round Mag by the back way through the

fields, and I hung up his cage in the hayloft, by the window looking

away from the house and garden.

“And now my story really begins,” he went on; “and I’d be glad if you’d

give me a flick with the whip now and again, for I’m as bad as my old

mare at a jog-trot.

“I settled down into my place with a good heart, and soon got fond of

the pony. Mag, up in the hayloft, escaped Miss Pringle’s notice, and

though the cook found him out, she was a good-natured body and held her

tongue. Nelly paid me many visits, stealing round to my stable by the

fields; and she made the gap in our hedge so much bigger that once, in

the Jackdaw’s absence, both she and Mag had a ride on the pony in the

paddock.

“Mag grew to be nearly a year old, and the cleverest bird you ever saw;

I had hard work to keep him in his wicker cage, for he was always

pulling away at the door-fastening with his bill. One warm morning in

spring I was sent for to take Miss Pringle’s orders, and found her

sitting at her desk in her parlour, with the window open, and the garden

scents coming into the room. I stood on the matting as usual while she

wrote a note. She then gave it to me, and told me to take it to a

village three miles away, but first to get the carriage ready, as she

was going for a drive, and should be away all the morning. She was very

gracious, and less tight about the lips than usual, I fancied.

“‘If I am not back after your dinner, John,’ she said, ‘come and tidy up

this bed under the window, for I shall have to sow my annuals soon.’

“I got the pony ready, and off she went, holding the reins and whip as

if ponies were almost as unruly animals as boys. Then I started for my

walk, delivered the note, and turned homewards by a field-path to try

for a look at the hounds, for they had met that day near our village. I

missed them, however; but on getting over a stile I saw a gentleman in

scarlet trying to catch his horse. He had been thrown, and his horse was

having a fine time of it; grazing quietly till his master was within a

yard or two of him, and then throwing up his heels and scampering off.

Of course I joined in the chase, for I was pretty well used to these

tricks from our pony; and the gentleman, who was out of breath, sat down

and watched me. It was a long job, but at last I pinned him in a corner,

and brought him, well pleased, to his master, who praised me kindly, and

put his hand in his pocket as he mounted.

“He had only a sovereign, which seemed to puzzle him. First he put it

back again, and was beginning to tell me to ‘come over to his place and

I should have half-a-crown.’

“‘But it’s far,’ he said, ‘and I’m off to London to-night. I can trust

you, can’t I?’ he added, turning a pair of very pleasant blue eyes on

me. ‘Whom do you work for?’

“‘Miss Pringle at Cotteswell,’ I answered, touching my hat.

“‘Very well,’ he said; ‘you take the sovereign and get it changed, and

I’ll send my groom over for the change to-morrow.’

“I thought he might have sent the groom over with the half-crown; but I

fancy he liked trusting me, and thought he might forget to send the

groom, as in fact he did.

“He was off before I could get any words out; so home I went, thinking I

should like to be his groom, such a pleasant way he had about him. On my

way I passed the village shop, where I got the change, which I put

safely away in a drawer with my ties and collars. Miss Pringle had not

come back, nor did she come till the afternoon. I had my dinner, and

saved a bit as usual to give Mag when my day’s work should be over. Then

I worked in the garden, and tidied up the bed under the window. When she

returned I had a good long job with the pony and carriage; and before it

was over I was sent for suddenly into the house. The maid who fetched me

was crying.

“In the parlour Miss Pringle was again at her desk, with her bonnet on,

looking very tight and stiff indeed; the cook was wiping her eyes with

her apron, and on my matting was standing a policeman, who moved me on

to the front of Miss Pringle by the window, and then retired to the

door.

“‘John,’ she said, very distinctly and slowly, ‘I have missed a

sovereign, which I accidentally left on this desk this morning. Do you

know anything of it? You have been at work outside. The other servants

know nothing of it, and they and their rooms have been searched.’

“I was dreadfully taken aback, but I denied all knowledge.

“‘Policeman, search him,’ said Miss Pringle, shaking her curls sadly.

“The policeman turned my pockets out, but only found a small

curtain-ring, with which I had been betrothed to Nelly a day or two

before. (She had another like it; we couldn’t wear them on our fingers,

so we kept them always in our pockets.)

“‘Cook, take the policeman to search his room,’ said Miss Pringle, with

another shake.

“Cook and policeman went down the garden. Miss Pringle locked the door

and pocketed the key. ‘I don’t accuse you,’ she said, ‘but I must take

precautions.’

“It was now that I first thought of the money in my drawer. I turned hot

all over, and felt my head swimming.

“‘Please, ma’am,’ I stammered, ‘there’s money in my room, but I was

given it by a——’

“‘Don’t incriminate yourself,’ said she, coldly and precisely; ‘there

are no witnesses present. Silence.’

“The cook and policeman came up the garden; I can hear their footsteps

on the gravel now, and the ticking of Miss Pringle’s neat-faced clock.

It was half-past four by that clock, I remember—my tea-time, and the

time when I usually fed Mag. The thought rushed into my head, if I am

taken up what will Mag do? How am I to tell Nelly?

“They knocked at the door, which Miss Pringle unlocked. The policeman

put the money he had found on the desk in front of her, and put his hand

on my shoulder. The cook sobbed, the clock ticked; no one said anything;

Miss Pringle looked away from me, and I really think she was sorry.

“At last she looked up and opened her tight lips, but what she was going

to say I never knew, for at that moment I made a bolt through the

window, upsetting the neat geraniums in their pots, and tumbling

headlong into the flower-bed which I had tidied in the morning, I

scudded down the garden into the yard, over the gate into the paddock,

through the hedge, and away at full speed in the direction of Nelly’s

cottage.

“I can recollect all quite clearly now, up to the moment when I saw the

policeman running after me and gaining ground while I struggled through

a hedge. Then I got wild and heated, I suppose, and I remember nothing

more distinctly. But Nelly says that I came rushing into their garden,

shouting to her, ‘Look after Mag,’ for the police were after me for

stealing. She thought at first I was at one of my games, and told me to

run off and climb up a tree, and she would bring me food; and I was just

going off towards the three elms when the policeman ran in and collared

me, and then she fought him and called him names till her mother came

out and dragged her away. This is what she told me months afterwards.

“That was the last I saw of Nelly for a long, long time. I was locked

up, and the magistrates made short work of me. Of course they laughed at

my story of the sovereign and the gentleman, for I neither knew his name

nor where he lived. All went against me; the shopkeeper proved that I

had changed a sovereign, Miss Pringle proved she had left one on her

desk, the housemaid proved that I had been gardening at the window, the

cook that the money was found in my drawer, and the policeman that I had

run away; and that groom never came for the change. The parson gave me a

good character, and Miss Pringle asked them to be merciful. How could

she help it, poor soul? She really had begun to like me, I believe, but

I spoilt it all by telling her that I wanted no mercy from her, as she

believed I was a liar. So they sentenced me to be imprisoned for a

fortnight, and then to be sent for three years to the Reformatory School

which had lately been opened in the county.

“The gaol I didn’t mind so much, though it was bad enough, but that

school took all the spirit out of me. There’s no need for me to tell you

what I went through there, the washings and scrubbings, the school

dress—a badge of disgrace; the having to obey orders sharp, or get sharp

punishment; the feeling that all the boys thought me a thief like

themselves, and up to all their low ways and talk; and then the bad

things I heard, the sense of injustice rankling in my heart, and making

me hate every one. I think I should have soon become as bad as any young

thief in the place, but for the thought of Nelly and Mag, and even they

were beginning to be less in my thoughts, and I was beginning to get

hammered down by hard work and punishment into an ordinary dogged young

sinner, when something happened which brought the old life into me

again, like a shower of rain on a crop in August.

“One day, when I was working at the bottom of the big school field, with

a squad of young criminals, under the eye of a task-master, I heard from

the other side of the thick hedge the note of a yellow-hammer. Yes, it

_was_ the yellow-hammer’s song, ‘a little bit of bread and no che-e-se;’

but I knew in an instant that it was not the voice of a bird, and I knew

of only one human creature who could whistle the song so exactly. It was

the signal by which Nelly used to make me aware of her arrival, when she

came over the fields to see me and Mag at Miss Pringle’s.

“My heart, as they say, nearly jumped into my mouth. I can’t describe to

you how it was; I only know that I went on digging with my eyes full of

tears—for of course the first fancy that Nelly was really there, fled

away almost at once, and left me feeling as if I had had a dream. But

then it came again, twice over, and louder, not twenty yards away from

me.

“The dream was gone now, and I edged myself down as near as I could to

the hedge, keeping my eye on the master. Luckily for me at this moment

one young rascal contrived to dig his spade into another’s heel, and got

a blow in the face for his pains; and the master was down on the boy

that hit him, and marched him off to the house for punishment. I seized

the chance, and was at the hedge in a moment, carrying an armful of

weeds to throw away in the ditch, so as not to attract the notice of the

others. Sure enough there was my own dear old Nelly’s face peering up

through a tiny opening which some rabbit had made in coming to feed on

our cabbages.

“‘Johnny,’ she whispered, ‘give me a kiss.’

“I scrambled into the hedge and gave her half-a-dozen; but I couldn’t

speak; I was far away in a dream again. Nelly, however, was wide awake

and knew the value of her time.

“‘I’m staying with Uncle Jonas, in the white cottage next to the

turnpike. It’s not a mile away. And look here, Johnny, Mag’s there too.

He’s all safe; I’ve put a bit of wire on his door-fastening ever since

you were taken up. Do you know, it was open when I took him away that

day, but there he was all safe, and I’ve taken such care of him for your

sake. We talk about you a great deal, Mag and I do. And, Johnny, you

come down and see him. Uncle Jonas says you’re to run away. You’re

innocent, you know, so it doesn’t matter. I’ve arranged it all, clothes

and everything. We’ll go to America till it’s all blown over, and

then——’

“‘Reynardson, down there, what are you doing?’ calls out the master, as

he came back to look after his charges. And Nelly’s head slipped away in

an instant, leaving, in the hurry, as I noticed, a wisp of her brown

hair sticking on a thorn; which, by the way, I managed to secure later

in the day, and put away in my trousers pocket for want of a safer

place.

“I suppose it was from her Uncle Jonas that Nelly got this notion of

America, and waiting there ‘till it’s all blown over.’ Anyhow, Uncle

Jonas, like many of the neighbours of the new Reformatory, were on the

side of us boys, and aided and abetted Nelly in her scheme for getting

me away. He never thought, poor man, he was laying himself open to the

law. And that good uncle would have got himself into a serious scrape if

things had turned out as they ought to have done, for I contrived to

slip away from the school the very next day, and was hidden in the white

cottage all that night.

“I had got quite reckless; for, as Nelly said, when one is innocent,

what does it matter? And she was so exactly her old self, and took such

care of me—burying my school dress in the garden, and rigging me out in

some old things of her uncle’s, and laughing at me in my big coat that I

soon felt my pluck coming back again, though I cried a good deal at

first, from fright as much as joy. And Mag, too, was exactly his old

self, and was not a bit ashamed of me; it was some one else he ought to

be ashamed of, as you shall soon hear.

“Our good time was soon over. It was the turnpike-keeper who did the

mischief. He had seen me come down to the cottage, and he couldn’t

resist the reward they offered early next morning to any one who caught

me. He sent up a message to the school, and at nine o’clock the master

and two policemen walked into the house. Nelly didn’t try to fight this

time, but she spoke up and told them it was all her doing and neither

mine nor Uncle Jonas’s. She told them that she had brought Mag to see me

all the way from home, and that she was sure I wouldn’t run away any

more if I might have Mag with me there.

“It was well for me that my wonderful Nelly kept her senses and could

use her tongue, for my luck began to turn from that time forwards. The

sergeant of police patted her on the head, and took Mag’s cage himself;

and the other policeman put into his pocket the handcuffs he had begun

to fasten on my wrists, saying they were ‘too big for such a kid;’ and

even the master said that though I was in a bad scrape, he would speak

for me to the magistrates.

“So we went back in procession to the school after I had kissed Nelly,

and my clothes had been dug up in the garden, brushed, and put on me

again; and when they locked me up in the whitewashed cell, where

refractory boys were confined, the sergeant winked at the master, and

put Mag’s cage in with me. When the labour-master unlocked the door to

give me my dinner of bread and water, he brought something for Mag, and

said a kind word to both of us.

“I was quite happy in Mag’s company all that day and night. Nelly’s

pluck had made a man of me, in spite of all her fine schemes being

upset. And I had a sort of dim hope that the magistrate, who was coming

to see the runaway boy, might bring me some kind of good luck.

“Next morning I heard a carriage drive up, and in a few minutes I heard

the key put into the lock. I stood up, and put my hands behind me, as we

were always made to do when visitors arrived. Mag’s cage was on the

floor at my feet.

“The door opened, and there stood the long-lost gentleman who had given

me the sovereign, looking down on me with the same pleasant face and the

same lively blue eyes! He recognised me at once; to him it was but the

other day that I had caught his horse for him; but it had been long

years of misery and disgrace to me. But he had been in London and in

foreign parts, and had never thought of me since then—so he told me

afterwards.

“‘Why, who’s this, and where’s my change?’ he said at once. ‘Didn’t I

ask you if I could trust you? And how did you come _here_, I wonder,

with that honest face?’

“It was too much for me, and for all the pluck I had got from Mag and

Nelly, I burst into a fit of crying, and leant against the wall, heaving

and sobbing. ‘The groom never came,’ was all I could get out at last.

“‘Bring me a chair here, Mr. Reynolds,’ said he, ‘and leave me alone

with him. I know this boy.’

“The master went away, and my kind gentleman and I were left alone. I

won’t tell you all that passed,” said the farmer tenderly, “it was only

the first of a long string of kindnesses he has done me, and made me the

happy old fellow I am. He got it all out of me by degrees. He heard all

about Mag and Nelly, and all about Miss Pringle and the robbery. He took

particular notice of Mag, and seemed very curious to know all about his

ways. And when he went away he told the master to treat me as usual till

he came back the next day.

“And now I’ve nearly done my yarn,” said the farmer; “she must be tired

of Nelly and me by this time,” he added, looking at his wife, but it was

getting too dark for me to see the twinkle that I know now was in his

eyes as he said it.

“My gentleman came early, and to my astonishment, both I and Mag were

put into his carriage, and he drove us away. Still more taken back was I

when we stopped at Uncle Jonas’s, and out came Miss Nelly and climbed

into the seat next me. We were too shy to kiss each other or talk, but

after a bit I pulled out the wisp of hair from my trousers pocket and

showed it her. Nelly couldn’t make it out, then, but she knows now how I

got it. She knows—she knows,” said the farmer; “and here it is now,” and

he showed me a locket, attached to his watch-chain, with some brown hair

in it.

I looked, and was going to ask a question, when he held up his hand to

hush me, and went on.

“We drove many miles, the gentleman asking questions now and then,

especially about Mag, but for the most part we were silent. At last I

saw the three elms and the spire come in sight, and I had hard work to

keep the tears in. I sat with Nelly’s hand in mine, but we said never a

word.

“We dropped Nelly at her mother’s cottage, and she was told that she

would probably be sent for presently. Then we drove on to Miss

Pringle’s, and went straight to the stable-yard; there was no pony, and

the grass was growing in the yard. Miss Pringle, I found afterwards,

would have no more boys about the place.

“‘Which was your room?’ said the gentleman, and I showed him upstairs.

“‘Stay here till I come for you,’ said he. ‘Can I trust you?’

“He did not wait for an answer, but went away, taking Mag with him. I

sat down and looked out at the garden, and at the window where I had

jumped out that terrible day, and wondered what was going to happen; and

what happened is the last thing I am going to tell you.

“He went round to the front door, and presently came out into the

garden, still carrying Mag’s cage. Then he put down the cage on the

lawn, leaving its door open. Then he went back into the house, and I

could see him and Miss Pringle come and sit at the open window of the

parlour. He kept his eye on the cage, and seemed to say little; Miss

Pringle looked rather puzzled, I thought, and shook her curls pretty

often in a fidgety sort of way.

“Mag sat there in his cage for some time, though the door was wide open,

as if he didn’t quite see what it all meant; and I sat at my window,

too, as much puzzled as the bird or Miss Pringle.

“At last Mag began to stir a bit; then he came out and looked carefully

all round, hopped about a bit, and at last got upon the garden chair,

and seemed to be thinking of something, with his head on one side. All

of a sudden he gave his long tail a jerk, and uttered a kind of a

knowing croak; then he came down from the seat and hopped away towards

the flower-bed under the window. The gentleman pulled Miss Pringle

behind the curtain when he saw Mag coming, and I couldn’t see her any

more; but I should think she must have been more puzzled than ever, poor

lady.

“From my window I could see Mag digging away in the earth with his bill

just in the corner of the flower-border by the house; and it wasn’t long

before he got hold of something, and went off with it in his bill down

the garden, as pleased as Punch, and talking about it to himself. And

well he might be pleased, for it was the saving of me, and I believe he

knew it; bless his old bones down yonder by the hedge!

“As soon as Mag began to hop down the garden I saw my gentleman do just

what I had done before him; he jumped straight out of the window, and

down came the flowerpots after him. I saw Miss Pringle give a jump from

behind the curtain and try to save them; but it was too late, and there

she stood in the window wringing her hands, while Mag and the gentleman

raced round the garden, over the neat beds and through the rose-bushes,

until everything was in such a mess that I can tell you it took me a

good long time to tidy it all up early next morning.

“At last he got Mag into a corner by the toolhouse, and a minute later

he was in my room, with Mag in one hand, pecking at him till the blood

came, and in the other a sovereign!

“‘Here’s the thief,’ he said; ‘shall we send for a policeman?’ But Miss

Pringle had already done that, for she thought that every one was going

mad, and that somebody ought to be taken up; and when I had been taken

over to the house, feeling rather queer and faint, and had been put on

the sofa in the drawing-room, in came the neat maidservant and said that

the constable was at the door. And when I heard that, I went straight

off into a downright faint.

“When I woke up I was still on the sofa, the neat-faced clock was

ticking, there were steps on the gravel path in the garden, Miss Pringle

was sitting there looking very sad, and there were tears in her eyes,

and I thought for a moment that that dreadful hour had never come to an

end after all.

“But there was no policeman; and who was this sitting by my side? Why,

it was dear old Nelly! And as she laid her head against mine, with all

that hair of hers tumbling over my face, that kind gentleman came into

the room from the garden, where he had been trying to quiet himself down

a bit, I think, and patted both our heads, without saying ever a word.

“After a bit, however, he made us sit up, and gave us a good talking to.

It was not Mag’s fault, he said, that we had got into such a terrible

scrape, but mine for disobeying Miss Pringle and keeping the bird in the

stable; and Nelly’s, too, for leading me on to it. And we must take

great care of Mag now that he had got us out of the scrape, and keep

him, to remind us not to get into any more.

“And we kept him to the last day of his life; and as for scrapes, I

don’t think we ever got into any more, at least, not such bad ones as

that was—eh, Nelly?”

And seeing me open my eyes wide, he laughed, and asked me whether I

hadn’t found it out long before the story came to an end, and then,

putting his arm round his bonny wife, he added, “Yes, lad, here’s my old

Nelly, and she’ll climb a tree for you to-morrow, if you ask her.”

I gave my old friend Nelly a good kiss (with the entire approval of her

husband), made my bow to the magpie, and ran home to my grandfather’s.

And as we sat together that night, I got him to tell me the Story over

again, from the moment when he took a fancy to the boy who caught his

horse, to the time when he gave him his best farm, and saw him safely

married to Nelly.

“I gave her away myself,” said he, “and I gave her to one of the best

fellows and truest friends I have ever known. Miss Pringle gave him £50,

and left him £500 more. But he always will have it that the magpie was

at the bottom of all his luck, and I never would contradict him.”