When the other birds are sound asleep in their nests, with their little
heads tucked comfortably under their feathers, Sister Nightingale, they
say, may not rest, but still sounds the notes of her beautiful song in
grove and thicket.
Why does she sing thus, all night long as well as through the day? It is
because she dares not go to sleep on account of the Blindworm, who is
waiting to catch her with her eyes closed.
Once upon a time, when the world was very new, the Blindworm was not
quite blind, but had one good eye. Moreover, in those days the
Nightingale also had but one eye. As for the Blindworm, it mattered very
little; for he was a homely creature, content to crawl about in the dark
underground, or under wood and leaves, where nobody saw him and nobody
cared. But the Nightingale's case was really quite too pitiful! Fancy
the sweetest singer among all the birds, the favorite chorister, going
about with but one eye, while every one else, even the tiniest little
Humming Bird of all, had two.
The Nightingale felt very sore about this matter, and tried to conceal
her misfortune from the other birds. She managed to cock her head the
other way whenever she met a friend, and she always flew past any
stranger so fast that he never saw the empty socket where her other
pretty eye should be.
But one day there was great excitement among the birds. Miss Jenny Wren
was going to be married to young Cock Robin. There was to be a grand
wedding; every one was invited, and of course the Nightingale was needed
to lead the bridal chorus of feathered songsters. But the poor
Nightingale was set in a flutter of anxiety by the news.
"Oh, dear me!" she said, "I do want to go to Jenny's wedding, oh, of
course I do! But how can I go? If I do, the other birds will discover
that I have but one eye, and then how the disagreeable creatures will
laugh at me. Oh dear, oh dear! What shall I do? I cannot go, no, I
really cannot. But what excuse can I give? Oh, it is not right that the
sweetest singer in all Birdland should be laughed at, merely because she
has the misfortune to lack one poor little eye!"
The Nightingale sat on the branch, singing so mournfully that all the
creatures on the ground below went sorrowfully about their daily
business. Just then the Nightingale spied a silvery gleam among the dead
leaves. It was the Blindworm, a spotted gray streak, writhing
noiselessly along towards the decayed wood of a fallen tree, in which he
loved to burrow. And the Blindworm was not sad like the others, neither
seemed he to care in the least about the Nightingale's music. Worms
think little of sweet sounds. He cocked his one eye up towards the
Nightingale and winked maliciously. He alone of all creatures knew the
Nightingale's secret.
"Good-day, Sister Nightingale," he said. "How is your eye this morning?
We have a goodly pair between us; though I think that mine is rather the
better of the two."
Then he disappeared into a tiny opening. For though the Blindworm is
nearly a foot long he is so smooth and slippery that he can enter a hole
which is almost smaller than himself.
The Nightingale was very indignant at being addressed in this familiar
way by a miserable, crawling creature who not only could not fly, but
who could not sing a note, and did not know _do_ from _fa_.
Besides, it made her angry to think that he knew her secret and talked
aloud about it so that any one might hear.
"The idea!" she cried. "It is bad enough that I cannot go to the wedding
of my dear friend Jenny. But to be jeered at by this creature, it is
more than I can bear. Ha! I have an idea. I will punish him and help
myself at the same time. I will steal his one eye and wear it to Jenny
Wren's wedding; then no one will ever discover my misfortune."
Now this was an excellent scheme, but it was not so easy to carry it out
as the Nightingale had thought. For the Blindworm was very timid and
kept himself carefully hidden in his burrow of soft soil, as if he half
suspected the Nightingale's plans. Day after day the Nightingale kept
eager watch upon his movements, and at last, on the very eve of the
wedding, when she had almost given up hope, she spied the Blindworm
sound asleep on the moss under a tall tree.
"Ha!" said the Nightingale to herself very softly. "Now is my chance!"
She fluttered into the top of the oak tree, and from there hopped down
from branch to branch, from twig to twig, until she was directly over
the sleeper's ugly head, over the one closed eye. Then _whirr_! Down
she pounced upon the Blindworm. And before the creature had a chance to
know what was happening, the Nightingale had stolen his eye, and had
popped it into place in the empty socket on the other side of her beak.
"Ha, ha!" she sang merrily. "Now I have two bright eyes, as good as any
one's. Now I can go to Jenny Wren's wedding as gayly as I please, and no
one shall see more of the ceremony than I. I shall be able to tell just
exactly how the bride is dressed, how every little feather is arranged,
and how she looks after Parson Crow has pronounced the blessing. Oh, how
happy I am!"
But the poor Blindworm, blind indeed from that day forth, began to cry
and lament, begging the Nightingale to give him back his eye.
"Nay," said the Nightingale, "did you not laugh at me when you saw me
sadly sitting on the tree, mourning because I could not go to the
wedding? Now I have stolen your eye, and I can see famously. But you
will never again see me sitting sadly on the tree."
Then the Blindworm grew very angry. "I will get the eye back!" he cried.
"I will steal it from you, as you stole it from me, some time when you
are asleep. I will climb up into your nest some night, and I will take
both your eyes of which you are so proud. Then you will be blind,
wholly blind as I am now."
At these threatening words the Nightingale ceased to sing and became
silent with fear. For she knew that the Blindworm would do as he said.
But again a brilliant thought came to her.
"Nay!" she trilled gladly. "That you shall never do. I will never sleep
again. I will keep awake always, night and day, with my two bright eyes
ever looking out for danger. Yes, yes, yes! No one shall ever catch me
napping."
"You cannot help yourself," said the Blindworm. "You cannot keep awake.
You will drowse in spite of everything. I shall yet find you asleep some
night, and then beware!"
"Nay, nay!" warbled the Nightingale, as she flew away to make herself
fine for the wedding. "I shall sing, sing, sing night and day henceforth
to keep myself awake. And thus I need not fear. Farewell-well-well!"
And so the Nightingale went to the wedding and sang more sweetly in the
bridal chorus than she had ever sung before. And after that, although
she was weary, oh, so weary! she sang all night long, and all the next
night and the next. And so she has continued to sing ever since in the
lands which are blessed by her presence. For she dares not go to sleep
even for a single moment, knowing that the Blindworm is ever ready to
pounce upon her and take away the eyes which she is now enjoying.