BIRDLAND CITY.
"You are a wicked, cruel cat!" shrieked Gladys, breathlessly, chasing
Spottikins round and round the garden, and in and out amongst the
gooseberry bushes.
"A nasty, vicious, greedy horrid thing, to catch a poor little bird,
and then purr as if you'd done something clever! Oh--oh--I've got
you at last!"
She thumped Spottikins on the back, till she opened her mouth and a
small brown bird fell out of it.
Spottikins spat at Gladys--she really did. And then she walked off
with her fur bristling and her tail in the air, while Gladys picked
up the poor little Sparrow and took him into the nursery.
She made him a bed with an old shawl, and stroked his soft throat,
for it was wet where Spottikins had held him.
"She nearly choked the breath out of you," said Gladys, touching one
tiny claw. "And how dreadfully afraid you must have been!--What?"
She started back, for the claw suddenly fastened round her finger,
and the little bird perched himself on her wrist. He looked at her
sideways with his bright little eyes.
"I'm not afraid of anything," he chirped, and he began to preen his
feathers.
"Not afraid of anything?" repeated Gladys.
"No," continued the Sparrow. "It doesn't do to be afraid. Why, I
get pecked to death every night of my life," he said with emphasis,
gazing at Gladys the while in order to see what effect his words had
upon her.
"Pecked to death every night of life!" repeated Gladys. "That's
silly. You couldn't be."
The Sparrow chuckled wickedly.
"I was last night, anyway," he said. Gladys looked at him severely
for a moment or two, then she said:
"That's worse than silly. It's not true. Because if you had been
pecked to death, you wouldn't be alive now, would he, Freda?"
"Of course not," said Freda gravely. "You would be dead, you see."
"Oh, but I shouldn't," argued the Sparrow.
"Yes, you would," answered Gladys.
"I shouldn't."
"You would."
"Shouldn't."
Gladys was getting angry, when Tommy came bounding into the room.
Immediately she appealed to him.
"Tommy, if a--a--person, I mean a bird,--got pecked to death,
wouldn't he be dead now?"
"That's easy," said Tommy. "Of course he would. Why?"
"Well, this sparrow says he gets pecked to death every night and yet
he isn't dead."
Tommy surveyed the Sparrow with interest.
"I say, that's a little too tall," he remarked.
The Sparrow, who had now finished preening his feathers, began to
laugh in an aggravating manner.
"Well," he said at last between his chuckles, "I'm an actor, and
that's my part, you know. I'm the villain, and they peck me to
death. See?"
"Why couldn't you say so before," said Gladys crossly, "instead of
talking in that silly way. I wish Spottikins had eaten you. Yes, I
do."
"Here, shut up!" whispered Tommy in her ear. "Perhaps he will tell
us something about the play and all that, you know."
Then aloud to the Sparrow, he said:
"We should very much like to see you act your part. Will you tell us
where you are appearing just now?"
"Why, don't you know?" asked the Sparrow. "At the Hall-in-the-Wood,
of course, the most magnificent edifice in Birdland City, and we get
a full house every night, now that Cock Robin is on."
"Cock Robin, is it?" cried Freda. "Oh, how I should like to see him!
Robins are such dear little birds."
"I can't say I care much for this one," said the Sparrow trying to
reach a ruffle at the very back of his neck. "He's such a proud
little beggar, and gives himself dreadful airs, just because they
applaud so when he comes on the stage."
"How far is it to Birdland City?" asked Tommy in a business-like
voice.
"As far again as a half," replied the Sparrow, hopping to the window
sill.
"Oh, stop!--do stop just a minute!" cried Gladys suddenly. "I
rescued you from Spottikins, you know I did. Won't you tell us how
we can get to the Hall-in-the-Wood?"
"Can't stop. Rehearsal at twelve. Here, you can have these; come,
if you can," and out flew the Sparrow through the window, while the
children gazed after him open-mouthed.
Tommy was the first to recover himself.
"He threw something on the floor," he said, stooping to see what it
was.
"Why, it's three tickets for the play to-night!" exclaimed Freda.
"Look, Gladys, front seats too."
She held up three brown leaves, which had printed on them:
HALL-IN-THE-WOOD.
WHO KILLED COCK ROBIN?
To-night at eight.
Front Seats. Early Doors.
"We must go," cried Gladys. "Where's John James?"
"Here I am," replied the Golliwog, "What is it? Where are you going?"
"To Birdland City to see Cock Robin. Do you know the way, John
James? Oh, dear, we haven't got a ticket for you. What ever shall
we do?"
John James grinned.
"I can get in without one," he said. "They'll be only too glad to
get a notice in the _News_. And I'll tell you what, we might get
there early, and I'll go round to the back and interview Cock Robin,
and a few of 'em while they're making up."
"Oh, John James, how splendid!" cried Gladys, hugging him, "You do
think of lovely things."
"Don't kiss the paint off my nose," said John James disengaging
himself. "I must look as well as possible to-night. I shall try to
interview the Dove if I can, and she's a very particular person
indeed."
_Who'll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove,
For I mourn for my love.
I'll be chief mourner._
"Is that the one you mean?" asked Freda.
"The same," said John James, "and a prettier little piece of goods I
never saw."
"You don't like her better than me, do you?" asked Gladys anxiously.
John James got out his note book.
"We'd better be off," he said, "or we shan't be in time." And they
started off on the Golliwog and Teddy Bear Railway, before Gladys had
time to notice that he had not answered her question.
When they got out at Birdland City, they saw a board fixed in a
chestnut tree with these words on it:
"This way to the Hall-in-the-Wood," and a bird's claw pointed towards
the right direction.
"Right-oh," said Tommy striding along, and by and by they saw the
twinkling of lights in the distance, a strange building loomed up
before them, and the next minute they stood outside the
Hall-in-the-Wood.
It was very curiously fashioned, something like a huge tree, with
many wide spreading branches, where the audience could perch
comfortably. Although it was so early, a number of birds had already
assembled, and formed a long queue outside, waiting impatiently to be
let in. As the tickets which our friends now presented were for
admittance by "early doors," they were shown to their places without
any delay by an obsequious Chaffinch.
"I'll go round to the Green Room," whispered John James, and off he
went to the door at the back of the Hall, intent upon interviewing
Cock Robin.
He found that gentleman in a daintily furnished apartment,
upholstered in soft green moss.
"So you want to interview me, do you?" said the Robin
condescendingly, as the Golliwog was shown in.
"If you could spare me five minutes," replied John James.
"What paper do you represent?" enquired the Robin, as he put an extra
dash of colour on his scarlet breast, and then rubbed it off again.
John James presented his card.
"Hum!--_The Golliwog News_!" The Robin was visibly pleased. "Well,
you can ask me a few questions if you like," he said.
"Could you tell me anything interesting about your early days?" asked
John James sharpening his pencil.
The Robin considered.
"My ancestors were all highly respectable people," he said, "and all
of them possessed the dramatic instinct. My great grandfather was
one of the original Robins who placed dead leaves over the Babes in
the Wood. It was in this very wood, too, and not one hundred yards
from this very Hall. But that, of course, was years before this
place was built."
"I must make a special note of that," said John James.
"I have taken the part of Cock Robin for over three hundred nights,"
continued the vain little bird, "and received tremendous applause
every time. I don't want to sing my own praises, but I may venture
to say--and of course you need not put this in the paper, unless you
particularly wish to do so--that I am the most popular person in this
piece. In fact," he continued, in a low voice, "I am the chief
attraction."
"I quite agree with you," said John James suavely, writing rapidly.
"I suppose," he added, "that the other members of the company admire
and envy your histrionic powers?"
The Robin coughed, and surveyed himself in a large swinging mirror.
"Well, between you and me," he began confidentially, "they are all
jealous of my popularity, especially the Sparrow, whose very minor
part is as much as he can manage. I have heard on excellent
authority----"
Here a noise outside interrupted the Robin's flow of eloquence. A
rustle, rustle, as of a lady's silk petticoat, was heard in the
passage and a loud banging of doors sent a sudden draught through the
Hall-in-the-Wood. The door handle was turned, and as John James
looked up, a beautifully plumed grey Dove burst into the Robin's
private dressing-room.
When she saw the Robin she laughed immoderately.
"Oh, dear! I _am_ so sorry!" she cried, giggling very much, and
trying to stuff her handkerchief into her beak. "So stupid of me.
Hee-hee-hee. Forgive me, Mr. Robin, I opened the wrong door by
accident. Ho-ho-ho. You _do_ look smart. And who is the gentleman
with the note book? A newspaper man? Well, well! Come and see me
when you've finished here, and I'll tell you something to put in the
paper. Goodbye."
She rustled out again, banged the door behind her, and as she went to
her own room they could distinctly hear her faint "Hee-hee," and then
in shrill tones: "My dear, such a joke! I went into that _horrid_
Robin's room by accident, and----"
"Just like her!" cried the Robin wrathfully, when the last sound of
her voice had died away.
"She's always doing things like that. Well, you'll have to excuse me
now, Mr. Golliwog, or I shan't be ready when the curtain rises."
John James hurried away, and found the Dove without much difficulty.
A Wren was standing on a chair dropping something into her eyes to
make them look large and mournful. As John James was announced, she
was so startled that she tipped the bottle and the fluid ran all over
the Dove's feathers and down on to the floor.
"Careless thing!" said the Dove laughing, and giving the little Wren
a playful peck.
"Now you'd better wipe it up. Be off, and fetch Mr. Robin's silk
neckerchief--that will do nicely."
Then she turned to John James.
"I like worrying Mr. Robin," she remarked with a charming smile. "He
is so proud of his fancied popularity. And really, everyone knows
that he has nothing to do, only to lie still and be carried about in
a starch box. Now, my part requires genuine skill. Emotional, you
see. So difficult to manage one's voice."
"Have you been acting this part long?" asked John James, trying to
keep her strictly to the business in hand.
The Dove shut her eyes.
"Not very long. I am still so young you see. It seems only the
other day that mamma said to me----"
"May I ask what is your favourite recreation?" said John James.
"Walking, I think," was the reply, "with plenty of people looking on,
you know. But I can't keep it up very long. I get such a stiff
neck."
"I've made a note of that," said John James. "And your favourite
dish?"
"Green peas."
"And may I enquire," continued John James suavely, "what is your
favourite flower?"
"Orange blossom," sighed the Dove coyly. "So white, so pure, so
inno----"
"Yes--and what tooth-powder do you use?"
"Powdered gravel," she said; "it loosens the tongue and aids
conversation."
"And what toilet soap do you most affect?" said the Golliwog, still
writing busily.
"Lick-lick, of course. It is simply delightful! I recommended it to
Mr. Owl the other day and now he wouldn't be without it for worlds.
He tells me that sometimes when he is hungry, he simply makes a
lather of lick-lick and bathes in it. He finds it quite a tonic."
"Thank you," said John James. "We must let Mr. Purr-Catt know that."
"Don't mention him!" exclaimed the Dove, ringing hastily for the
Wren. "His very name makes my head ache."
There was no time for further conversation, as the curtain was timed
to rise in a very few minutes; so John James bade a hurried farewell
to Miss Dove, who seemed quite affected at parting with such a
pleasant fellow.
Hurrying back to Gladys and her friends John James had to follow
behind three old lady Owls who wore cobwebs tied over their heads.
They all glanced reproachfully at Gladys, Tommy and Freda, and one
remarked to the other that there seemed hardly room for a body to
perch.
"We do seem to take up rather a lot of room," said Gladys, but John
James only laughed and told her to sit as tight as she could or
someone else might get her place.
Birds were now rapidly arriving from all quarters, many of them in
evening dress, and there was a good deal of stir and flutter while
they were arranging themselves in their places.
"You're on my twig!" said a shrill, sharp voice suddenly, and,
looking round, our little party was confronted by an important
looking Blue Titmouse in a mustard coloured waistcoat.
The children apologised in chorus, and moved further along the branch.
"I've perched here every night since the Hall was opened," said the
new-comer slightly mollified, "and it's very annoying indeed when
other people take it. Ah, the orchestra is just beginning. I
thought I wasn't late."
Gladys, Tommy and Freda jail looked in the direction indicated, and
for a few minutes they were unable to take their eyes off these truly
wonderful musicians.
There were a dozen Bantam Cocks scraping on violins, and an equal
number of smart Cockerels, with bulging eyes and puffed-out cheeks,
behind as many silver cornets. Then, slightly elevated, sat a row of
fat Turkeys with crimson wattles, playing enormous 'cellos, and
punctuating the music with gobble--gobble--gobbles. Behind them
stood a number of Peacocks, piping tunefully on Clarionettes. Their
tails were outspread and formed a brilliant background.
At the piano sat an affected Goose, who appeared to be somewhat too
large for the music stool. She was deeply interested in her own
reflection, which shone in the polished piano case, and continually
arranged the feathers at her throat.
A Parrot with bright green plumage worked himself into a perfect
fury, trying, with his trombone, to drown the sound of bagpipes,
which were played to a great nicety by a Flamingo dressed in a kilt
and wearing a tam-o'-shanter.
A very thin Stork stood upon one leg beating a huge drum with the
other, while the conductor, Herr von Pelican, stood solemnly in
front, beating time with his beak.
Upon all sides of the three children rose a murmur of bird-chatter,
which they thought very amusing. The bird-gossip was something like
this:
"I should like to _kiss_ that sweet Cock Robin!"
"She's got the loveliest dress you ever saw. Green shot with----"
"Take those dirty claws off my waistcoat!"
"I always scream when the arrow flies----"
"No, they haven't built a nest yet, but I heard the other day----"
"If you don't stop chirping this very minute, I shall take you out!"
"Mind my cobweb, or you'll drag it off my head!"
"Have you been to the Bazaar? I am told things are going for a song!"
"Don't say I said so, but our neighbour Tim Jackdaw is losing all his
feathers----"
"My dear, imagine my horror! I went into the kitchen and found a
policeman sitting at the table eating my best----"
The children did not hear what dainty the policeman was devouring,
for at that moment the curtain rose, and the performance began.