The Parrot in his Shawl
[Illustration]
“That handkerchief
Did an Egyptian to my mother give:
She was a charmer, and could almost read
The thoughts of people.”--_Othello._
“That gipsy woman who is coming with her cart,” said the parrot, “is a
fairy too, and very malicious. It was she and others of her tribe who
caught us and put us into these cages, for they are more powerful than
we. Mind you do not let her allure you into the woods, nor wheedle you
or frighten you into giving her any of those fairies.”
“No,” said Jack; “I will not.”
“She sold us to the brown people,” continued the parrot. “Mind you do
not buy anything of her, for your money in her palm would act as a
charm against you.”
“She has a baby,” observed the parrot-wife, scornfully.
“Yes, a baby,” repeated the old parrot; “and I hope by means of that
baby to get her driven away, and perhaps get free myself. I shall try
to put her in a passion. Here she comes.”
There she was indeed, almost close at hand. She had a little cart; her
goods were hung all about it, and a small horse drew it slowly on, and
stopped when she got a customer.
Several gipsy children were with her, and as the people came running
together over the grass to see her goods, she sang a curious kind of
song, which made them wish to buy them.
Jack turned from the parrot’s cage as she came up. He had heard her
singing a little way off, and now, before she began again, he felt that
already her searching eyes had found him out, and taken notice that he
was different from the other people.
When she began to sing her selling song, he felt a most curious
sensation. He felt as if there were some cobwebs before his face,
and he put up his hand as if to clear them away. There were no real
cobwebs, of course; and yet he again felt as if they floated from the
gipsy-woman to him, like gossamer threads, and attracted him towards
her. So he gazed at her, and she at him, till Jack began to forget how
the parrot had warned him.
He saw her baby too, wondered whether it was heavy for her to carry,
and wished he could help her. I mean, he saw that she had a baby on her
arm. It was wrapped in a shawl, and had a handkerchief over its face.
She seemed very fond of it, for she kept hushing it; and Jack softly
moved nearer and nearer to the cart, till the gipsy-woman smiled, and
suddenly began to sing:
“My good man--he’s an old, old man--
And my good man got a fall,
To buy me a bargain so fast he ran
When he heard the gipsies call:
‘Buy, buy brushes,
Baskets wrought o’ rushes.
Buy them, buy them, take them, try them,
Buy, dames all.’
“My old man, he has money and land,
And a young, young wife am I.
Let him put the penny in my white hand
When he hears the gipsies cry:
‘Buy, buy laces,
Veils to screen your faces.
Buy them, buy them, take and try them,
Buy, maids, buy.’”
When the gipsy had finished her song, Jack felt as if he was covered
all over with cobwebs; but he could not move away, and he did not mind
them now. All his wish was to please her, and get close to her; so when
she said, in a soft wheedling voice, “What will you please to buy,
my pretty gentleman?” he was just going to answer that he would buy
anything she recommended, when, to his astonishment and displeasure,
for he thought it very rude, the parrot suddenly burst into a violent
fit of coughing, which made all the customers stare. “That’s to clear
my throat,” he said, in a most impertinent tone of voice; and then
he began to beat time with his foot, and sing, or rather scream out,
an extremely saucy imitation of the gipsy’s song, and all his parrot
friends in the other cages joined in the chorus.
“My fair lady’s a dear, dear lady--
I walked by her side to woo.
In a garden alley, so sweet and shady,
She answered, ‘I love not you,
John, John Brady,’
Quoth my dear lady,
‘Pray now, pray now, go your way now,
Do, John, do!’”
At first the gipsy did not seem to know where that mocking song came
from, but when she discovered that it was her prisoner, the old parrot,
who was thus daring to imitate her, she stood silent and glared at
him, and her face was almost white with rage.
When he came to the end of the verse he pretended to burst into a
violent fit of sobbing and crying, and screeched out to his wife,
“Mate! mate! hand up my handkerchief. Oh! oh! it’s so affecting, this
song is.”
Upon this the other parrot pulled Jack’s handkerchief from under her
wing, hobbled up, and began, with a great show of zeal, to wipe his
horny beak with it. But this was too much for the gipsy; she took a
large brush from her cart, and flung it at the cage with all her might.
This set it violently swinging backwards and forwards, but did not stop
the parrot, who screeched out, “How delightful it is to be swung!” And
then he began to sing another verse in the most impudent tone possible,
and with a voice that seemed to ring through Jack’s head, and almost
pierce it.
“Yet my fair lady’s my own, own lady,
For I passed another day;
While making her moan, she sat all alone,
And thus and thus did she say:
‘John, John Brady,’
Quoth my dear lady,
‘Do now, do now, once more woo now,
Pray, John, pray!’”
“It’s beautiful!” screeched the parrot-wife, “and so ap-pro-pri-ate.”
Jack was delighted when she managed slowly to say this long word
with her black tongue, and he burst out laughing. In the meantime a
good many of the brown people came running together, attracted by the
noise of the parrots and the rage of the gipsy, who flung at his cage,
one after the other, all the largest things she had in her cart. But
nothing did the parrot any harm; the more violently his cage swung, the
louder he sang, till at last the wicked gipsy seized her poor little
young baby, who was lying in her arms, rushed frantically at the cage
as it flew swiftly through the air towards her, and struck at it with
the little creature’s head. “Oh, you cruel, cruel woman!” cried Jack,
and all the small mothers who were standing near with their skinny
children on their shoulders screamed out with terror and indignation;
but only for one instant, for the handkerchief flew off that had
covered its face, and was caught in the wires of the cage, and all the
people saw that it was not a real baby at all, but a bundle of clothes,
and its head was a turnip.
Yes, a turnip! You could see that as plainly as possible, for though
the green leaves had been cut off, their stalks were visible through
the lace cap that had been tied on it.
Upon this all the crowd pressed closer, throwing her baskets, and
brushes, and laces, and beads at the gipsy, and calling out, “We will
have none of your goods, you false woman! Give us back our money, or we
will drive you out of the fair. You’ve stuck a stick into a turnip, and
dressed it up in baby clothes. You’re a cheat! a cheat!”
“My sweet gentlemen, my kind ladies,” began the gipsy; but baskets and
brushes flew at her so fast that she was obliged to sit down on the
grass and hold up the sham baby to screen her face.
While this was going on, Jack felt that the cobwebs which had seemed
to float about his face were all gone; he did not care at all any more
about the gipsy, and began to watch the parrots with great attention.
He observed that when the handkerchief stuck between the cage wires,
the parrots caught it, and drew it inside; and then Jack saw the
cunning old bird himself lay it on the floor, fold it crosswise like a
shawl, and put it on his wife.
Then she jumped upon the perch, and held it with one foot, looking
precisely like an old lady with a parrot’s head. Then he folded Jack’s
handkerchief in the same way, put it on, and got upon the perch beside
his wife, screaming out, in his most piercing tone:
“I like shawls; they’re so becoming.”
Now the gipsy did not care at all what those inferior people thought of
her, and she was calmly counting out their money, to return it; but
she was very desirous to make Jack forget her behaviour, and had begun
to smile again, and tell him she had only been joking, when the parrot
spoke, and, looking up, she saw the two birds sitting side by side, and
the parrot-wife was screaming in her mate’s ear, though neither of them
was at all deaf:
“If Jack lets her allure him into the woods, he’ll never come out
again. She’ll hang him up in a cage, as she did us. I say, how does my
shawl fit?”
So saying, the parrot-wife whisked herself round on the perch, and
lo! in the corner of the handkerchief were seen some curious letters,
marked in red. When the crowd saw these, they drew a little farther
off, and glanced at one another with alarm.
“You look charming, my dear; it fits well!” screamed the old parrot in
answer. “A word in your ear, ‘Share and share alike’ is a fine motto.”
“What do you mean by all this?” said the gipsy, rising, and going with
slow steps to the cage, and speaking cautiously.
“Jack,” said the parrot, “do they ever eat handkerchiefs in your part
of the country?”
“No, never,” answered Jack.
“Hold your tongue and be reasonable,” said the gipsy, trembling. “What
do you want? I’ll do it, whatever it is.”
“But do they never pick out the marks?” continued the parrot. “O Jack!
are you sure they never pick out the marks?”
“The marks?” said Jack, considering. “Yes, perhaps they do.”
“Stop!” cried the gipsy, as the old parrot made a peck at the strange
letters. “Oh! you’re hurting me. What do you want? I say again, tell me
what you want, and you shall have it.”
“We want to get out,” replied the parrot; “you must undo the spell.”
“Then give me my handkerchief,” answered the gipsy, “to bandage my
eyes. I dare not say the words with my eyes open. You had no business
to steal it. It was woven by human hands, so that nobody can see
through it; and if you don’t give it to me, you’ll never get out--no,
never!”
“Then,” said the old parrot, tossing his shawl off, “you may have
Jack’s handkerchief; it will bandage your eyes just as well. It was
woven over the water, as yours was.”
“It won’t do!” cried the gipsy in terror; “give me my own.”
“I tell you,” answered the parrot, “that you shall have Jack’s
handkerchief; you can do no harm with that.”
By this time the parrots all around had become perfectly silent, and
none of the people ventured to say a word, for they feared the malice
of the gipsy. She was trembling dreadfully, and her dark eyes, which
had been so bright and piercing, had become dull and almost dim; but
when she found there was no help for it, she said:
“Well, pass out Jack’s handkerchief. I will set you free if you will
bring out mine with you.”
“Share and share alike,” answered the parrot; “you must let all my
friends out too.”
“Then I won’t let you out,” answered the gipsy. “You shall come out
first, and give me my handkerchief, or not one of their cages will I
undo. So take your choice.”
“My friends, then,” answered the brave old parrot; and he poked Jack’s
handkerchief out to her through the wires.
The wondering crowd stood by to look, and the gipsy bandaged her eyes
tightly with the handkerchief; and then, stooping low, she began to
murmur something and clap her hands--softly at first, but by degrees
more and more violently. The noise was meant to drown the words she
muttered; but as she went on clapping, the bottom of cage after cage
fell clattering down. Out flew the parrots by hundreds, screaming and
congratulating one another; and there was such a deafening din that not
only the sound of her spell but the clapping of her hands was quite
lost in it.
But all this time Jack was very busy; for the moment the gipsy had tied
up her eyes, the old parrot snatched the real handkerchief off his
wife’s shoulders, and tied it round her neck. Then she pushed out her
head through the wires, and the old parrot called to Jack, and said,
“Pull!”
Jack took the ends of the handkerchief, pulled terribly hard, and
stopped. “Go on! go on!” screamed the old parrot.
“I shall pull her head off,” cried Jack.
“No matter,” cried the parrot; “no matter--only pull.”
Well, Jack did pull, and he actually did pull her head off! nearly
tumbling backward himself as he did it; but he saw what the whole thing
meant then, for there was another head inside--a fairy’s head.
Jack flung down the old parrot’s head and great beak, for he saw that
what he had to do was to clear the fairy of its parrot covering. The
poor little creature seemed nearly dead, it was so terribly squeezed
in the wires. It had a green gown or robe on, with an ermine collar;
and Jack got hold of this dress, stripped the fairy out of the parrot
feathers, and dragged her through--velvet robe, and crimson girdle,
and little yellow shoes. She was very much exhausted, but a kind brown
woman took her instantly, and laid her in her bosom. She was a splendid
little creature, about half a foot long.
“There’s a brave boy!” cried the parrot. Jack glanced round, and saw
that not all the parrots were free yet, the gipsy was still muttering
her spell.
He returned the handkerchief to the parrot, who put it round his own
neck, and again Jack pulled. But oh! what a tough old parrot that was,
and how Jack tugged before his cunning head would come off! It did,
however, at last; and just as a fine fairy was pulled through, leaving
his parrot skin and the handkerchief behind him, the gipsy untied her
eyes, and saw what Jack had done.
“Give me my handkerchief!” she screamed in despair.
“It’s in the cage, gipsy,” answered Jack; “you can get it yourself. Say
your words again.”
But the gipsy’s spell would only open places where she had confined
fairies, and no fairies were in the cage now.
“No, no, no!” she screamed; “too late! Hide me! O good people, hide me!”
But it was indeed too late. The parrots had been wheeling in the air,
hundreds and hundreds of them, high above her head; and as she ceased
speaking, she fell shuddering on the ground, drew her cloak over her
face, and down they came, swooping in one immense flock, and settled so
thickly all over her that she was completely covered; from her shoes to
her head not an atom of her was to be seen.
All the people stood gravely looking on. So did Jack, but he could not
see much for the fluttering of the parrots, nor hear anything for their
screaming voices; but at last he made one of the cross people hear when
he shouted to her, “What are they going to do to the poor gipsy?”
“Make her take her other form,” she replied; “and then she cannot hurt
us while she stays in our country. She is a fairy, as we have just
found out, and all fairies have two forms.”
“Oh!” said Jack; but he had no time for more questions.
The screaming, and fighting, and tossing about of little bits of cloth
and cotton ceased; a black lump heaved itself up from the ground among
the parrots; and as they flew aside, an ugly great condor, with a bare
neck, spread out its wings, and, skimming the ground, sailed slowly
away.
“They have pecked her so that she can hardly rise,” exclaimed the
parrot fairy. “Set me on your shoulder, Jack, and let me see the end of
it.”
Jack set him there; and his little wife, who had recovered herself,
sprang from her friend the brown woman, and sat on the other shoulder.
He then ran on--the tribe of brown people, and mushroom people, and
the feather-coated folks running too--after the great black bird, who
skimmed slowly on before them till she got to the gipsy carts, when
out rushed the gipsies, armed with poles, milking-stools, spades, and
everything they could get hold of to beat back the people and the
parrots from hunting their relation, who had folded her tired wings,
and was skulking under a cart, with ruffled feathers and a scowling eye.
Jack was so frightened at the violent way in which the gipsies and the
other tribes were knocking each other about, that he ran off, thinking
he had seen enough of such a dangerous country.
As he passed the place where that evil-minded gipsy had been changed,
he found the ground strewed with little bits of her clothes. Many
parrots were picking them up, and poking them into the cage where the
handkerchief was; and presently another parrot came with a lighted
brand, which she had pulled from one of the gipsies’ fires.
“That’s right,” said the fairy on Jack’s shoulder, when he saw his
friend push the brand between the wires of what had been his cage, and
set the gipsy’s handkerchief on fire, and all the bits of her clothes
with it. “She won’t find much of herself here,” he observed, as Jack
went on. “It will not be very easy to put herself together again.”
So Jack moved away. He was tired of the noise and confusion; and the
sun was just setting as he reached the little creek where his boat lay.
Then the parrot fairy and his wife sprang down, and kissed their hands
to him as he stepped on board, and pushed the boat off. He saw, when
he looked back, that a great fight was still going on; so he was glad
to get away, and he wished his two friends good-bye, and set off, the
old parrot fairy calling after him, “My relations have put some of our
favourite food on board for you.” Then they again thanked him for his
good help, and sprang into a tree, and the boat began to go down the
wonderful river.
“This has been a most extraordinary day,” thought Jack; “the strangest
day I have had yet.” And after he had eaten a good supper of what the
parrots had brought, he felt so tired and sleepy that he lay down in
the boat, and presently fell fast asleep. His fairies were sound asleep
too in his pockets, and nothing happened of the least consequence; so
he slept comfortably till morning.
[Illustration: A great fight was still going on.]