"I call no names, I only say what I think, and how can I help it, when
it is only just now you cried so, because you said mamma had given me a
larger piece of cake than yourself; for you must know," he continued,
turning to Mary, "we have both had one piece before, and she half of
mine to make her quiet; and then she cried again because a piece was
put by for you and Anne, and she cannot be contented now, though Anne
shares hers amongst us. If this is not being greedy, I do not know what
greedy means. It is no names, it is only saying what a thing is."
"Now I know another thing," said Anne; "when mamma called me to receive
my piece of cake, she said, 'And you shall take a piece also to Mary,'
but when she unfolded the paper, there was only _one_ piece; mamma did
not say anything, but I think she _thought_ something."
At this remark, Frances redoubled her crying, but, for the sake of a
share of the present feast, did not attempt to leave the party. No more
was said, and the feast was concluded in good humor by all except the
conscious greedy girl, and they then all went into the garden together
to finish their hour's recreation before they were called again to
their lessons.
There was a little plantation of young fir-trees at one corner of the
garden, intended to grow there for shelter from the north-west wind:
the grass was so high amongst them, that the gardener had orders to go
and carefully mow it down. He was engaged in the business when the
children ran out to see him work.
"Hush! hush!" he exclaimed, as they approached, "I have just cleared a
bough from the grass, and see what's there!"
All curiosity, they went forward on tip-toe, and were directed to
something lodged on the spreading branch of a young larch.
"A bird's nest!" said William.
"A bird's nest!" they all repeated. "But what is in it, I cannot tell."
"Look steadily," said the gardener, "and you will find out."
It was difficult to trace what it was; something all in a heap, brown
naked skin; alive, as might be known by the heaving breathing. William
putting his finger to touch them, immediately four wide mouths
stretched open, with little tongues raised, and the opening of their
throats extended to the utmost.
"Look at the little things," said William; "they thought their mother
was come when I touched the branch, and they have opened their mouths
to be ready to receive what she would put in.
"They are _blind_!" said William.
"Yes, they cannot have been hatched more than two days."
"Will they take what the mother gives them?" asked William.
"Yes," said the man, "they trust her, and swallow down what she puts
into their mouths."
"I wish the mother would come," said Anne.
"But she will not whilst we are here," William replied.
"Touch it again, William," said Frances.
William touched the edge of the nest "See!" said he, "they think the
mother is come, they stretch, their months still wider."
"Hark!" said Mary, "what an impatient noise they make: they look ready
to stretch themselves out of their nest, and as if their little mouths
would tear."
"Poor little things! do not disappoint them, give them something," said
Anne.
"We have not proper food for them," said William.
"I will run and fetch some crumbs," said Mary.
Mary soon returned with a piece of bread, and giving it to her brother
as the most experienced, he broke it into extremely small crumbs, and,
again touching the nest, awakened the expectation of the young birds:
they opened their mouths wide, and as he dropped a small crumb into
each, they moved their tongues, trying to make it pass down into their
throat. "Poor little things, they cannot swallow well, they want the
mother to put it gently down their throat with her beak."
"See! see!" said all the girls, "they want more, give them more."
William dropped his crumbs again.
"More, more, William; see! they are not satisfied."
"I dare not give them more for fear of killing them, we cannot feed
them like the mother. We will stand still at a little distance, and you
will see them go to sleep." When all was quiet, the little nestlings
shut their mouths, and dropped their heads.
"I should like to see the mother feed them."
"You would see how much better she would do it than we can; perhaps, if
we could conceal ourselves behind that laurel, she would come, but she
will be very frightened, because all is so altered now the grass is cut
down, and her nest is exposed; but I dare say she is not for off, she
will be watching somewhere."
They took William's hint, and retreated behind the laurel; they had not
waited ten minutes, before the hen bird flitted past, and, darting over
the larch, as if to inspect whether her little brood was safe, she
disappeared again. In a few minutes more, she returned, skimming round
to reconnoitre that all was safe, she perched upon the nest. Instantly
the little nestlings were awake to the summons of her touch and chirp,
and, opening their mouths wide, were ready for what she would give. She
dropt a small fly into the mouth of one of them, and, having no more,
flew away to provide for the other hungry mouths as fast as she could.
As soon as she was gone, they again shut their mouths, and dropt their
heads in silence.
"What a little bit she gave them," said Frances.
"Yes," answered William, "but she knows it is _plenty_."
"How contented the others seem to wait till she comes again!"
"Yes, Mary," William again answered, unable to resist the comparison
which had come to his mind, "they did not take the little bit away from
the other. Shall we wait till she comes again?"
"O do."
"Very well, I want to see whether the one that was fed first will take
away the bit the others got."
The allusion made a little laugh, but, seeing that Frances understood
and felt that it applied to her, Anne said, "Do not let us tease
Frances; it is better to tell her at once what her fault is, than to
seem to like to hurt her."
"Indeed, dear Anne, I have not spared to tell her, her fault, as she
knows very well, for she has often given me reason, but I cannot make
her ashamed of such things; and I know mamma is very uneasy to see it
in her."
Frances looked grave, but did not cry; turning pale, however, she said,
"O Mary take me out of this laurel--I am so sick!"
Mary hastened to take her into the freer air, but all in vain. The
sisters were alarmed, and took her in to their mamma; who received her
gravely, without expressing any concern for her indisposition.
"What can we do for Frances, mamma? Will you let her have your smelling
bottle, or shall I run and get some sal volatile?"
"Neither, my dear Mary; it is an indisposition caused by her own
selfish appetite, and probably the relief may be obtained by her
stomach rejecting what she so improperly forced upon it. We will wait a
short time, and if not, I will give her something less palatable,
perhaps, than plum-cake, but necessary to remove it."
Frances was too ill to make any remark; she became paler still, and
then quickly flushed almost a crimson color, her eyes were oppressed,
and her eyebrows contracted, and she impatiently complained,
"O my head! how it beats! What shall I do, mamma?"
"Bear the consequences of your own inordinate appetite, Frances, and
learn to subject it to the wholesome rules of temperance."
"O the nasty plum-cake! I wish you had not given me any, mamma."
"You _once_ thought the plum-cake _nice_, and you would not be
contented with the small portion I knew to be sufficient and safe for
you."
"O my head! I think it is very cruel, mamma, that you do not pity me."
"I do pity you, Frances, and will take care of you now that I see you
require help, as I perceive that you will not have any relief without
medicine."
Frances began again to cry, "O, I am so sick! I cannot take medicine. I
am sure I cannot."
"Come to your room, Frances; I shall give you something proper, and you
had better lie down after you have taken it; you will, perhaps, drop
into a sleep, and be well when you awake again." Her mamma took her
hand and led her up stairs, and Frances knew very well it was in vain
to make any objection, as her mamma always made a point of obedience.
The medicine was administered, although for some time Frances refused
to look at it. When she laid down, her mamma placed the pillow high
under her head, and, drawing the curtain to shade the light, left the
room that she might be perfectly quiet. And when she returned to the
drawing-room, she inquired of the other children what they had been
doing, and received a full account of the feast, and the bird's nest,
and all the little circumstances of each.
It was time to resume their studies, and, except that Frances was not
in her usual place, all things proceeded as before. When the lessons
were finished, they entreated their mamma to go with them, and see the
bird's nest."
"It is _so_ pretty, mamma!" said Anne; "and they know when the mother
comes, and they take what she puts into their mouths."
"We will first inquire after Frances," she answered; "if she is well
enough, she can accompany us."
"I will run up, if you will be putting on your bonnet and shawl, mamma."
"Very well, I hope you will find her recovered, we will wait your
return."