Ambrose told the story of the doctor's jackdaw at dinner-time to Miss
Grey, Nancy, and David, who were all very much interested. The two
latter began at once to recall memories of all the jackdaws who had
lived at the Vicarage.
"Do you remember the one which flew away in the gale?" said Nancy.
"David doesn't, of course. The wind blew the roof right off his house
in the night, and we never saw him again."
"The next one was the one which swallowed a thimble," said David--"and
died. And then mother said we mustn't have any more jackdaws. I
remember that one."
"No," corrected Nancy, "that wasn't the next. The next was the one
which got away for three days, and then the postman brought it back.
Then came the one that swallowed the thimble, and then, the day after
mother had said we were not to have another there came a strange one to
Andrew's cottage, and he brought it here for us."
There was a little dispute about the order in which the jackdaws came,
which led the conversation quite away from the doctor's loss. But after
dinner, when the children were in the garden, Ambrose began to talk of
it again.
"I wish," he said to David, "we could think of a way to help him to get
it back."
David did not answer at first. He was looking at Andrew, who was
sweeping the path at a little distance. Swish, swish, went his broom to
right and left amongst the yellow leaves, leaving a bare space in the
middle.
"Let's ask Andrew," said David suddenly.
Fortunately Andrew was in a good temper, and though he did not leave off
sweeping he listened to the story with attention.
"We want your advice," said Ambrose when he had done.
Andrew stopped his broom for an instant, took off his tall black hat,
and gazed into its depths silently.
"I should try a call-bird, master," he said as he put it on again.
"A call-bird?" repeated both the boys together.
Andrew nodded.
"Put a similar bird in a cage near to where t'other one used to be," he
said, "and like enough it'll call the old un back."
The boys looked at him with admiration. They had a hundred questions to
ask about call-birds, and Andrew's experience of them, but they soon
found that it was of no use to try to make him talk any more. Andrew
had said his say, and now he wanted to get on with his work.
"Isn't that a splendid thought?" said Ambrose as he and David turned
away. "I shall take Jack over with me to-morrow morning in a basket,
and put him into Dr Budge's cage."
"How do you suppose he'll call him back?" said David, who had become
deeply interested. "P'r'aps he'll be miles and miles away."
"Well, if he can't hear he won't come," answered Ambrose; "but he may be
quite near home, and only have lost his way."
"May I go with you?" was David's next question.
Ambrose hesitated. He felt that he would much rather have the whole
thing in his own hands.
"You might let me help to carry him as far as the gate," pursued David.
"After all, it was me that thought of asking Andrew."
"Well, then," said Ambrose, "you can ask Miss Grey if you may. But you
won't want to come further than the gate?" he added in a warning tone.
David could readily promise that, for he was a good deal afraid of Dr
Budge; and he ran off at once to get Miss Grey's consent.
This having been given, the two boys set off together the next morning,
with Jack in a basket between them making hard angry pecks at the side
of it the whole way.
They could see the doctor's cottage for some distance before they
reached it, and presently the doctor himself came out and stood at the
gate.
"When he sees the basket," remarked David, "he'll think we've found his
jackdaw, or p'r'aps he'll think we're bringing him a new one. Won't he
be disappointed?"
"I sha'n't give him time to think," said Ambrose. "I shall say, `I've
brought a call-bird,' directly I get to him."
David thought it would have been more to the purpose to say, "_We've_
brought a call-bird," but he did not wish to begin a dispute just then,
so he let the remark pass.
"Do you suppose," he said, "that he knows what a call-bird is?"
Ambrose gave a snort of contempt.
"Why, there's not a single thing he doesn't know," he answered. "He
knows everything in the world."
David's awe increased as they got nearer to the cottage and Dr Budge,
who stood with his hands in the pockets of his flannel dressing-gown
watching their approach.
"You'd better go back now," said Ambrose when they were quite close.
"I'll take the basket."
But David was not going to give up his rights, and he held firmly on to
his side of the handle.
"You said I might carry it to the gate," he replied firmly; and thus,
both the boys advancing, the basket was set down at the doctor's feet.
"It's a call-bird," said Ambrose very quickly, without waiting to say
good-morning, while David fixed his broadest stare on the doctor's face
to see the effect of the words.
Doctor Budge looked down at the basket, in which Jack now began to
flutter restlessly, and then at the two boys.
"A call-bird, eh?" he said. "And what may a call-bird be?"
Ambrose felt that David was casting a glance of triumph at him. Dr
Budge evidently did _not_ know everything in the world. He wished David
would go away, but in spite of the sharp nudge he had given him when
they put the basket down, he showed no sign of moving. The meaning of
the call-bird was soon made clear to the doctor, who listened
attentively and said it seemed a very good idea, and that he was much
obliged to them for telling him of it.
"It was Andrew who told us," broke in David, speaking for the first
time. "We didn't either of us know it before."
"You'd better go home now," said Ambrose, who saw that David did not
mean to notice any hints; "you'll be late for Miss Grey."
He took up the basket and gave his brother a meaning look. David's face
fell. He would have liked to see Jack put into the cage, but he had
promised not to want to go in. As he turned away rather unwillingly the
doctor's voice fell on his ear.
"No," it said. "David shall stay too and help. I will ask Miss Grey to
excuse him if he is late."
Very soon the two boys, with Dr Budge looking seriously on, had taken
Jack out of his basket and put him, in spite of pecks and struggles,
into the wicker cage. When this was hung in the medlar-tree just above
the bench, he became more composed, and seemed even proud of his new
position, but stood in perfect silence, turning his cold grey eye
downwards on the doctor and the boys.
"He doesn't look as if he meant to call," remarked David, "but I daresay
he'll wait till we're gone."
Although they were all unwilling to leave the jackdaw alone, it did not
seem to be of any use to stay there looking at him any longer. The
doctor and Ambrose therefore went indoors to their books, and David ran
quickly home to his lessons. But it was harder work than usual to
attend to Latin verbs and declensions, and Ambrose wondered if Dr
Budge's thoughts were as much with the jackdaw as his own.
The window looking into the garden had been left a little open so that
any unusual noise could be plainly heard in the room, but for some time
only the squeak of the doctor's pen broke the silence. Ambrose began to
despair. It would be very disappointing to find that the call-bird was
a failure, and very sad for the doctor to be without a jackdaw. Should
he give him his? He was fond of his jackdaw, but then he had other
pets, and the doctor was so lonely. He had only old brown books and
curiosities to bear him company.
Just as he was turning this over in his mind, there came a sudden and
angry cawing noise from the garden. Ambrose looked up and met the
doctor's eye; without a word they both started up and made for the
garden.
There was such a noise that the medlar-tree seemed to be full of
jackdaws engaged in angry dispute, but when they got close under it,
they found that there were only two. Ambrose's bird stood in the wicker
cage, making himself as tall and upright as he could, with all the
feathers on his head proudly fluffed up. He was uttering short
self-satisfied croaks, which seemed to add to the rage of the other bird
perched on a bough immediately above him. With his wings outspread, his
head flattened, and his beak wide open, he seemed beside himself with
fury at finding the stranger in his house. Screaming and scolding at
the top of his voice, he took no notice of Ambrose, who ran out before
the doctor and jumped up on the bench under the tree.
"Isn't it splendid?" he cried, looking back at his master. "He's come
back you see, and isn't he cross? Shall I try to get him down?"
In his excitement he spoke just as he would have done to David or Nancy.
"No, no," said the doctor hastily, his face redder than usual, and
putting his hand on Ambrose's shoulder, "he doesn't know you, you'd
scare him away. Let me come."
He mounted on the bench beside Ambrose and stretched his arm up through
the boughs of the tree.
"He knows my voice," he said. "Come, then, Jack."
Jack's only reply was an angry hiss, and a peck delivered at the
doctor's hand with the whole force of his body.
"You see he knows me," said the doctor smiling, "he always does that.
He's a little out of temper just now."
"Hadn't you better throw a duster over his head?" said Ambrose eagerly;
"that's a very good way to catch them."
"If he'd only let me scratch his poll," said the doctor, "he'd be all
right directly, but I can't get at him."
They were now joined by the doctor's housekeeper, who came out with her
arms folded in her apron to see what was going on. She stood looking at
the doctor's vain exertions a moment, and then said:
"Best take away t'other, master, he'll never come to ye else."
"Why, I wonder we never thought of that!" said the doctor at once,
lifting the cage off the bough. "I'm much obliged to you, Mrs Gill.
Perhaps you'd kindly take it indoors out of sight, and then we'll try
again."
Mrs Gill departed with the care, and the doctor once more reached up
his hand to the jackdaw.
"Come, then, Jack," he said in a soothing tone.
The bird hesitated a moment, and then, to Ambrose's great excitement,
stepped on to the offered finger, and allowed himself to be drawn down
from the tree. After this, his cage being brought out with no signs of
the stranger, and some choice morsels of food placed in it, he showed no
more bad temper, but marched in at the door, and began to eat greedily.
The doctor breathed a sigh of relief at this happy ending, and Ambrose,
with his own jackdaw in the basket again, stood by with a proud smile on
his face.
"Wasn't it a good plan?" he said. "And now you'll cut his wing, won't
you? else p'r'aps he'll get away again."
"We shall see, we shall see," said Dr Budge, reaching up to hang the
cage on its old nail in the window. "At any rate I am very much obliged
to you, and to David, and to Andrew--a friend in need is a friend
indeed."
It was wonderful, Ambrose thought on his way home, that Dr Budge had
remembered three names and got them all right. Nancy came running to
meet him at the white gate.
"Well," she cried, "has he come back?"
"It's all right," said Ambrose, "and Dr Budge is very much obliged to
us."
He spoke importantly, which was always trying to Nancy.
"Do you suppose," she continued, "that the doctor's jackdaw really heard
yours call, or would he have come back anyway?"
It struck Ambrose for the first time that his own jackdaw had not made a
single sound before the other one had returned. If he had called, it
would certainly have been heard through the open window of the study.
"Did you _hear_ him call?" persisted Nancy. "Because if you didn't, I
don't believe he had anything to do with it, and you might just as well
have left him at home."
Ambrose walked on very fast into the house, but there was no escape from
Nancy, who kept pace with him, insisting on a reply. The only one he
had to give was a very frequent one on such occasions:
"How silly you are, Nancy!" And he began to feel the gravest doubts as
to whether his jackdaw had really been of use.
Be this as it might, there was no doubt at all that Dr Budge was really
grateful, and as the days went on Ambrose began to like his master more
and more, and to feel quite at home with him. He seemed, since the
recovery of the jackdaw, to be much less absent-minded, and looked at
Ambrose now as though he were a boy and not a volume. Ambrose felt the
difference in the gaze which he often found kindly fixed on him, and it
made him think that he would like to ask Dr Budge's help in other
matters than lessons.
This was on his mind more strongly than usual one particular morning
when he had been to Dr Budge for about three weeks. Instead of opening
his books at once and setting to work as usual, he rested his elbow on
the top of the pile, gazed earnestly at his master, and presently gave a
deep sigh. Dr Budge was writing busily, and at first was quite
ignorant of the gaze, but at the sigh he looked up.
"Anything the matter, Ambrose?" he asked. "N-no," answered Ambrose.
"There's nothing the matter exactly, only to-day's mother's birthday."
"Well, there's nothing to look mournful about in that, is there?" asked
the doctor kindly. "Your mother will be home again soon, won't she?"
Ambrose looked down at his Latin grammar and got rather red.
"I was thinking," he said, "that we meant to open the museum to-day, and
now it can't ever be opened."
"How's that?" asked the doctor.
This question was hard to answer all at once, but it led to others until
the whole unlucky history of the crock and Miss Barnicroft's money, and
the failure of the museum, was unfolded. It took a very long time, but
as he went on Ambrose found it easier to talk about than he could have
supposed. The doctor was an admirable listener. He said almost
nothing, but you could see by his face, and the way in which he nodded
at the right places, that he was taking it all in. He did not seem
surprised either at anything in the affair, and treated it all with
great gravity, though from time to time his eyes twinkled very kindly.
"And so," he said when Ambrose had finished, "the museum's never been
opened?"
"Never really opened," said Ambrose, "and we wanted mother to do it on
her birthday. The worst of it is," he added more shyly, "that father
said he couldn't trust me any more. I mind that more than anything. It
doesn't so much matter for David, because he's such a little boy, but
I'm the eldest next to Pennie."
"But all this was some time ago," said the doctor. "Have you been
careful to be quite obedient ever since it happened?"
Ambrose thought a moment.
"I think so," he said. "You see there hasn't been much to be obedient
about, only just little everyday things which don't make any
difference."
"You want something hard to do, eh?" asked the doctor.
Ambrose nodded.
"There's nothing much harder to learn than obedience, my boy," said the
doctor, looking kindly at him. "It takes most of us all our lives to
learn it. Latin's much easier."
"But," said Ambrose with an uneasy wriggle, "being obedient doesn't
show. I want something to show father."
Dr Budge looked absently out of the window a moment, and Ambrose began
to be afraid that he had forgotten all about the subject. But he
suddenly looked round and said:
"_Better is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city_."
Seeing Ambrose's puzzled stare he continued:
"You see we must remember that the best and most useful things do not
always make the most noise in the world. The man who rules his spirit
to obedience does not do anything that `shows' at all. Very often no
one knows what he has done. The man who takes the city does it with
noise and tumult, and gets fame and praise. Yet of those two the first
perhaps does the harder thing, and may be more useful to his
fellow-creatures. And it is just the little common things which come
every day and don't show that we must be careful about, because they
keep us ready to obey in a great thing if we are called to do it. So if
I were you, Ambrose," said the doctor, smiling very kindly as he ended
this speech, "I would be careful about the things that don't show. Your
father will know then that he can trust you, though you may think they
are too little and common to make any difference."
Ambrose had never heard Dr Budge say so much before on any subject, and
indeed he was generally rather sparing of his words. It was all the
more flattering, therefore, that he should take all this trouble, and he
had looked so very kind while he was talking that Ambrose said to
himself, "I'm very glad we got his jackdaw back."
He went home full of the best resolutions possible, which he carried out
so well for the next few days that Nancy asked in surprise: "Why are you
so good?" feeling sure that something must have happened.
Dr Budge said nothing more about the museum or anything approaching it
for some days, and Ambrose thought he had forgotten all about it. He
was quite startled, therefore, when his master, suddenly leaning forward
over his desk, said one morning:
"I suppose you and David still want to fill the museum?"
"Oh, yes," he replied, "of course we do!"
"Well, then," said Dr Budge, "I want to go to the chalk-pit beyond
Rumborough to-morrow, and if you were both to go with me we might find
something that would do for it."
Ambrose was speechless. He stared at the doctor's kind red face almost
as though he was frightened at the proposal.
"I could give you some fossils of my own," said the doctor, glancing
round at his dusty treasures, "but it would be better to find something
for yourselves. You could learn a little by doing that."
"Would you really take us?" said Ambrose; "how awfully kind of you!" He
spoke under his breath, for it seemed too good to be true.
"You see," said the doctor, "one good turn deserves another. You and
David helped me to find Jack, so it is only fair that I should help you
to fill the museum. If we get on well you can open it when your mother
comes home, instead of on her birthday. Wouldn't that be a good plan?"
Ambrose hardly knew how he got over the road between the doctor's
cottage and the Vicarage that day, he was in such haste to tell the
wonderful news to David. They went up after dinner to the deserted
museum, and looked at it with fresh interest. It was dim and dusty now,
but how different it would be when it was filled with all the really
valuable objects they would find with the doctor's help! Did it want
any more shelves? they wondered. David had put up so many that there
was hardly a bare space left on the walls, and it was decided that for
the present no more should be added.
"But I'll tell you what," said David, "we'll get a mop, and a pail, and
a scrubbing-brush, and give it a regular good clean out. Then it'll be
quite ready."
The afternoon was spent happily in this way, Nancy looking wistfully in
at the door and longing to assist. As usual, however, she was not
allowed any part in the affairs of the museum, and after a few jeering
remarks she went slowly down-stairs.
"It _is_ dull," she said to herself, "now Pennie isn't at home."
Poor Nancy felt this more and more as the days went on. No Pennie, no
one in the nursery, and the boys entirely engaged in their new pursuit.
It was very dull. She would willingly have taken an interest in the
museum too, and when she heard that the boys were to go with the doctor
to the chalk-pit, she felt her lot was hard indeed. It was so exactly
what she would have liked, and yet because she was a girl she might have
no part in it. When they came home, full of importance and triumph,
with some ugly-looking stones and some very long names to write on the
labels, she followed them into the school-room.
"I wish I could go next time," she said, for the doctor had promised
another expedition soon. "I'm sure Dr Budge would like me to, and I
could find things every bit as well as you could."
"Dr Budge wouldn't want to teach girls," said David. "He teaches us
_jology_. Girls needn't know anything about _jology_."
"I don't want to," said Nancy frankly, "but I should love to go to the
chalk-pit with that funny old Dr Budge."
"Well," said David decidedly, "you can't have anything to do with the
museum. It's always been mine and Ambrose's. If we get a nice lot of
things," he added in a satisfied voice, "we mean to open it on the day
mother comes back."
"Oh dear me," exclaimed Nancy, "how I wish Saturday would come! Pennie
and I shall have lots to talk about then, which you don't know anything
about."
For it had been settled that Pennie was to return from Nearminster on
Saturday, and Nancy, feeling herself left outside all that was going on,
longed eagerly for the day. She would then have someone to talk to all
to herself, and there would also be lots to hear about Kettles. Pennie
certainly wrote long letters, but Nancy thought them not to be compared
to conversations, and she had so many questions to ask that were too
small to be written. Above all, there were the boots and stockings to
be bought. She would not do this alone, though when she passed the
village shop and saw them hanging up it was very hard to help going in.
So the time went on, very slowly for Nancy just now, but at last the
week ended and Saturday came.