THE BIRD-FAIRY SPEAKS
The children had been so busy chattering of fun to come, that it was all
of a sudden they realised they were in a glade which looked quite
enchanting, and with so many daisies about that Dulcie wanted to sit
down and weave those they gathered into a chain.
"Don't wait for that," said Cyril; "carry them in my handkerchief."
But when he felt in his pockets the handkerchief was not there. He must
have dropped it. Dulcie proposed that they should retrace their steps,
but sweet sounds of innumerable birds came from the high trees around
and filled the air--and they stayed to listen to the concert of trills,
chirrups, gentle call-notes, cadences, and bursts of tremulous song. And
now, against the deep blue sky hovered what looked like a cloud which
suddenly separated and descended, and the Twins found themselves face to
face with a most lovely being, surrounded by a ring of exquisite little
creatures, who danced to the continuous music of the Wood.
Cyril and Dulcie gazed at their beautiful companion, who stepped towards
them smiling graciously. She looked like a lovely young girl. Draped
about her was a wondrous garment of feathers of every hue. But she was
strange indeed, for her hands, clasped behind her, drew close together
two enormous wings which sprouted from her shoulders and formed part of
her white arms; whilst upon her shapely head among her black tresses was
the aigrette of the peacock. Her attendants had no aigrette, and their
feathered draperies were of sober brown. They were much smaller too,
smaller even than the Twins.
"I am the Bird-Fairy," she said in cooing tones, "and you are in need of
advice. I can----"
[Illustration: _"I am the Bird-Fairy," she said_]
"Not exactly, thanks. You _are_ pretty!" stammered Cyril, interrupting.
"It's because--we want to go our own way--at home we--" he stopped in
order to shake off Dulcie, who was tugging at his jacket.
"If you please," asked Dulcie shyly, "what advice?"
"It would be exactly contrary to the Wizard's," and the Fairy looked
serious.
"Thanks very much," interrupted Cyril; "but we do want to seek our
fortunes--to go on our adventures. It's a grand thing to do," he
explained, "specially for her--she's a girl. Besides, we can't cross the
Brook as children."
"Don't use those catseyes and it might be possible; that is, if you are
willing. Be warned! Let me carry you quickly to the other side and then
run home," said the Bird-Fairy anxiously.
Cyril shook his head, so Dulcie shook hers.
"It's always 'don't,'" he muttered. "It's sure to be all right, Dulcie,"
he said turning to her.
"Are you sure?" she inquired vaguely, with a lingering glance at the
Fairy, who had turned away sadly.
"It must be if we keep that last change as we arranged."
From the trees now issued forth sweet wood-birds of many kinds--the air
was thick with them; they circled three times round the fairy ring and
then all flew away, and the children were once more alone.
"Wasn't that beautiful? Ah!" sighed Dulcie, looking after them, "I wish
I could be one of them and sing like them."
Hardly were the words out of her mouth when Cyril began to stare about
in amazement. His sister was nowhere to be seen. Her disappearance was
so rapid that the earth might have swallowed her up.
"Dulcie, Dulcie," he cried. "Wherever are you? Come back at once when I
tell you!"
Nothing stirred in the stillness except the waving branches of the tall
trees--and a little bird that came and perched upon his shoulder and
began softly to trill into his ear what meant nothing to him. He stroked
its smooth plumage. His hand touched something hard around its throat.
He parted the feathers and found--a golden circlet set with catseyes,
one of which was missing.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "It's her!"
He was too flustered to talk grammar. "How fearfully quick the change
came about--only just a slight hint like that! I say! We _shall_ have
to look out! I wonder how you like it, you pretty little bird! I wish I
could understand those chirping sounds!"
Instantly he became like her--a lark. He understood her at once, and the
pair flew away, singing gaily as they rose together, fluttering up and
up, soaring high and ever higher into the blue azure of the cloudless
sky.
Never was there such a blissful sensation as that, flying heavenwards to
the music of their own making. Dancing at a party to the accompaniment
of a piano was mere ordinary child's play compared to the invigorating
delight of this new experience. The earth looked like a map, and they
realised now what was meant by a "bird's-eye view." After a time, still
singing, they dropped quickly down to earth. Then Cyril led the way into
the Wood, where they perched in one of the highest trees; and they
hopped about, scanning their surroundings, and awaiting the visits of
other little feathered inhabitants whose acquaintance they expected to
make. In the meantime they gleaned various scraps of news from certain
twitterings in the adjoining branches, some of which they clearly
overheard.
And it came as a shock that these twitterings were mostly complaints
about the scarcity of provisions; about starvation among the weak birds
who could not compete against the strong; about the unfair scrambling
for tit-bits which caused grievous bodily hurt. Then a painful rumour
was discussed about poor little Mother Starling, who had been taken
unawares by a wild beast with terrible whiskers who was seen to pounce
upon her and carry her off--and her husband, who still went about vainly
calling his mate and would not be comforted. They heard how, in the
hospitals under the hedges, things were in a bad way--how one patient
was down with a broken wing, with no hope of getting well in time to
migrate; and of others incurable, and resigned.
All this so depressed the two joyous young larks that they flew some
distance away, when through the leaves they discovered in the tree next
to them nothing less than the beautiful Bird-Fairy reclining asleep in
the branches with her retinue of little sprites in various attitudes all
around her, their shining eyes wide open, on guard.
The absolute silence proved too monotonous for our lively pair. So away
they flew again--miles and miles away into the open country, enjoying to
the fullest freedom found at last, feeding in the sun-gilded fields,
drinking from the pools, bathing in the sandy roads, and flying for all
they were worth in their youthful spirits. Life like this was life
indeed!
Their happiness seemed complete, when a sudden sense of horror struck
them both at the same moment, and hardly had they realised it when they
noticed something very large which had been poised above swooping
towards them, striking terror into their souls as it came. It was a
sparrow-hawk, and death was upon them. Instinctively they swerved out of
its terrible course, and commenced a series of short, zig-zag flights,
their eyes starting nearly out of their little heads with fright. The
enemy was strong on the wing and remorseless in purpose. The poor larks,
with hearts fluttering wildly, were becoming feeble and less alert. The
next second the hawk would seize one of its prey. The little bird gave
an agonised chirp, dropped like a stone to the ground, and changed into
Dulcie, affrighted and panting for breath. She looked anxiously upwards.
Her pursuer, baulked, turned and darted upon its second quarry. Too
late! Cyril had taken the strong hint, had also Wished, and now stood in
safety on the ground beside her.
"Come on!" he shouted to the surprised and baffled enemy. "Come on now,
and I'll wring your ugly neck!"
But the bird didn't wait to accept his polite invitation; and a moment
later it was out of sight, and out of mind, and the children found they
were again alone in the beautiful glade.
"I don't want to be a bird any more," said Dulcie when she had recovered
her composure.
"No, it's too risky," admitted her brother. "When that big dark thing
came in sight there was so little time to think what to do. That second,
too," he added with a shudder, "when I thought the brute had got you,
was too awful!"
She felt quite important now at having gone through such peril.
"I could never have imagined that birds had such a lot to put up with,"
mused Cyril as they walked on--"hunger and suffering, with the risk any
moment of being gobbled up!"
"There ought to be some one to take care of the poor things," remarked
Dulcie. "If it hadn't been for the catseyes we should have been eaten up
and ended like that." She glanced at the bracelet on her wrist and
added, with a timid look at her brother, "It seems safer as we are."
"Bosh!" he rejoined. "We want adventures. That's what we're going
for--and freedom. We had a ripping time as larks--till the end. It
certainly wasn't very comfortable then."