Norman had intended to run away and hide himself should he find that he
really had killed the little bird. He was sure that Fanny and everybody
else would be ready to beat him, but her gentle, though reproachful,
tone greatly calmed his fears.
"If she is not angry, I suppose that others will not be," he thought, as
he stood by her side, with his eyes still fixed on the dead bird. "I
wish I had not done it; if I had frightened her by merely letting the
book drop near the bird, it would have been enough. Oh dear! oh dear!
I wish I could bring it to life again! Can it really be dead?"
As these expressions were uttered in a very low voice, they did not
reach Fanny's ears. For some minutes she did not move. He could not
longer endure to watch her silent grief.
"Fanny," he said, in a gentle voice, very unusual for him, "is little
Pecksy really dead? Do look and see; perhaps you can make it come to
life again. I wish you could; I am so sorry I hit it so hard."
Fanny lifted her head from her hands, and turned her eyes towards the
little bird. She got up from her chair, and examined it carefully.
"Give it something to eat, perhaps that will make it move about,"
suggested Norman.
Fanny shook her head. She tried to open its beak, but could not
succeed.
"O Norman, it already feels quite cold. It cannot open its beak, and
its legs are stiff. It will never hop about any more, or pick up
crumbs, or come flying to me, or sing in the morning to wake me up;
poor, dear, little Pecksy is really dead."
All this time she did not utter a word of anger or reproach. Instead of
rushing at Norman and boxing his ears, as he had expected, she stood
still, contemplating with grief her dead bird. Again the tears trickled
from her eyes. For the first time in his life Norman felt ashamed of
himself.
"I am very sorry," he murmured; "I did not intend to kill the bird."
"I was sure you did not," she said. "I do not think any human being
could be so cruel."
"No, I did not--I did not," said Norman. "But do you think that anybody
else can make it live again?"
"Oh, no, no; I am sure no one can," answered Fanny.
"Then, what are you going to do? Tell them all that I killed it?" asked
Norman.
"I would rather you did that yourself," said Fanny. "I cannot; it would
break my heart to talk about it, and I should be so very, very sorry to
say how it happened."
"Then you really mean to say that you do not wish to tell granny or
mamma, or to get Mr Maclean to whip me?" he asked, in a tone of
surprise.
"Yes, indeed, Norman, I would much rather not have to tell granny or
mamma, and I have not for a moment thought of asking Mr Maclean to
punish you."
"Still, they must all know it," said Norman, "and what will they do when
you tell them?"
"They would, of course, be very angry if they could think you did it on
purpose," said Fanny. "That is the reason why I wish you to tell them
yourself. Mamma, and granny, and Mrs Maclean are in the drawing-room
now, and they will be wondering why I am so long away. Could you not go
in at once and tell them what has happened, and ask granny to come to
me. I cannot go in by myself with poor little Pecksy in my hand. It
would make them all so sad."
Norman felt very unwilling to do as his sister advised, still he could
not help seeing that it was the best plan, though a very disagreeable
one. In consequence of the way Fanny had spoken to him, he had no
longer any fears about himself.
"If she is not angry with me, they cannot be." He stood, however,
irresolute for some time, thinking whether he would or would not go--if
he did go, what he should say. Fanny again urged him to go at once.
"If you do not, I must, as I cannot stay longer away from the
drawing-room," she said.
Norman at last made up his mind to go. He approached the drawing-room
door, but stood outside before he could venture to turn the handle.
"I wish I had not killed that bird," he again said to himself. "It did
me no harm, and Fanny does not treat me as I thought she would, and as I
should have treated her if she had killed a bird of mine which I was
fond of. I should have flown at her, and kicked her, and scolded at her
day after day, and do not think I should ever have forgiven her; but she
does not even say a word to me, and tries to think that I did not wish
to hurt the bird. I knew well enough that big book would kill the
little creature, and I tried to make it fall just on the top of it. I
know I did; and all because I was angry with Fanny, and that little
Robby, and his grandfather who gave her the bird. I only wish that they
all would be very angry. It would be better than treating me as Fanny
has done."
At last Norman put his hand on the door handle. He turned it, and
entering, walked forward till he stood before the three ladies, who were
seated at their work.
"Well, Norman, what brings you here? We thought you were out fishing
with the laird," said his granny, looking up from under her spectacles.
"I have been and thrown a book on Fanny's bird, and it's dead. She
asked me to come and tell you," said Norman in a gruff voice; "and,
granny, she wants you to go to her. I wish I had not done it, that's
all I have got to say."
Having uttered these words he stood stock still, as if he was ready to
receive any scoldings the ladies might think fit to administer.
"You have killed Fanny's bird!" exclaimed Mrs Leslie and his mamma.
"What, could make you do that?"
"I don't know, I wish I hadn't; but I am not going to say any more,"
answered Norman.
"I will go to poor Fanny and try to comfort her, if the bird is really
dead," said Mrs Leslie rising.
"Norman, come here," said his mamma, as soon as his granny had left the
room. "If you have really killed Fanny's bird on purpose, you have done
a cruel thing. We are expecting your papa here this afternoon. When he
hears of it, he will, I am sure, be very angry, and will punish you as
he did the other day, before we left home."
"I do not mind if he does," said Norman. "When I threw the book, I did
not care whether I killed the bird or not."
"I am afraid that Norman is a very naughty boy," observed Mrs Maclean,
who did not understand the feeling which prompted him to say this. "You
know the advice I have often given you, my dear Mary, and I hope when
Captain Vallery comes, he will see the necessity of punishing him when
he behaves ill, more severely than he appears hitherto to have done."
Norman looked up at Mrs Maclean with a frown on his brow. He was
beginning again to harden his heart, which had been softened by Fanny's
grief and the gentle way she had spoken to him.
"I don't thank you for saying that, old lady," he thought. "If papa
whips me, I shall remember who advised him to do so," and he determined
to say no more. In vain his mamma and Mrs Maclean asked him why he had
killed the bird, the latter continuing to scold him severely for some
minutes.
At last Mrs Leslie came back leading Fanny, whose countenance still
showed traces of her grief. As she entered the room she heard Mrs
Maclean's last remarks.
"Oh, do not scold Norman," she said coming up to her, "do not be angry,
dear mamma! I am sure he is very sorry for what he has done, and I want
to forgive him; indeed I do, I do not wish that he should be punished in
any way."
Norman had not for a moment supposed that his sister would attempt to
defend him, and, touched by her forgiving spirit, he ran up to her and
took her hand.
"Thank you, Fanny," he said, "I do not mind how much scolding I get, for
I deserve it, and I wish you would scold me too, but yet I can bear from
others much more than I can from you."
Fanny only replied by kissing him. She then took his hand.
"Come with me, Norman," she said, "granny has been telling me what we
had better do, and if you will help me we will do it at once. Granny
has promised that she will not scold you," she whispered in his ear.
Norman cast a half-timid grateful glance at his granny, he did not
venture to look at Mrs Maclean and mamma, and willingly accompanied
Fanny out of the room. "What is it you want to do, Fanny?" he asked as
she led him back into the study.
"I want you to help me to bury poor Pecksy," she answered. "Granny
says, that as long as we see him, we shall be thinking about him, but
that if he is buried, we shall by degrees forget all about this sad
event, and we will therefore bury him as soon as we can. I propose that
we should get the little cart, and and that we should put some boughs on
it, and place Pecksy on the top of them, and draw him to a quiet part of
the grounds, and that you should dig a grave. We will then put a
tomb-stone, and I will write an epitaph to put on it. I have been
thinking what I should write, and I have made up my mind to put simply,
`Here lies Pecksy, the feathered friend of Fanny Vallery.' If I was to
write when he died, or how he was killed, or anything of that sort, it
might remind me of what I want to forget. Don't you think that will be
very nice."
"Oh yes," answered Norman, "I like your idea. I will dig the grave. I
will go and ask the gardener to lend me a spade or a pickaxe, or a hoe
or some tool to dig with, and we will set out at once."
The children having formed the plan, at once carried it out. Norman ran
off to the gardener and told him what he wanted.
"A spade or a pickaxe is rather too much for you to handle, my laddie,"
he answered, "but you shall have a hoe, which will be big enough to dig
a little birdie's grave."
Norman having obtained the tool hurried back with it to the yard, where
he found Fanny, who had got the cart ready. The gardener understanding
what they wanted cut a number of boughs, which placed across the cart
formed in their opinion a very appropriate hearse.
Fanny then went back and brought out poor little Pecksy, followed by
Norman, who acted as chief mourner. The bird being placed in due form
on its bier, they set forth, Fanny drawing the hearse, and Norman
carrying the hoe over his shoulder. He looked and indeed felt very sad,
while the tears dropped from Fanny's eyes. Still, perhaps, she was not
very unhappy, she could scarcely have been so, with the consciousness
that she had acted in a forgiving loving spirit, sorry as she was,
however, to have lost her little bird.
They soon reached the spot which Fanny had selected for the grave. It
was by her granny's advice somewhat out of the way.
"See, Norman," she observed, "it is better here than in a part of the
garden we have often to pass, because we need not come here except
perhaps by-and-by when we shall have ceased to think so much about poor
little Pecksy."
The trees grew thickly around the spot, but there was an open space of
two or three feet. Here the ground being soft, Norman soon dug a grave.
It was not very deep, nor long, nor wide, but quite large enough for
the purpose.
Having deposited the little bird in it, after Fanny had given one last
glance at her pet, Norman covered it up. They then surrounded the grave
with the boughs which had served for a bier, and having finished all
they could then think of doing, they returned to the house.
On their way they met the gardener, who had, at the request of their
granny, prepared a smooth piece of hard wood. Fanny, thanking him, took
it into the house, and as she was very neat-handed with her pen, she
soon managed to write out the epitaph she proposed.
With this they returned to the tiny grave, and set it up at one end.
"We have one thing more to do though," she said, "come and help me to
pick some wild-flowers--the smallest we can find."
Having collected a number, she neatly formed a pretty little wreath.
"The French, and other people I have read of, have the custom of placing
wreaths of flowers on the tombs of their friends, and so that is why I
thought of putting one on Pecksy's grave," she observed. "I might have
picked some from the garden, but I think wild-flowers are more suited to
the little bird."
She stood gazing at the spot, after she had deposited the wreath for a
minute or two.
"There, we can do no more," she said, with a sigh, as she took Norman's
hand. "We will go home now, and, O Norman, if you will try to be a good
boy, and love me and everybody else, I shall not mind so much having
lost dear little Pecksy."