It was really a lovely afternoon; there was no doubt about that.
Elsie felt very comfortable, and just a little bit sleepy. She was
lying back in the big chair under the cedar tree, which was the most
shady place in the whole garden. On the lawn the thrushes and
sparrows were hopping about enjoying the sunshine; while up at the
top of the tall elm trees the rooks were cawing away as if they were
all trying who could make the most noise.
"I wish I knew what they were talking about," Elsie said to herself.
"It would be such fun to shout up something in rook language, and see
them all jump. I wonder what 'Caw! Caw! Caw!' means!"
She had asked her big brother that very question only the day before.
He had laughed, and declared that the rooks didn't say "Caw! Caw!
Caw!" It only sounded like it. What they really said was "Cad!
Cad! Cad!" because they knew that he was going to shoot them next
week.
Elsie didn't really believe this, because the rooks kept on saying it
the whole time, whether her brother was in the garden or not. Of
course, they might be only practising, but it seemed much more
probable to Elsie that they had a language of their own.
She lay back in the chair and watched them as they fluttered about
the tree-tops, or rose in the air in great sweeping circles. In a
few more days the baby rooks would begin to fly about. Several of
them were out of the nests already, and sat on the twigs looking very
miserable and unsafe, while their fathers and mothers hovered round,
and jeered at them for being frightened. Elsie thought that it was
very unkind of the old rooks; for she was quite sure that it must be
a horrible feeling to be perched up at that height on a swaying twig,
and not certain whether one could fly if one let go.
"I shouldn't like it a bit myself," thought Elsie dreamily.
With a big yawn she snuggled down amongst the cushions, which were
very soft and comfortable. Her eyes would keep on shutting in the
funniest way, just as if it were bed-time.
"I--do--believe--I'm--going--to sleep," she murmured.
"Hullo!" said a harsh voice suddenly.
Elsie opened her eyes with a start, and looked round to see who had
spoken. There was no one in sight.
"I must have been dreaming," she thought.
"Hullo!" said the voice again--this time just beside her chair.
She glanced down, and there on the lawn stood a large rook, looking
up at her out of his black, beady eyes.
"Did you speak?" asked Elsie in astonishment.
"Yes," said the rook. "Do you think I whistled, or what?"
"There is no need to be rude," said Elsie with dignity. "It's only
natural I should have been surprised."
"Why?" asked the rook.
"Well, birds aren't supposed to talk."
"Ever seen a parrot?"
"You're not a parrot," objected Elsie.
"Never said I was," replied the rook. "But you seem interested in
us," he observed, "judging from the way you were staring just now."
"I beg your pardon," said Elsie, blushing, for she had been properly
brought up, and knew that it was rude to stare.
"Don't mention it," said the rook. "I assure you we don't mind in
the least. Wouldn't you like to come up and have a look at the
nests?"
"Very much," answered Elsie; "but how can I? I can't climb the
trees."
"If it comes to that," replied the rook, "neither can I."
"But you can fly," objected Elsie.
"So can you, I suppose," said the rook.
"No, I can't," said Elsie.
"How do you know?" persisted the rook. "Have you ever tried?"
Elsie shook her head.
"Don't be silly," she said. "I know very well I can't fly, so what's
the good of trying?"
"That's exactly what our children always say," replied the rook
scornfully. "And yet they fly right enough when we push them out of
the nest."
He laughed a sort of hoarse, croaking chuckle.
"Of course, if you're afraid"--he added.
Elsie jumped up out of her chair indignantly.
"Afraid? Who's afraid?" she cried. "You're just saying that to
annoy me!"
"No, I'm not," answered the rook. "Don't get your feathers ruffled.
All you have to do is to copy me, and you'll fly like a bird."
"But I haven't got any wings," said Elsie.
"You've got arms, haven't you? They'll do just as well for a short
distance, and if you get tired I'll lend you a claw. Now, come
along. Just shut your eyes and jump, and you'll find you're as right
as rain."
Elsie thought that there could be no great harm in trying, so she
closed her eyes, and jumped up in the air as high as ever she could.
Of course, she expected to come down again bang, but to her great
surprise she did nothing of the kind. She found herself floating
gently upwards, and, opening her eyes, discovered that she was
already on a level with the roof of the house. The rook was
fluttering lazily alongside.
"Don't look down," he said, "or you'll get giddy. Keep your eyes on
the nests, and we'll be there in no time. How do you like it?"
"It's very nice," said Elsie. "I had no idea it was so----"
She had just made a most startling discovery.
"I seem to be getting smaller and smaller!" she exclaimed in a
frightened voice.
"Naturally," answered the rook. "Everything does when it goes up in
the air. Haven't you ever watched a balloon?"
"But you're just the same size," protested Elsie, for by this time
the rook was almost as big as herself.
"Oh, I'm used to it!" he answered carelessly. "You see, after a bit,
when one's always flying about, it ceases to have any effect."
By this time they were getting quite near the nests, and Elsie was
beginning to feel rather tired.
"We're nearly there now!" said the rook. "Stick to it!"
As she spoke, a whole crowd of other rooks suddenly rose from the
trees, and came circling down to meet them. They made such a
tremendous noise that for a few moments Elsie couldn't hear what they
were saying. At last, however, she began to make out a sort of song;
but, as they were all singing it at once, and each to a different
tune, it was rather difficult to follow the words. It sounded
something like this:
Welcome to our brother Jim!
Caw! Caw! Caw!
He's brought the little girl with him,
Caw! Caw! Caw!
So clap your wings and loudly squeak;
There'll be no bang! bang! bang! next week!
"What do they mean?" asked Elsie.
"Oh, nothing!" said the rook hurriedly. "It's only their idea of a
lark."
"I--don't--think--it's--very--like one," panted Elsie.
"Here--take my claw," said the rook. "You're getting tired."
Elsie stretched out her hand and caught hold of the rook's claw,
which he held out to her, and then, before she had quite realized
what was happening, she found herself sitting on a twig at the very
top of the tallest elm tree. The branches all round were simply
covered with rooks, who sat and stared at her solemnly. Even the
young ones were peering over the edges of the nests, and making rude
remarks to each other about her personal appearance.
She looked down at the garden, and it gave her quite a jump to see
what a terrible distance it was. It seemed simply miles and miles
away. The house looked just like one of those tiny little toy dolls'
houses.
"Well," said the rook. "How do you feel?"
Elsie clung to the twig, for it had suddenly begun to sway about in
the most alarming manner.
"I feel very small," she answered nervously.
"Naturally," said the rook. "So do most people when they're up a
tree."