were up to. The Emperor was not with them, and he felt sure that it was
something treacherous that they were doing.
He was just in time as he settled down on the stone copings outside
the great window. First he looked to make sure that his shadow was not
visible across the pavement. He was assured of his safety, and knew
that his arrival there had not been betrayed by so much as a ruffle of
his beautiful wings.
The voices were deciding the fate of the Emperor and of White Wing too.
The priests were to tell the Emperor that he must sacrifice the thing
that he loved the most and that he must do it with his own hand. And it
was to be arranged that as he knelt at the great altar of black stone
to kill the bird, an arrow should be sent from a secret place on the
walls, so that the Emperor with his back turned to the court should
perish then and there.
White Wing's blood ran cold. This, then, was why his great master had
always been fearful and morose, and often cruel. His own house was full
of men that hated him and were yet his own brothers. They were ready
now, just as the kingdom was rallying to save itself, to seize it all
into their own hands. They would be rid of him, and his mysterious bird
too, for they feared in a childish way that White Wing had been sent to
the Emperor by some divine agent, and they hated the innocent creature
because they were both fearful and jealous of him.
They were now deciding which one of them should let fly the arrow
which should kill the Emperor. White Wing could hear them rattling
the jeweled discs or dice with which he had often seen them playing.
Evidently the process of making the decision was a complicated one,
for he heard the little carved discs rattling in their box a number of
times. Then there was silence and a voice which he knew was that of the
Emperor's half-brother spoke in clear tones:
"I am glad that it has fallen on me!"
Suddenly the sound of drums and horns and a great deal of shouting
broke the silence. The Emperor had said farewell to his household,
and in great clamor the slaves and the favorites and the troops of
beautiful children were departing from the city. The Emperor's heralds
were calling his councilors to the great audience chamber. White Wing
heard the treacherous creatures scuttle from the little room in haste,
and he heard the dice which they had been using rattle to the floor as
they upset a table in their hurry to get out. Slowly and cautiously,
he looked into the room. It was deserted. Then he went in and looked
around him and picked up one of the little dice. It was a small, black
jewel, curiously engraven. He tucked it under his wing and stalked
quietly through the curtained doorway, and down the long corridor
with its shadowy arches until it brought him to the sunny courts that
bounded his own walled garden.
What he achieved by this simple act of sagacity is quickly told.
The Emperor, who had known nothing of the secret council, guessed
immediately that it had taken place when White Wing dropped the black
counter at his feet. They were alone in the garden, and it was late
in the evening. The bird little knew that this was not one of the
gaming dice at all, but the sacred dice used to settle life and death
decisions in the Emperor's secret debates with his court.
Puzzled as the Emperor was at first, he was not long in establishing
his conclusions. He had just been told by the priests that he must
sacrifice the white flamingo, and his half-brother had been alarmingly
affectionate, having even caressed his shoulder as he thanked the great
ruler for having placed him at the head of certain troops which were of
the greatest importance in the forthcoming battles.
Then the Emperor knew what to do. He said nothing but was exceedingly
watchful. Coming early in the morning to White Wing he bade the great
bird good-by.
"You must fly over to your own people, dear bird," he said. "My enemies
will eventually kill you if you do not go. And perhaps, when these
great invaders have taken my city, I shall be reduced to slavery. You
have been my greatest pleasure, and you have served here all that
you were intended to. You have saved my life, for the scheme to kill
me while I was to be offering you in sacrifice has all come out. I
drew confession from certain of the councilors when I had them in the
dungeons but an hour ago. Never would I have suspected them but for
your wonderful means of warning me."
Then, in the earliest dawn, before the blazing sun had blanched the
palace walls, White Wing soared slowly into the air, leaving the great
Emperor standing alone by the deserted altar. There were no cheering
crowds as there had been when he came to that terrible city, and in
their stead were camps and tents and all the sights of preparing war
upon the plains. But the Emperor's hands were upraised and his face was
very splendid as he gazed off into the heavens whither his wonderful
white flamingo was disappearing.
All that consoled the bird in the sorrow of leaving his master was the
thought of having saved the great man's life. But for that, he would
have died from misery, believing that he should have stayed there until
his own life was taken. He little knew that thousands of his own kind
were waiting for him. But such was the case, and he soon learned as
he flew toward the setting sun, retracing his journey, that he was
already the prince of birds. Whole flocks of beautiful parrots, and
great orioles, and tropic thrushes would greet him and fly in hosts
ahead of him. From the great city down through the wide valley and the
dark forests to the coast, he traveled with couriers to tell all the
birds of his coming. And as he passed, at last, out over the ocean to
find the island whence he had come, there were flocks and flocks of
flamingoes overtaking and surrounding him.
One strange thing he saw, and that was a fleet of ships with sails
greater than ever he had dreamed of. These were galleons of the
conquerors, come to destroy the city of barbaric splendors where White
Wing had been a courtier. But he did not know this, and only marveled
at the sight.
At last, when his escort had grown to such numbers that, flying as they
did in single file, the line of birds seemed to arch the sky from east
to west, he came to the coast which he knew to be his own. Then to the
selfsame stretch of coral beach, where the palms were leaning over the
dunes exactly as he had left them. With slackened speed and flying
lower and lower until he caught the scent of the old familiar earth,
he skimmed above the lagoon and was suddenly over his home! White Wing
flew straight to his mother.
The thousand relatives and as many new ones were there too, and with
the arrival of White Wing's friends, who had glided in, one after
another, the confusion of greetings in Flamingotown was deafening.
From then until his death, which was not to be for many, many years,
White Wing, whose adventures had become known until they were
household words, was the ruler of all flamingoes everywhere.
That he was beneficent, you may be sure. And for one thing, quite the
greatest thing in his life, he instituted a change in family life by
decreeing that all the gentlemen should take their turn in helping
the lady birds to hatch their eggs. It is from his reign that this
admirable custom dates, as Mrs. Leatherback will assure you.
As for that generous lady, she came to have her part in the history of
the times. For the great explorers who came to ravish the kingdom where
White Wing received such honors, happened to take Mrs. Leatherback
captive on one of the islands. They took her aboard ship and were all
for taking her back with them to the great court of Spain. But even
after they had branded her with the arms of the court of Castile and
Aragon, and had secured her to the deck of the galleon, she eluded
them and fell into the sea. Consequently she has lived these hundreds
of years a member, as she is pleased to think, of the greatest court
in Europe. She soon came in the round of her journeys to White Wing's
island and there she visited him a long time. So they could recount
their adventures; and he has never ceased to love her for the cheer
she gave him that first night of his lonely journey. For her part, she
is only too proud of her Prince Flamingo, as she calls him, thereby
disputing honors with the gentle mother bird, who has always been too
happy to talk much about her little White Wing.
So all the above is just as the Heron tells it. And he is the one
who knows Mrs. Leatherback the best, and he has had it from her many
times. Moreover, he always ends with the wish that in some way that old
turtle could have the last desire of her life fulfilled. Strange as it
may seem, she has never seen the wonderful device of the Spanish Arms
which was branded and carved upon her back. It gives her a wry neck to
attempt it and she has given up trying. So she always lives in hope of
finding a looking-glass some day at the bottom of the sea.
But meanwhile she contents herself with getting her friends to tell
her how it looks, and it is because the Heron is very particular to do
this, and do it well, thereby making the old lady feel comfortable,
that he can always get her to relate the story of Prince Flamingo.
XV
MOTHER FOX'S HOSPITAL
Virginia was a very little girl when she visited the home of the
animals under the garnet hill. She was the only person who had ever
been there, as the good Mrs. Fox assured her, and the only way, indeed,
that she can prove that she had actually been there at all is to ask
her pet cat, who accompanied her, whether it is all true or not. Always
the cat blinks his eyes with the most knowing air, and nods his head.
So that is proof enough.
Virginia was gathering blueberries and she had strayed farther and
farther away from the farm house until she suddenly found that she
could no longer see the top of the red chimney, nor the peak of the
barn. Never had her little feet carried her so far into the pastures as
this. To make it worse, she could not seem to find her way back. The
low birch trees and the sweet fern seemed taller, and the light beneath
them was not so warm and bright.
Virginia started to run, but she had taken only a few steps when she
tripped and fell. It almost seemed that the briary vine in the grass
had reached out and entangled her. But she was a brave little girl and
would sooner do anything than cry out. It was discouraging to have all
the berries in her pail spilled over the ground, but she set to work
picking them out of the moss and leaves, while she kept wishing that
somebody would come to help her.
Then she pricked her finger on a thorn. It was then, she knows, that
she began to hear lovely voices; for no sooner had she felt the sharp
scratch than she heard a sweet sighing song all around her.
Of all the wishes in her life the greatest was to know what the trees
and the birds were saying. Now she knew.
For on all sides the voices were as sweet as music. "What pretty blue
eyes she has!" and "How lovely her cheeks are!" and "Just see her
golden hair!" were remarks she caught between the sounds of silvery
laughter.
She jumped up, leaving her berries on the ground, and started again to
run. For she was suddenly afraid of these voices, even though they were
so sweet.
A familiar _Me-ew_ greeted her. It was her pet cat, Tiger, who then
began talking to her as plainly as though he had been to school and
could read and write.
"How fine this is!" he exclaimed. "To think you can hear at last!"
and he went on explaining that no one had ever understood what he was
saying before.
"How often," he purred, "have I followed you into the pasture, hoping
that you would prick your finger on the right sort of thorn, so that
at last we could talk things over! My, but won't all the world be glad
to know of this!" he added. "Why, it doesn't happen once in a thousand
years!"
With that the beautiful gray cat ran off into the woods, only to
return accompanied by troops and troops of beautiful little creatures:
the field mice, who didn't seem to object to the cat at all, and the
squirrels, even the shiny moles, and some very excited birds, who flew
round and round the little girl, calling her name, and telling her how
they loved her.
Why she should have followed the cat into the woods, Virginia did not
know, but he ran ahead and bade her follow, and she seemed only too
willing to do so. The trees spoke so pleasantly as she passed them that
it was impossible not to go on.
"How she does resemble her great-grandmother!" said one of the trees.
It was an aged oak who had known Virginia's family ever since it had
settled in those parts. She felt that she must stop and return the
greetings, for she was always carefully polite to old people.
"Why, it was my little brother," the tree continued, "who was ordained
to the ministry in your grandfather's church. Your grandfather did the
preaching, and my brother held the floor up. He also was cut by the
builders to carry the major load of the roof. You see I have known your
family a long while. I am the oldest white oak in this woodland."
But before he could say another word, a beautiful red fox jumped out of
the bushes and told the tree to stop talking.
"Don't weary that little girl with all your memories," Red Fox said.
"If you get started, you'll never stop. And she has an invitation to
Mother Fox's Hospital. She must come immediately."
All this was very strange. Virginia wished to talk to the good old oak
some more, but Red Fox gave her a knowing look and held out his hand
in such a cordial way, and so urgently, that she bade the venerable
tree good-afternoon and ran to catch up with her new friend, who was
already beckoning to her from some distance ahead. Bounding along the
path beside her came Tiger Kitty, whom Virginia was indeed glad to have
with her.
She was no longer on familiar ground. The woods were dense, and she
felt that she was running a long way from home.
But suddenly Red Fox stopped. They had come to what appeared a jagged
and moss-grown rock. It was the side of an old pit that had been dug
into the shoulder of the hill, and at any other time Virginia would
have remembered it as the old quarry where once she had been taken by
her brothers and sisters on a picnic. But now she saw that it concealed
in reality a doorway. Moss-grown and dark, the door was hardly
discoverable, but it opened easily enough when Red Fox applied his key.
And standing there to greet Virginia and Tiger Kitty was a wonderful
old fox, with spectacles and a frilled bonnet and the kindliest face in
the world.
"This is my mother," said Red Fox; "she's the matron."
"Yes," the good old soul admitted, "I am Mother Fox, and this
charitable home for the destitute of the field and forest is named
after me."
Virginia was embarrassed, but only for a minute, for sweet old Mother
Fox invited her into the parlor and then, after she had been offered
the most delicious of cakes, and the creamiest of milk, and had eaten a
refreshing supper, she was shown through the home.
Living there was every poor animal that Virginia had ever known. And
they were all in such supreme comfort and having such a good time that
she was sure she had never seen so many people so happy all at once,
never in her whole life.
"Our only discontented inmate is Mr. Wolf," said the matronly Mrs. Fox.
"Would you like to see him?"
She led the way down a long hall to where Mr. Wolf was seated in a
little room of his own, gnawing and snapping at his nurses, who were
none other than the hedgehog and the big snapping turtle.
"Two rather sharp people for nurses," Red Fox remarked, almost in
apology; "but you see it takes some one with a good deal of character
to handle him."
In a great room which was a dining-hall, with high tables for the big
animals, and low ones for the little folk, she saw the animals that
were privileged to be there eating the most tempting dishes. There was
lettuce salad for the rabbits, and corn-bread for the field mice, and
blackberry pudding for the whole partridge family, and persimmon jam
for the 'possums, and even lily roots creamed and on toast for the poor
old muskrats.
"All charity," said Red Fox. "All charity! Out in the world every one
of these poor animals was cruelly hurt, or starved. Of course, we're
hunted and stoned, and chased, and shot at. That's all men want--a
chance to kill us. Here's where we take care of our cripples and
paupers."
Virginia was wonderstruck and was about to ask a question, when a
lame but beautiful lady tapped Mother Fox's shoulder and asked her to
introduce the visitor.
"Oh, surely! Pardon me, Lady Orchid."
Lady Orchid put the sweetest, tenderest hand into Virginia's, and the
little girl looked into the loveliest flower face in the world.
"I'm Lady Arethusa," the wonderful creature breathed, as she curtsied
very low to the little girl. "You see I'm crippled. I was pulled up by
the roots in such a careless way. You did it yourself, if you remember,
only the other day."
The little girl wanted to cry, but the lovely orchid repented having
come too close to the truth, and quickly added:
"No; it was your brother, possibly. At any rate, I beg you never to
pull any of us out in that violent way again. I am sure we all love you
too much. We Arethusas have lived on your place a great many years. The
small white violets, by the way, that live by the door-step at your
home, tell me that they can't get close enough to you and your sweet
mother, they love you so. And there is a lovely begonia living here
whom your mother lost, despite her care. Some one neglected it, and it
died of thirst. Your mother was visiting at the time, I believe."
"Yes," said Mother Fox; "that is so often the case. Fathers and
brothers are very careless in such matters. They are not so tender as a
rule with their plant cousins under their roof."
Then, as they left the dining-room, where the animals were just
reaching the dessert, who should come flying up to Virginia but a
beautiful oriole. He too, it seems, knew the little girl.
"Yes, indeed, dear child," he sang out to her; "I have known you a long
time. I live in the elm-tree. And I want to thank you for those lovely
threads that you put out on the lawn for me when I was refurnishing my
house. I am here to call on some relatives, but I will sing to you by
your window in the morning."
Then Virginia remembered that a ball of beautiful worsted had been
missing from her mother's work-basket after it had been left on the
porch. This explained it all. She was astonished, but the gray cat
laughed out merrily:
"Yes, he stole it; but the dear bird thinks you left it there for him.
If you look out of the attic window when we get home you can see his
nest in the elm. It's mostly blue worsted."
"Why didn't you tell me before, if you knew it?" Virginia asked, really
grieved at Tiger Kitty's lack of confidence.
"Why," repeated the cat, and then he only smiled very broadly, "because
you were always deaf, my dear."
Presently, while they were walking down the corridor, the merriest
music burst on Virginia's ear. In a room all to themselves, the rabbits
were rehearsing for a minstrel show. They were dancing in the most
giddy fashion, and she could not help laughing aloud as she watched
them.
But as she laughed, something happened, and the cat, who had just
opened his mouth to say something, closed it with a sudden look of
disappointment.
"You see, she spilled the berries, and fell asleep while trying to pick
them up."
It was a familiar voice. Virginia turned around. Her mother and big
brother and little sister were kneeling beside her in the ferns. It was
evening and she could hear the cows calling to be let through the farm
gate.
"And I never said good-by to Mr. Red Fox!" she exclaimed. Then she
rubbed her eyes and smiled, for they were all kissing her, and big
brother was putting her on his shoulder.
Her strange experience she kept to herself for a long time. But she
talked it all over with Tiger Kitty, and he seemed to understand it,
every word. Most of all when she climbed the attic stairs and looked at
the bird's nest, it was of blue worsted, as plain as plain could be.
And she was sure then and for the rest of her life that the birds and
the flowers loved the old home with its trees and its gardens as much
as she did.
And she always thought of sweet Lady Orchid when she gathered wild
flowers.
XVI
WHY MRS. CROW IS BLACK
It was the dead of night. Old Mr. Fox left his cozy den and went to
call on his friend, the wise old Mrs. Owl. For many years it had been
his custom to do this, for he found her the most engaging company. Her
home was in a hollow tree and she was always obliging enough to put her
head out the window and inquire who was there, if any of her friends
knocked hard and long at the basement door. It was useless to call in
the daytime: she was always asleep while the sun shone, and in the
early evening she would be abroad hunting her supper. But after the
cocks crew at midnight, and people in their beds were turning over to
get their best sleep, Mrs. Owl would come flying through the woods and
across the river, and up the hill to her own great tree, having eaten
heartily of whatever she may have found. Then she was ready to sit on
her window ledge for a visit with her friends.
So it was very late, and the woods was still as death, when _patter,
patter_, through the underbrush came Mr. Fox to call on Mrs. Owl.
Arriving at the bridge across the river, he jumped nimbly to the
hand-rail and trotted on that narrow board as easily as a cat walks
over the fence. For he was sure some dog would pass that way, come
morning, but no dog would ever scent the wise fox who walks the rail.
"Always sniffing at the ground, these foolish dogs," thought Mr. Fox;
and he laughed to himself as he jumped down into the bushes and ran on
to the hill and the great cottonwood tree, whither Mrs. Owl herself had
just returned.
With a big stick he hit the tree a hard blow. Then he barked politely
and sat down to wait.
Way up in the top of the dead tree the window was open. Two great eyes
looked out.
"Who's there? Who's there?" came in the most dreadful tones.
"Only your friend, a brother thief," laughed Mr. Fox; for in the
company of Mrs. Owl he could afford this slanderous admission.
"Ha, ha!" screamed Mrs. Owl, who didn't mind being called a thief at
all. In fact, she laughed so hard and long that every living being
asleep in those woods awoke and shivered with a sudden terror. For
it was the laughter of Mrs. Owl, you know, that made the blacksnake's
blood run cold, and never has he been able to warm it up again, even by
lying all day in the sun.
She scratched her ear and leaned a little farther out. After
controlling her mirth, she grew very solemn and whispered down to Mr.
Fox that she had discovered but an hour ago a certain roost with the
most enticing hole in the roof.
"Easy and safe, you know," she giggled. "Two broilers and a fowl I've
had this very night." Then she laughed again, "Ha, ha! Hoo, hoo!"
But Mr. Fox knew she was lying. She was only trying to get him into
trouble.
"Thanks for the hint," he barked; "but it is easier to get in by the
roof than out by the roof, you know, unless one is gifted as you are
with wings, Mrs. Owl."
"True, true," she said, in her wisest tones.
"And I really came, dear Mrs. Owl, to ask a question of you. Can you
tell me why the crows are black?"
There was a long silence, for Mrs. Owl must have time to think. All
things were known to her, but she revealed her knowledge only with the
greatest deliberation.
First she looked all around, then she laughed again, this time so loud
and long that Mr. Fox thought she never would have done, and at last
she exclaimed:
"Why, Mr. Fox, the crows are black for just the same reason that you
ought to be black and I ought to be black too."
At this Mr. Fox was puzzled, but as Mrs. Owl seemed to think it such
a joke he joined in her laughter, and between them they made the most
distressing noise.
"You see," she said at last, while she held her sides and caught her
breath. "You see, the whole miserable lot of them, the crows, used to
be as bright and giddy as overgrown humming-birds. Red, white, and
blue, they were. They would have been the national bird, I'm told,
but the eagle always takes that honor by his overbearing ways. For my
part, such honors are doubtful. I'd rather stand for wisdom than for
politics. But, be that as it may, the crows were once the gayest of the
birds. It was their mad career of theft and murder which brought the
change."
At this they both screamed with laughter again, and it was a long time
before Mrs. Owl could resume her story.