THE STARLING A DISTURBER OF THE PEACE
It was a beautiful Sunday morning in spring. The dew was glittering on
every blade of grass; the trees were bursting into buds for coming
leaves, or into flower for coming fruit; the birds were "busy in the
wood" building their nests, and singing jubilate; the streams were
flashing to the sea; the clouds, moisture laden, were moving across the
blue heavens, guided by the winds; and signs of life, activity, and joy
filled the earth and sky.
The Sergeant hung out Charlie in his cage to enjoy the air and sunlight.
He had not of late been so lively as usual; his confession as to his
parentage was more hesitating; and when giving his testimony as to a man
being a man, or as to the exclusive right of Charlie to be king, he
often paused as if in doubt. All his utterances were accompanied by a
spasmodic chirp and jerk, evidencing a great indifference to humanity.
A glimpse of nature might possibly recover him. And so it did; for he
had not been long outside before he began to spread his wings and tail
feathers to the warm sun, and to pour out more confessions and
testimonies than had been heard for weeks.
Charlie soon gathered round him a crowd of young children with rosy
faces and tattered garments who had clattered down from lanes and
garrets to listen to his performances. Every face in the group became a
picture of wonder and delight, as intelligible sounds were heard coming
from a hard bill; and any one of the crowd would have sold all he had on
earth--not a great sacrifice after all, perhaps a penny--to possess such
a bird. "D'ye hear it, Archy?" a boy would say, lifting up his little
brother on his shoulder, to be near the cage. Another would repeat the
words uttered by the distinguished speaker, and direct attention to
them. Then, when all were hushed into silent and eager expectancy
awaiting the next oracular statement, and the starling repeated "I'm
Charlie's bairn!" and whistled "Wha'll be king but Charlie!" a shout of
joyous merriment followed, with sundry imitations of the bird's peculiar
guttural and rather rude pronunciation. "It's a witch, I'll wager!" one
boy exclaimed. "Dinna say that," replied another, "for wee Charlie's
dead." Yet it would be difficult to trace any logical contradiction
between the supposed and the real fact.
This audience about the cage was disturbed by the sudden and unexpected
appearance from round the corner, of a rather portly man, dressed in
black clothes; his head erect; his face intensely grave; an umbrella,
handle foremost, under his right arm; his left arm swinging like a
pendulum; a pair of black spats covering broad flat feet, that advanced
with the regular beat of slow music, and seemed to impress the pavement
with their weight. This was the Rev. Daniel Porteous, the parish
minister.
No sooner did he see the crowd of children at the elder's door than he
paused for a moment, as if he had unexpectedly come across the execution
of a criminal; and no sooner did the children see him, than with a
terrified shout of "There's the minister!" they ran off as if they had
seen a wild beast, leaving one or two of the younger ones sprawling and
bawling on the road, their natural protectors being far too intent on
saving their own lives, to think of those of their nearest relatives.
The sudden dispersion of these lambs by the shepherd soon attracted the
attention of their parents; and accordingly several half-clad,
slatternly women rushed from their respective "closes". Flying to the
rescue of their children, they carried some and dragged others to their
several corners within the dark caves. But while rescuing their wicked
cubs, they religiously beat them, and manifested their zeal by many
stripes and not a few admonitions:--"Tak' that--and that--and that--ye
bad--bad--wicked wean! Hoo daur ye! I'll gie ye yer pay! I'll mak' ye!
I'se warrant ye!" &c. &c. These were some of the motherly teachings to
the terrified babes; while cries of "Archie!" "Peter!" "Jamie!" with
threatening shakes of the fist, and commands to come home "immeditly",
were addressed to the elder ones, who had run off to a safe distance.
One tall woman, whose brown hair escaped from beneath a cap black enough
to give one the impression that she had been humbling herself in
sackcloth and ashes, proved the strength of her convictions by
complaining very vehemently to Mr. Porteous of the Sergeant for having
thrown such a temptation as the starling in the way of her children,
whom she loved so tenderly and wished to bring up so piously. All the
time she held a child firmly by the hand, who attempted to hide its face
and tears from the minister. Her zeal we must assume was very real,
since her boy had clattered off from the cage on shoes made by the
Sergeant, which his mother had never paid for, nor was likely to do now,
for conscience' sake, on account of this bad conduct of the shoemaker.
We do not affirm that Mrs. Dalrymple never _liquidated_ her debts, but
she did so after her own fashion.
It was edifying to hear other mothers declare their belief that their
children had been at the morning Sabbath School, and express their
wonder and anger at discovering for the first time their absence from
it; more especially as this--the only day, of course, on which it had
occurred--should be the day that the minister accidentally passed to
church along their street!
The minister listened to the story of their good intentions, and of the
ill doings of his elder with an uneasy look, but promised speedy
redress.