After some further persuasion Rollo got on behind him, and they began
to in make their way slowly through the water again. Old Trumpeter
staggered along, but not very unsteadily on the whole, until he got a
little past the middle, when he blundered upon a stone on the bottom,
which he could not see, and fell down on his knees. Jonas caught up his
feet, in an instant, and Rollo had his already drawn up behind him, and
they both grasped the saddle convulsively. The horse happened to regain
his feet again in a moment, so that they contrived to hold on; and in a
few minutes they were drawn out safely upon the shore, without even
getting their feet wet.
“Well, Old Trumpeter,” said Jonas, “you have done pretty well for you,
and you have got the mire washed off your legs, at any rate. But,
Rollo, what is that?”
He pointed back, as he said this, to a little tuft floating round and
round in a small eddy, made by a turn of the brook, just above where
they had crossed. He turned his horse towards it. “It is a bird’s
nest,” said he.
“So it is,” said Rollo; “and I verily believe there is a little bird in
it.”
[Illustration]
Jonas jumped off of the horse, handed the bridle to Rollo, and took up
a long stick lying on the ground, and very gently and cautiously drew
the nest, in to the shore. He took it up with great care, and brought
it to Rollo.
There was a little bird in it, scarcely fledged. Jonas said he believed
it was a robin, and that it must have been washed off from its place on
some bush, by the freshet in the brook. The bottom of the nest was
soaked through by the water, as if it had been floating some time; and
the little bird kept opening its mouth wide. The poor little thing was
hungry, and heard Jonas and Rollo, and thought they were its mother,
come to give it something to eat.
“What shall we do with him?” said Rollo.
“He will die if we leave him here,” said Jonas, “for he has lost his
mother now. I think we had better carry him home, if we can, and feed
him, till he is old enough to fly.”
“He is hungry,” said Rollo; “let us feed him now.”
“We have not any thing to feed him with. Perhaps I can catch a fly, or
a grasshopper.”
“O, that will not do,” said Rollo; “you might as well kill him as kill
a grasshopper.”
Jonas could not reply to this, and they concluded to carry nest and all
carefully to the mill, and show it to Rollo’s father there. But how to
carry it was the difficulty. If either of them undertook to hold it in
one hand, he was afraid the bird might be jolted out; and neither of
them had but one hand to spare, for Rollo must have one hand to hold on
with, and Jonas one to drive. At last Jonas took off his cap, and
placed it bottom upwards on the saddle before him, and put the nest,
with the bird in it, in that, and then drove carefully along. The road
grew much smoother and better after they passed the brook; and, after
going on a short distance farther, they came in sight of the mill.
They had been detained so long that the chaises had reached the mill
before, them; and the party in the chaises were looking out down the
path where they expected the boys were to come out, watching for them
with considerable interest:
“There they come at last,” said Lucy, as she perceived a movement among
the bushes, and saw Old Trumpeter’s white head coming forward.
“Yes,” said Rollo’s mother, “but they have met with some accident.
Jonas has lost his cap.”
By this time the boys had emerged from the bushes, and were coming
along the path slowly, Jonas bareheaded, and Rollo holding on
carefully. Lucy saw that Jonas was holding something before him, on the
saddle, and wondered what it was. Rollo’s mother said she was afraid
they had got hurt.
As soon as they came within hearing Rollo heard his father’s voice
calling out to him,
“Rollo, what is the matter? Have you got into any difficulty?”
“Yes, sir,” said Rollo; “we had some difficulty; and I should be sorry
I did not take your advice, only then we should not have found this
little bird.”
“What bird?” said they all.
By this time, they had come up near the chaises, and Jonas carefully
lifted the birdsnest out of his cap, and held it so that they could all
see it, while Rollo told them the story. They all looked much pleased
but Lucy seemed in delight. She wanted to have it go in their chaise,
and asked Rollo to let her hold the nest in her lap.
Rollo did not answer very directly, for he was busy looking at the
bird,—seeing him open his mouth, and wishing he had something to give
him to eat.
“Father,” said he, “what shall we feed him with? Jonas was going to
catch a grasshopper, but I thought that would not be right.”
“Why not?” said uncle George.
“Because,” said Rollo, “he has as good a right to his life as the bird,
has not he, father?”
“Not exactly,” said his father: “a bird is an animal of much higher
grade than a grasshopper, and is probably much more sensible of pain
and pleasure, and his life is of more value; just as a man is a much
higher animal than a bird. It would be right to kill a bird to save a
man’s life, even if he were only an animal; and so it would be right to
destroy a grasshopper, or a worm, to save a robin.”
“But I read in a book once,” said Lucy, “that, when we tread on a worm,
he feels as much pain in being killed as a giant would.”
“I do not think it is true,” said he. “I think that there is a vast
diversity among the different animals, in respect to their sensibility
to pain, according to their structure, and the delicacy of their
organization. I think a crew of a fishing-vessel might catch a whole
cargo of mackerel, and not cause as much pain as one of their men would
suffer in having his leg bitten off by a shark.”
“Well, father,” said Rollo, “do you think we had better give him a
grasshopper?”
“O no,” said Lucy; “a grasshopper would not be good to eat, he has got
so many elbows sticking out. Let us give him some blueberries.”
“O yes,” said Rollo, “that would be beautiful.”
So he slid down off of Old Trumpeter’s back, and ran to the side of the
road to see if he could not find some blueberries.
He brought a few in his hand, and his father took them, saying that he
would feed the bird for him. He squeezed out pulp of the berries, and
then made a chirping sound, when the bird opened his mouth, and he fed
him with the soft pulp, and threw away the skins. After giving the bird
two or three berries in this way, they put him back into the nest, and
gave the nest to Lucy to hold in her lap, and all the party prepared to
go on.
They rode along about a mile farther, and then came to the place where
they must leave the horses, and prepare to ascend the mountain on foot.
They unharnessed them, so that they might stand more quietly, and then
fastened them to trees by the side of the road.
While they were thus taking care of their horses, Rollo and Lucy were
standing by, with Rollo’s mother looking at the bird.
“What are you going to do with him, Rollo?” said his mother.
“Why, I should like to carry him home, and keep him, if you are
willing.”
“I am, on one condition.”
“What is that?”
“You must keep him in a cage with the door always open, so that, as
soon as he is old enough to fly away, he may go if he chooses.”
“Then he will certainly fly away, and we shall lose him forever,” said
Lucy.
“That is the only condition,” replied Rollo’s mother.
“But why, mother,” said he, “why may we not keep him shut up safe?”
“If I were to tell you the reasons now, they would not satisfy you, you
are so eager to keep him. I think you had better determine to comply
with the condition, good-humoredly, and say no more about it, but try
to think of a name for him.”
“Well, mother, what do you think would be a good name?”
“I do not know: you and Lucy must think of one.”
Just then uncle George finished tying his horse, and came along to
where the children were standing, and, hearing their conversation, and
finding that Lucy and Rollo were perplexed about a name, he told them
he thought they might, not improperly, call him Noah, as, like Noah, by
floating in a sort of ark, he was saved from a flood.
“I think he was more like Moses than Noah,” said Lucy.
“Why?” said her father.
“Because Moses was a little thing when they found him, and then the ark
of bulrushes was something like a birdsnest. I think you had better
name him Moses, Rollo,” said she.
Rollo seemed a little at a loss: he said he thought he was a good deal
like Moses, but then he did not think that Moses was a very pretty name
for a bird.
“Do you think it is, mother?” said he.
“I do not know but that it would do very well. You might alter it a
little; call him Mosette, if you think that would be any better for a
bird’s name.”
Rollo and Lucy repeated the name Mosette to themselves several times,
and concluded that they should like it very much. By this time, the
horses were all ready, and Jonas recommended that they should hide
Mosette away somewhere, until they returned from the mountain, for it
would be troublesome to them, and somewhat dangerous to the bird, to
carry him up and down.
The children approved of this plan, though they were rather unwilling
to part with the bird, at all. They went just into the bushes, and
found a very secret place, by the corner of a large rock, where the
shrubs and wild flowers grew thick, so that it would be entirely out of
sight.