Christmas Gold: The Greatest Holiday Novels, Tales & Poems (Illustrated Edition). Гарриет Бичер-Стоу

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СКАЧАТЬ only have been troubled and frightened. But yet the thought of Waldo and Silva and godmother and the cottage, and all the pleasure and fun they had had, seemed never quite away. It hovered about them like the impression of a happy dream, which seems to make the whole day brighter, though we can scarcely tell how.

      The spring was now coming on fast; and what can be more delightful than spring-time in the woods? With the increasing warmth and sunshine the scent of the pines seemed to waft out into the air, the primroses and violets opened their eyes, and the birds overhead twittered and trilled in their perfect happiness.

      'How can any one be so cruel as to shoot them?' said Maia one afternoon about a week after the visit to the squirrels.

      'I don't think any one would shoot these tiny birds,' said Rollo.

      'I am afraid they do in some countries,' said Maia. 'Not here; I don't think godmother would let them. I think nobody can do anything in these woods against her wishes,' she went on in a lower tone, glancing in Nanni's direction. But that young woman was knitting away calmly, with an expression of complete content on her rosy face.

      'Rollo,' Maia continued, 'come close to me. I want to speak in a whisper;' and Rollo, who, like his sister, was stretched at full length on the ground, thickly carpeted with the tiny dry-brown spikes which had fallen from the fir-trees during the winter, edged himself along by his elbows without getting up, till he was near enough to hear Maia's lowest murmur.

      'Lazy boy,' she said, laughing. 'Is it too much trouble to move?'

      'It's too much trouble to stand up any way,' replied Rollo. 'What is it you want to say, Maia? I do think there's something in these woods that puts one to sleep, as Nanni says.'

      'So do I,' said Maia, and her voice had a half sleepy sound as she spoke. 'I don't quite know what I wanted to say, Rollo. It was only something about them, you know.'

      'You needn't be the least afraid—Nanni can't hear,' said Rollo, without moving.

      'Well, I only wanted to talk a little about them. Just to wonder, you know, if they won't soon be sending for us—making some new treat. It seems such a long time since we saw them.'

      'Only a week,' said Rollo, sleepily.

      'Well, a week's a good while,' pursued Maia; 'and I'm sure we've done our lessons very well all this time, and nobody's had to scold us for anything. Rollo——'

      'Oh, I do wish you'd let me take a little sleep,' said poor Rollo.

      'Oh, very well, then! I won't talk if you want to go to sleep,' said Maia, in a slightly offended tone; 'though I must say I think it is very stupid of you when we've been shut up at our lessons all the morning, and we have only an hour to stay out, to want to spend it all in sleeping.'

      But she said no more, for by this time Rollo was quite asleep, and the click-click of Nanni's knitting-needles grew fainter and fainter, till Maia, looking round to see why she was stopping, discovered that Nanni too had given in to the influence of the woods. She was asleep, and doubtless dreaming pleasantly, for there was a broad smile on her good-natured face.

      'Stupid things!' thought Maia to herself. And then she began wondering what amusement she could find till it was time to go home again. 'For I'm not sleepy,' she said; 'it is only the twinkling way the sunshine comes through the trees that makes my eyes feel rather dazzled. I may as well shut them a little, and as I have no one to talk to I will try to say over my French poetry, so that I shall know it quite well for Mademoiselle Delphine to-morrow morning.'

      The French poetry was long and dull. The complaint of a shepherdess for the loss of her sheep was the name of it, and Maia had not found it easy to learn, for, like many things it was then the custom to teach children, it was neither interesting nor instructive. But if it did her good in no other way, it was a lesson of patience, and Maia had worked hard at it. She now began to say it over to herself from the beginning in a low monotonous voice, her eyes closed as she half lay, half sat, leaning her head on the trunk of one of the great trees. It seemed to her that her poetry went wonderfully well. Never before had it sounded to her so musical. She really felt quite a pleasure in softly murmuring the lines, and quite unconsciously they seemed to set themselves to an air she had often been sung to sleep to by her nurse when a very little girl, till to her surprise Maia found herself singing in a low but exquisitely sweet voice.

      'I never knew I could sing so beautifully,' she thought to herself; 'I must tell Rollo about it.' But she did not feel inclined to wake him up to listen to it. She had indeed forgotten all about him being asleep at her side—she had forgotten everything but the beauty of her song and the pleasure of her newly-discovered talent. And on and on she sang, like the bewitched Princess, though what she was singing about she could not by this time have told, till all of a sudden she became aware that she was not singing alone—or, at least, not without an accompaniment. For all through her singing, sometimes rising above it, sometimes gently sinking below, was a sweet trilling warble, purer and clearer than the sound of a running brook, softer and mellower than the music of any instrument Maia had ever heard.

      'What can it be?' thought Maia. She half determined to open her eyes to look, but she refrained from a vague fear that if she did so it might perhaps scare the music away. But unconsciously she had stopped singing, and just then a new sound as of innumerable wings close to her made her forget all in her curiosity to see what it was. She opened her eyes in time to see fluttering downwards an immense flock of birds—birds of every shape and colour, though none of them were very big, the largest being about the size of a parrot. There lay Rollo, fast asleep, in the midst of the crowd of feathered creatures, and something—an instinct she could not explain—made Maia quickly shut her eyes again. She was not afraid, but she felt sure the birds would not have come so near had they not thought her asleep too. So she remained perfectly still, leaning her head against the trunk of the tree and covering her face with her hand, so that she could peep out between the fingers while yet seeming to be asleep.

      The flutter gradually ceased, and the great flock of birds settled softly on the ground. Then began a clear chirping which, to Maia's delight, as she listened with all her ears, gradually seemed to shape itself into words which she could understand.

      'Do you think they liked our music?' piped a bird, or several birds together—it was impossible to say which.

      'I think so,' answered some other; 'he'—and Maia understood that they were speaking of Rollo—'has heard it but dimly—he is farther away. But she was nearer us and will not forget it.'

      'They seem good children,' said in a more squeaky tone a black and white bird, hopping forward a little by himself. He appeared to Maia to be some kind of crow or raven, but she disliked his rather patronising tone.

      'Good children,' she said to herself. 'What business has an old crow to talk of us as good children!'

      'Ah, yes!' replied a little brown bird which had established itself on a twig just above Rollo's head. 'If they had not been so, you may be sure she would have had nothing to do with them, instead of making them as happy as she can, and giving orders all through the forest that they are to be entertained. I hear they amused themselves very well at the squirrels' the other day.'

      'Ah, indeed! A party?'

      'Oh, no—just a simple gambolade. Had it been a party, of course our services would have been retained for the music.'

      'Naturally,' replied the little brown bird. 'Of course no musical entertainment would be complete without you, Mr. Crow.'

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