Part 6 (1/2)

”Hold your tongue,” replied the flag; ”you ate the roach this morning, whose silvery scales used to flash like a light under the water.”

”I will nibble you,” said the perch, very angry. ”I will teach you to tell tales.”

”I will ask the willow, he is a very old friend of mine, not to shake any more insects into the brook for you from his leaves,” replied the flag.

”It was not I who ate the roach,” said the perch; ”it was the pike, Bevis dear.”

”Indeed it was not,” said the pike, coming forward a little from under some floating weeds, where he had been in hiding, so that Bevis could now see his long body. ”The perch says things that are not true.”

”You know you hate me,” said the perch; ”because your great-great-grandfather swallowed mine in a rage, and my great-great-grandfather's spines stuck in your great-great-grandfather's throat and killed him. And ever since then, Bevis dear, they have done nothing but tell tales against me. I did not touch the roach; the pike wanted him, I know, for breakfast.”

”I deny it,” said the pike; ”but if it was not the perch it was the rat.”

”That's false,” said the rat; ”I have only this minute come down to the brook. If it was not the pike nor the perch, depend upon it it was the heron.”

”I am sure it was not the heron,” said a beautiful drake, who came swimming down the stream. ”I was here as early as any one, and I will not have my acquaintance the heron accused in his absence. I a.s.sure you it was not the heron.”

”Well, who did it then?” said Bevis.

”The fact is,” said a frog on the verge of the stream, ”they are all as bad as one another; the perch is a rogue and a thief; the pike is a monster of iniquity; the heron never misses a chance of gobbling up somebody; and as for the drake, for all his glossy neck and his innocent look, he is as ready to pick up anything as the rest.”

”Quack,” cried the drake in a temper; ”quack.”

”Hus.h.!.+” said a tench from the bottom of a deep hole under the bank--he was always a peacemaker. ”Hus.h.!.+ do stop the noise you are making. If you would only lie quiet in the mud like me, how pleasant you would find life.”

”Bevis,” began the reed; ”Bevis dear. Ah, ah!” His voice died away, for as the sun got higher the wind fell, and the reed could only speak while the wind blew. The flag laughed as the reed was silenced.

”You need not laugh,” said the perch; ”you can only talk while the water waggles you. The horse will come down to the brook to-morrow, and bite off your long green tip, and then you will not be able to start any more falsehoods about me.”

”The birds are coming,” said the frog. ”I should like to swim across to the other side, where I can see better, but I am afraid of the pike and the drake. Bevis dear, fling that piece of dead stick at them.”

Bevis picked up the dead stick and flung it at the drake, who hastened off down the stream; the pike, startled at the splash, darted up the brook, and the frog swam over in a minute. Then the birds began to come down to the drinking-place, where the sh.o.r.e shelved very gently, and the clear shallow water ran over the sandy bottom. They were all in their very best and brightest feathers, and as the sun shone on them and they splashed the water and strutted about, Bevis thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

They did not all bathe, for some of them were specially permitted only to drink instead, but they all came, and all in their newest dresses. So bright was the goldfinch's wing, that the lark, though she did not dare speak, had no doubt she rouged. The sparrow, brushed and neat, so quiet and subdued in his brown velvet, looked quite aristocratic among so much flaunting colour. As for the blackbird, he had carefully washed himself in the spring before he came to bathe in the brook, and he glanced round with a bold and defiant air, as much as to say: ”There is not one of you who has so yellow a bill, and so beautiful a black coat as I have”. In the bush the bullfinch, who did not care much to mix with the crowd, moved restlessly to and fro. The robin looked all the time at Bevis, so anxious was he for admiration. The wood-pigeon, very consequential, affected not to see the dove, whom Bevis longed to stroke, but could not, as he had promised the reed to keep still.

All this time the birds, though they glanced at one another, and those who were on good terms, like the chaffinch and the greenfinch, exchanged a nod, had not spoken a word, and the reed, as a puff came, whispered to Bevis that the prophecy would certainly come to pa.s.s, and they would all be as happy as ever they could be. Why ever did they not make haste and fly away, now they had all bathed or sipped? The truth was, they liked to be seen in their best feathers, and none of them could make up their minds to be the first to go home; so they strutted to and fro in the suns.h.i.+ne. Bevis, in much excitement, could hardly refrain from telling them to go.

He looked up into the sky, and there was the hawk, almost up among the white clouds, soaring round and round, and watching all that was proceeding. Almost before he could look down again a shadow went by, and a cuckoo flew along very low, just over the drinking-place.

”Cuckoo!” he cried, ”cuckoo! The goldfinch has the prettiest dress,” and off he went.

Now the hawk had bribed the cuckoo, who was his cousin, to do this, and the cuckoo was not at all unwilling, for he had an interest himself in keeping the birds divided, so he said that although he had made up his mind to go on his summer tour, leaving his children to be taken care of by the wagtail, he would stop a day or two longer, to manage this little business. No sooner had the cuckoo said this, than there was a most terrible uproar, and all the birds cried out at once. The blackbird was so disgusted that he flew straight off, chattering all across the field and up the hedge. The bullfinch tossed his head, and asked the goldfinch to come up in the bush and see which was strongest. The greenfinch and the chaffinch shrieked with derision; the wood-pigeon turned his back, and said ”Pooh!” and went off with a clatter. The sparrow flew to tell his mates on the house, and you could hear the chatter they made about it, right down at the brook. But the wren screamed loudest of all, and said that the goldfinch was a painted impostor, and had not got half so much gold as the yellow-hammer. So they were all scattered in a minute, and Bevis stood up.

”Ah!” said the reed, ”I am very sorry. It was the hawk's doings, I am sure, and he was put up to the trick by the weasel, and now the birds will never agree, for every year they will remember this. Is it not a pity they are so vain? Bevis dear, you are going, I see. Come down again, dear, when the wind blows stronger, and I will tell you another story. Ah! ah!” he sighed; and was silent as the puff ceased.

Bevis, tired of sitting so long, went wandering up the brook, peeping into the hollow willow trees, wis.h.i.+ng he could dive like the rats, and singing to the brook, who sang to him again, and taught him a very old tune. By-and-by he came to the hatch, where the brook fell over with a splash, and a constant bubbling, and churning, and gurgling. A kingfisher, who had been perched on the rail of the hatch, flew off when he saw Bevis, whistling: ”Weep! weep!”

”Why do you say, weep, weep?” said Bevis. ”Is it because the birds are so foolish?” But the kingfisher did not stay to answer. The water rus.h.i.+ng over the hatch made so pleasant a sound that Bevis, delighted with its tinkling music, sat down to listen and to watch the bubbles, and see how far they would swim before they burst. Then he threw little pieces of stick on the smooth surface above the hatch to see them come floating over and plunge under the bubbles, and presently appear again by the foam on the other side among the willow roots.