CHAPTER XXIII
THIRD COUSIN ANNIE
THIRD COUSIN ANNIE was a very grand person, and very rich, and her limousine drew up before our door in the middle of the next morning.
She flew into the house and greeted Niger most effusively, and Mrs. Martin and our Mary quite calmly.
Niger wagged his tail at her, then looked out the window.
“My darling dog,” she cried, “companion of my travels, how I have missed you!”
Niger looked up at Daisy and me and at Sister Susie, who was sitting on the top of our cage, and winked.
“Do you know, Cousin Annie,” said our Missie, “that this is the dog that was stolen from us?”
“Not possible,” she said.
“Yes, and he ran back last night and got into Mary’s bed. First, he was afraid of her—he thought she was scolding him for leaving her; he is very sensitive, you know—then, when she left the room, he got in her bed.”
“Only fancy!” exclaimed Third Cousin Annie—“I’m so sorry to take him from you.”
“But you’re not going to take him,” said our Missie firmly.
“But he’s my dog. I gave the man ten dollars for him.”
“And we, prior to that, gave another man five dollars for him, because Mary had taken a fancy to him.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Ringworth, getting up, “but he’s my dog, and I’m going to have him. Come home, Blackie!”
I was sitting beside Daisy, who had laid three beautiful eggs, and I trembled nervously, for I hate to see human beings upset. I had never before seen Mrs. Martin angry, and I was sorry to see the red spots in her cheeks. Our Mary said nothing, but just sat patting the dog.
“Of course he is a fool of a dog,” said Mrs. Ringworth, “and can do nothing but roll over and act silly, but I have got used to him and like him.”
“Has he never talked to you?” asked our Missie.
“Talked to me—what do you mean?”
“Has he never asked you for a crumb?” said Missie coldly.
Mrs. Ringworth stared at her, as if she thought she were crazy.
“A crumb—how foolish!—but I remember that you Martins are always reading things into dogs. Of course he can’t talk.”
“Niger,” said Mrs. Martin, “can’t you say, ‘Jus’ a crumb?’”
“Tra, la, la, la, la,” I sang, “don’t you do it, Niger,” and Sister Susie cooed, “No—no—no—ooo.”
He winked again and said, “Bow, wow, wow,” quite roughly.
Mrs. Ringworth got up and burst into a forced laugh. “You are certainly very short-sighted, cousin, to try to add to the value of a thing you wish to retain. Come on, Blackie.”
“Don’t you do it, doggie, doggie, doggie,” I sang, and Daisy peeped, “Stay, stay dog, stay here.”
Niger looked out the window and yawned as if he were bored.
“Dog,” said Mrs. Ringworth angrily and stamping her foot, “come with me; I command you!”
He got up and, sauntering over to the corner, picked up some crumbs that had fallen from our cage.
“Ungrateful cur,” said Mrs. Ringworth, “after all I have done for you—but you’ve got to go with me. You’re my property. I wish I had a string.”
Mrs. Martin and Mary sat like two stuffed birds, and did not move even their eyes.
Their cousin pulled a handsome silk scarf off her neck and tied it to the dog’s collar. Then she started to pull him—Niger perfectly good natured but bracing his feet.
Suddenly she turned in a passion to our Missie. “Why don’t you prevent me? He’s your dog, you say.”
“I shall not use force, cousin,” said Mrs. Martin. “If I thought you were going to be unkind to him, I would, but I know you would never illtreat an animal.”
Her tone was quite amiable, though cold, and her cousin looked as if she did not know what to do. Then she started again, pulling and hauling Niger over the carpet. By the time she reached the hall she was quite out of breath, and meeting Mr. Martin who was coming home early to lunch, she was confounded to hear him burst into a roar of laughter.
Quickly recovering himself, he said, “A thousand pardons, Mrs. Ringworth, but the sight was so—so overcoming. Allow me to pull that dog for you.”
“Your wife wants to keep it,” said Mrs. Ringworth defiantly.
“Naturally,” he said with great good humor. “He’s our dog.”
“But I bought him,” said Mrs. Ringworth persistently.
“And you love the creature,” said Mr. Martin, with a merry twinkle in his eye.
“I adore him,” said the lady fervently.
“And wish him to be happy,” went on Mr. Martin.
“Y—y—yes,” she said rather unwillingly, for she began to see the door of the trap he was leading her into.
“Then suppose we leave it to the dog,” said Mr. Martin. “We are quite willing to abide by his own choice,” and gently taking the scarf from her hands, he slipped it through the dog’s collar, and Niger stood free.
“Now, allow me to escort you to your car,” said Mr. Martin, “or, better still, go alone, for I would confuse the dog. You call him, and we will say nothing, and see which he prefers.”
Third Cousin Annie was nearly choking with wrath, but she was helpless. Looking beyond her, I could see Chummy’s amused face, as he sat staring in the hall window. He was greatly interested in all that concerned the Martin family.
“Come here, Blackie, Blackie!” said Mrs. Ringworth, backing toward the staircase.
Niger never budged, but when she kept on he turned his back on her and went to lay his head on our Mary’s lap.
Mrs. Ringworth was so furious that she could not speak, and she turned and went quickly down the staircase to her car.
Mr. Martin ran after her and presently came back laughing. “She is all right now. I told her I could get her a thoroughbred Airedale that a friend of mine wishes to give away, and what do you think she said?”
“One never knows what Third Cousin Annie will say,” replied Missie.
Mr. Martin smiled. “She said, ‘I am glad to get a thoroughbred; I am tired of curs.’”
I stared at Niger. He didn’t care—he was wagging his tail.
“Who is going for Billie?” said our Mary suddenly. “The veterinary has just telephoned that she is ready to come home.”
“I will,” said Mrs. Martin. “Mary dear, sit with your father while he has his lunch. Come on, Niger, and have a walk.”
“Oh! jus’ a crumb,” growled Niger, “jus’ a crumb, jus’ a crumb, crumb, crumb!”
They all burst out laughing. “You slyboots,” said Mrs. Martin, “we will stop in the kitchen and pick up a crumb as we go out.”
Niger told us afterward, that while he was in California, he had throat trouble, and Mrs. Ringworth had kindly spent a lot of money in having his throat doctored. But, he said, he had a lump there, until the night he ran back to his dear Mary, when in his emotion, something seemed to break and he was growling out a strange sound he had never made before.
The children on the street nearly went crazy over his accomplishment, and Sammy-Sam used to lead him up and down, making him say “Jus’ a crumb,” till his throat was sore. He says it hurts him to say it, and he only does it in moments of deep feeling, or to please a friend.
CHAPTER XXIV
BLACK THOMAS CATCHES A BURGLAR
THERE was a great commotion in this neighborhood on the first of April, for then the robins came back.
I never heard such a clatter of talk from any bird as came from Vox Clamanti, the head robin. Instead of contenting himself with saying, “Cheer up cheerily, cheer up cheerily,” as the other robins did, he just screamed a great amount of information about where he had spent the winter and what he had been doing, and how the colored people down South had tried to catch him, to make pie, but he was too smart for them.
Finally he got into a quarrel about the Great War. “Of course, you know, birds,” he said fussily, “that robins are the most important birds in the world, and the war was all about them. The bad robins in many nations persecuted my brothers, the English robins, and would not let them into their countries. Then of course the Englishmen, who love their robins, took up arms and began to fight the bad nations who were persecuting us.”
Chummy laughed when he said this, but he was too sensible to argue with him. Black Gorget, Chummy’s next best friend after me, was not so wise, and he said, “I suppose you forget that English robins are not any relation to your family.”
Vox Clamanti looked thoughtful, then he said, “Well, if not brothers, then cousins. My cousins, the English robins—”
“They’re not even cousins,” said Bronze-Wing, the head grackle, “and the war is not about robins, but grackles.”
Vox Clamanti said very rudely, “You are lying,” and then the grackle gave a rough call in his squawky voice, and pulled out one of Vox Clamanti’s tail feathers.
One would have thought the grackle had tried to murder him. Such a screeching and yelling ensued that every bird in the neighborhood came to see what the noise was about.
“What’s the matter with that robin?” I asked Chummy, as we sat side by side in our usual meeting place, a branch on the old elm opposite his tall brick house.
“He was very much spoiled by a university professor,” said Chummy. “This old man, finding Vox Clamanti a weak and half dead young one, on the campus one day, brought him up by hand and named him Vox Clamanti which means something screechy. He praised the young robin too much, and told him he was the smartest bird in the city, and it made Vox put on airs. When the old professor died, and Vox flew outside, the robins never could down him, and they had to make him their head bird to keep him quiet, but he really has not as much brains as some of the other robins. See now, that fuss is all over, and he is looking about for a nesting site, before his mate Twitchtail comes. That tree that they had for a home last summer has been cut down.”
I made no reply, and for some time Chummy and I sat quietly looking down at the street below.
“We’ve had some nice times on this tree, Chummy, haven’t we?” I said.
“Indeed we have,” he replied, “and how much we have seen from here.”
“Have you heard anything more from Squirrie?” I asked.
He began to chuckle. “Yes, Chickari told me the latest news this morning.”
“What is it?” I asked eagerly.
“For a time Squirrie was pretty bad. The only way they could make him behave was to keep watching him. Then the Big Red Squirrel had an idea come in his head. He has a horrid old sister too ugly to mate with anyone. He keeps her up north. He sent for her and gave Squirrie to her. She is very strong and bad-tempered, and she soon cuffed the two policemen squirrels and sent them away. Squirrie hated her at first and begged the Big Red Squirrel to kill him and put him out of his misery, but now Chickari says she is leading him round like a little gentle baby squirrel. He is frightened to death of her, and never dares to rebel. She works him hard and has him even now laying up stores for winter. She says, ‘If you don’t behave I’ll take you further north, where the wind will cut you in two.’”
I laughed heartily. “What a joke on Squirrie;” then I said, “Hush, Chummy—what is this little girl saying about our dear Martins?”
We both looked down to the sidewalk where a young girl was trotting along beside her mother.
“Mummy,” she said pointing to the Martins’ house, “in there lives a woman who raises birds from the dead.”
The mother laughed and Chummy said, “Isn’t that a joke? Your Missie is getting famous.”
“They send for her from all over the city,” I said, “for her or for our Mary to go and doctor sick birds. A lady up in that big apartment house telephoned yesterday for Missie to come quickly, for her canary was having dreadful fits. Missie went and looking at the bird said, ‘Cut his claws, Mrs. Jones. They are so long that they trip him up and make him fall down on the floor of his cage.’”
Chummy was not listening to me. His eyes were fixed on Black Thomas who was gazing upward, his face as soulful as if he had been doing something to be proud of.
“He’s probably been catching an extra number of birds,” I said gloomily.
“No, that isn’t a bird look,” said Chummy. “T-check, t-chack, Thomas, what is the matter with you?”
Thomas strolled to our tree and stretching himself in the sunlight, said proudly, “I caught a burglar last night.”
“Ha! ha!” shouted Vox Clamanti who had been listening, “Thomas has reformed. He’s going to catch men instead of mice and birds.”
All the birds came flying up, Black Gorget and ever so many other sparrows with Sister Susie who had just flown out for an airing. Slow-Boy and Susan, Bronze-Wing, and even Chickari, the good squirrel, and his little mate came running along the branches overhead.
Thomas rolled his eyes at them as they assembled, and when they had calmed down, he began his tale.
“Last night,” he said, “when dinner was over, cook and the maids cleaned up in the kitchen and dining-room and went upstairs to their rooms. There was no one in the back of the house but me. I alone saw a strange man come along the lane by the garden, get over the fence, and come up to one of the dining-room windows which had been left open to air the room. I, all by myself, watched him creep in and hide himself behind the big sideboard in the corner. I said nothing to him, and he said nothing to me, for he did not see me. I had been sleeping beside the radiator, for the night was chilly. At ten o’clock cook came downstairs to lock up. She opened the dining-room door, came in, and put the window down and locked it. I followed her out, and ran to my dear mistress’ room.
“She was in bed, but I mewed and fussed till she got up, and said, ‘What is the matter with Thomas?’
“I threw my whole hunting soul in my eyes, and turned my head from one side to another, like this—” and he moved his black head about, the way he does when he is stealing through the shrubbery looking for young birds.
“By my wings,” said Chummy in my ear, “Thomas is becoming quite a fancy speaker.”
Thomas was going on with his story: “I cried lustily and led her toward the dining room, but when she started to go there I got in front of her and acted in a frightened way.
“She understood me. She is a very clever woman, much cleverer even than your Mrs. Martin, Dicky-Dick.”
“She is not,” I chirped angrily.
“Hush up,” said Chummy, giving me a gentle peck. “Let him finish his tale. Don’t you see how wound up he is?”
“My mistress sent cook upstairs,” said old Thomas, going on, and keeping an eye on Chummy and me, for he knew we were inclined to make fun of him. “She asked two of the gentlemen to come down. They did so, and now I quite joyfully led the procession to the dining-room, and, on arriving there, I sprang toward the sideboard.
“The burglar ran to the window and smashed through it, but the gentlemen caught him, even as I catch a mouse, and they telephoned for the patrol wagon, and he is now in jail and they will probably hang him.”
“Oh, no, Thomas,” said Chummy protestingly, “you go too fast. He will likely get only a prison term.”
The other birds burst out laughing, but Chickari said, “Good boy, Thomas—you are a public benefactor to catch a burglar! What is your mistress going to do to reward you?”
“I am to have a silver collar,” said Thomas soberly, “which I know I shall hate. Cats should never have collars. They prevent us from going into out-of-the-way places.”
“Birds’ nests, for example,” said Bronze-Wing, in his rough voice. “Have you heard the latest thing about cats, Thomas—I mean the latest plan to keep them from catching birds?”
“No, I haven’t,” said Thomas shortly.
CHAPTER XXV
THE CHILDREN’S RED CROSS ENTERTAINMENT
WELL,” said Bronze-Wing, “you catch pussy and cut the nails of his forefeet.
“It doesn’t hurt a bit, and when pussy’s claws are trimmed he can not climb trees nor hold little birds down while he tears them limb from limb.”
“No one shall trim my claws,” said Thomas stoutly.
“Wait and see,” said Bronze-Wing. “There may be a law to that effect.”
“Oh, look, birds,” called Black Gorget suddenly, “here come our darlings all dressed up.”
Sammy-Sam and Lucy-Loo and Freddie and Beatrice had got to be such dear children that all the birds and the animals in the neighborhood loved them. Just now they were coming down the sidewalk in very amusing costumes. They were going to have a Red Cross entertainment on the big lawn of the boarding house. The day was so fine that the ladies were sitting out in front and the children thought it a good chance to make some money, for, like their elders, they were doing everything in their power to help the work for wounded soldiers.
Sammy-Sam was dressed to represent a dog, Freddie was a pony, Lucy-Loo was a bird, and Beatrice was a cat.
The two boys were going along on all fours. Sammy-Sam had on an old curly black woolen coat of his aunt’s, strapped well round his little body, so as to leave his arms and legs free to run on. Freddie wore a ponyskin coat of his mother’s.
Beatrice had on a gray costume that she had worn at a children’s party when she represented a cat, and Lucy-Loo was dressed in bright blue, and had a very perky little tail.
Beatrice, who usually took command of their play, marshaled them all in a row at the back of the lawn, then she stepped forward, adjusted the cat head mask she wore, which was always slipping on one side, so that the eye holes came over one ear.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, in her clear young voice, “no, I mean just ladies, you are always so kind about helping us with your money that when we saw you sitting out here we thought we would give our new entertainment. This is really truly brand new. We made up the verses ourselves. I did most of them, ’cause the boys aren’t much good at poetry. Costumes are new, too, ’cept mine. I will begin with my ‘Song of a Cat.’”
Then she made a pretty little bow, gave her long tail a throw, and began:
“THOMAS, THE NOBLE CAT”
“One night, not very long ago,
Dear Thomas wandered to and fro.
He saw a man come in his house,
Creeping as quiet as any mouse.
“Said Thomas cat unto himself,
‘This man is after wicked pelf;
Mayhap he’ll creep right up the stair,
And steal the jewels of ladies fair.’
“He hied him to his mistress dear,
He told to her his fearful fear.
She called some bold men from upstairs,
And Tom was cured of all his cares.
“They chased that burglar man as he
Smashed through the window mightily;
Policemen came; they seized him well,
And now he droops within a cell!”
The ladies were delighted with her tale of Black Thomas, and when she finished they clapped their hands and bowed and smiled, and we birds chirped and whistled to each other, and sat with our heads on one side, looking very knowing, for we had been among the first to hear of this story.
To the great amusement but not to the surprise of the ladies, Beatrice promptly took up a collection in a knitting bag that could have held a thousand dollars.
When she retired to the back of the lawn, Sammy-Sam came tumbling forward on hands and feet and, starting to bow politely, lost his dog mask, which Beatrice quickly clapped on again.
“Bow, wow, ladies,” he said,
“I am a little doggie dog.
There’s only one person in the world for me,
And that’s my master or mistress, whichever it happens to be.
For her or for him I’ll lay down my life;
Who says I am not a soldier dog? Bow, wow!”
We birds did not think his poetry as good as Beatrice’s, but the ladies greeted him with just as much applause, and he took up a collection in Beatrice’s bag, first pouring out its contents on the grass, so that he could compare his receipts with hers.
“Bow, wow, too many coppers, ladies!” he barked. “Silver, please, for me,” and he started round the half circle, the bag in his mouth, hopping from one to another, and then retiring to the background where he and the lamb counted the money and wagged their heads as if well pleased with what they had got.
Beatrice stepped to the edge of the lawn. “Ladies,” she said, “the next number on our programme is ‘The Song of a Birdie,’ written and recited by Miss Lucy-Loo Claxton.”
Amid much hand-clapping, Lucy-Loo stepped shyly forward. She was dressed all in blue, and she tried to give her perky little tail a flirt, but was too nervous to do more than shake it feebly, causing both boys to break into a roar of laughter, which Beatrice promptly checked. Then Lucy-Loo began—
“Dear Friends,
I am a little birdie,
And I don’t know what kind of a bird I am.
I am just a bird.
I have a pretty head and bright eyes to see you.
I have a pair of wings that I like for myself.
For I love to fly up toward the blue sky;
Please don’t take my wings and put them in your hat.
And in summer don’t let little boys shoot me.
“Yours truly,“A Little Bird.”
The ladies were so warm in praising her that she quite lost her little bird head and announced that her collection would be neither coppers nor silver, but paper money.
Her hearers were convulsed with laughter, and gave her what she asked for, though I noticed that they had to do some borrowing from each other, not having foreseen an appeal for money on their own veranda, though Red Cross workers are everywhere now.
Freddie came last with his ditty about the pony. He looked very smooth and very innocent with his good young eyes shining out of a headpiece of black hairy skin, which made him perspire quite freely.
He rose on his little hoofs and recited very earnestly:
“Pony, pony is my name,
Pony is my nature.
Do not whip me up the hill,
Do not hurry me down the road.
Give me food and water plenty,
Brush me well and give me a good bed.
Don’t jerk my tender mouth when you drive me.
Don’t beat me when you’re angry.
Love me a little if you can,
For I—love—you.”