Part 5 (1/2)
”But my husband prefers this style of building.”
”That's only because he isn't properly instructed. Pray, did you ever attend Dr. Kite's lectures on the nervous system?”
”No, I have no time to attend lectures. Who would sit on the eggs?”
”Why, your husband, to be sure; don't he take his turn in sitting?
If he don't, he ought to. I shall speak to him about it. My husband always sits regularly half the time, that I may have time to go about and exercise.”
”O Mrs. Magpie, pray don't speak to my husband; he will think I've been complaining.”
”No, no, he won't. Let me alone. I understand just how to say the thing. I've advised hundreds of young husbands in my day, and I never gave offence.”
”But I tell you, Mrs. Magpie, I don't want any interference between my husband and me, and I will not have it,” says Mrs. Oriole, with her little round eyes flas.h.i.+ng with indignation.
”Don't put yourself in a pa.s.sion, my dear; the more you talk, the more sure I am that your nervous system is running down, or you wouldn't forget good manners in this way. You'd better take my advice, for I understand just what to do,”--and away sails Mother Magpie; and presently young Oriole comes home all in a flutter.
”I say, my dear, if you will persist in gossiping over our private family matters with that old Mother Magpie--”
”My dear, I don't gossip. She comes and bores me to death with talking, and then goes off and mistakes what she has been saying for what I said.”
”But you must CUT her.”
”I try to, all I can; but she won't BE cut.”
”It's enough to make a bird swear,” said Tommy Oriole.
Tommy Oriole, to say the truth, had as good a heart as ever beat under bird's feathers; but then he had a weakness for concerts and general society, because he was held to be, by all odds, the handsomest bird in the woods, and sung like an angel; and so the truth was he didn't confine himself so much to the domestic nest as Tom t.i.tmouse or Billy Wren. But he determined that he wouldn't have old Mother Magpie interfering with his affairs.
”The fact is,” quoth Tommy, ”I am a society bird, and Nature has marked out for me a course beyond the range of the commonplace, and my wife must learn to accommodate. If she has a brilliant husband, whose success gratifies her ambition and places her in a distinguished public position, she must pay something for it. I'm sure Billy Wren's wife would give her very bill to see her husband in the circles where I am quite at home. To say the truth, my wife was all well enough content till old Mother Magpie interfered. It is quite my duty to take strong ground, and show that I cannot be dictated to.”
So, after this, Tommy Oriole went to rather more concerts, and spent less time at home than ever he did before, which was all that Mother Magpie effected in that quarter. I confess this was very bad in Tommy; but then birds are no better than men in domestic matters, and sometimes will take the most unreasonable courses, if a meddlesome Magpie gets her claw into their nest.
But old Mother Magpie had now got a new business in hand in another quarter. She bustled off down to Water-Dock Lane, where, as we said in a former narrative, lived the old music-teacher, Dr. Bullfrog.
The poor old doctor was a simple-minded, good, amiable creature, who had played the double-ba.s.s and led the forest choir on all public occasions since n.o.body knows when. Latterly some youngsters had arisen who sneered at his performances as behind the age. In fact, since a great city had grown up in the vicinity of the forest, tribes of wandering boys broke up the simple tastes and quiet habits which old Mother Nature had always kept up in those parts. They pulled the young checkerberry before it even had time to blossom, rooted up the sa.s.safras shrubs and gnawed their roots, fired off guns at the birds, and on several occasions, when old Dr. Bullfrog was leading a concert, had dashed in and broken up the choir by throwing stones.
This was not the worst of it. The little varlets had a way of jeering at the simple old doctor and his concerts, and mimicking the tones of his ba.s.s-viol. ”There you go, Paddy-go-donk, Paddy-go-donk- -umph--chunk,” some rascal of a boy would shout, while poor old Bullfrog's yellow spectacles would be bedewed with tears of honest indignation. In time, the jeers of these little savages began to tell on the society in the forest, and to corrupt their simple manners; and it was whispered among the younger and more heavy birds and squirrels that old Bullfrog was a bore, and that it was time to get up a new style of music in the parish, and to give the charge of it to some more modern performer.
Poor old Dr. Bullfrog knew nothing of this, however, and was doing his simple best, in peace, when Mother Magpie called in upon him one morning.
”Well, neighbour, how unreasonable people are! Who would have thought that the youth of our generation should have no more consideration for established merit? Now, for my part, _I_ think your music-teaching never was better; and as for our choir, I maintain constantly that it never was in better order, but--Well, one may wear her tongue out, but one can never make these young folks listen to reason.”
”I really don't understand you, ma'am,” said poor Dr. Bullfrog.
”What! you haven't heard of a committee that is going to call on you, to ask you to resign the care of the parish music?”
”Madam,” said Dr. Bullfrog, with all that energy of tone for which he was remarkable, ”I don't believe it,--I CAN'T believe it. You must have made a mistake.”
”I mistake! No, no, my good friend; I never make mistakes. What I know, I know certainly. Wasn't it I that said I knew there was an engagement between Tim Chipmunk and Nancy Nibble, who are married this very day? I knew that thing six weeks before any bird or beast in our parts; and I can tell you, you are going to be scandalously and ungratefully treated, Dr. Bullfrog.”
”Bless me, we shall all be ruined!” said Mrs. Bullfrog; ”my poor husband--”