Fourth Reader - Various 7 стр.

So he would go on, never eating a morsel, but gathering worms till he had three or four of the wriggling creatures hanging from his firm little beak. Then he would fly to a low branch, run up a little way, take another short flight, and thus having, as he plainly intended by this zigzag course, completely deceived the observer as to his destination, he would slip quietly to the nest and quickly dispose of his load. In half a minute he was back again, running and watching, and digging as before. And this work he kept up nearly all day,  in silence, too, for, noisy and talkative as the bird is, he keeps his mouth shut when on the ground. In all my watching of robins for years in several places, I scarcely ever heard one make a sound when on the ground, near a human dwelling.

I was surprised to discover, in my close attention to them, that although early to rise, robins are by no means early to bed. Long after every feather was supposed to be at rest for the night, I would sit out and listen to the gossip, the last words, the scraps of song,  different in every individual robin, yet all variations on the theme, Be cheery, and often the sharp He he he he he! so like a girls laugh, out of the shadowy depths of the maple.

One of the most interesting entertainments of the later days was to hear the young birds music lesson. In the early morning the father would place himself in the thickest part of the tree, not as usual in plain sight on the top, and with his pupil near him would begin, Cheery! cheery! be cheery! in a loud, clear voice; and then would follow a feeble, wavering, uncertain attempt to copy the song. Again papa would chant the first strain, and baby would pipe out his funny notes. This was kept up, till in a surprisingly short time, after much daily practice both with the copy and without, I could hardly tell father from son.

The baby robin taken apart from his kind is an interesting study. Before he can fairly balance himself on his uncertain, wavering little legs, or lay claim to more than the promise of a tail, he displays the brave, self-reliant spirit of his race. He utters loud, defiant calls, pecks boldly at an intruding hand, and stands as well as he is able staring one full in the face without blinking, asserting by his attitude and by every bristling feather that he is a living being; and, in the depths of your soul, you cannot gainsay him. If you have already, in his helpless infancy, made him captive, the blush of shame arises, and you involuntarily throw wide the prison-doors.

THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK

KING HACONS LAST BATTLE

MR. PICKWICK ON THE ICE

On Christmas morning Mr. Wardle invited Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Snodgrass, Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and his other guests to go down to the pond.

You skate, of course, Winkle? said Mr. Wardle.

Ye s; oh, yes! replied Mr. Winkle. I I am rather out of practice.

Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle, said Arabella. I like to see it so much.

Oh, it is so graceful, said another young lady.

A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was swanlike.

I should be very happy, I am sure, said Mr. Winkle, reddening, but I have no skates.

This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of pairs, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.

You skate, of course, Winkle? said Mr. Wardle.

Ye s; oh, yes! replied Mr. Winkle. I I am rather out of practice.

Oh, do skate, Mr. Winkle, said Arabella. I like to see it so much.

Oh, it is so graceful, said another young lady.

A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was swanlike.

I should be very happy, I am sure, said Mr. Winkle, reddening, but I have no skates.

This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of pairs, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more downstairs; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.

Mr. Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the fat boy and Mr. Weller having shovelled and swept away the snow which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was perfectly marvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without once stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing devices,  to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and the ladies,  which reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm when Mr. Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions which they called a reel.

All this time Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the soles of his shoes, and putting his skates on, with the points behind, and getting the straps into a very complicated state, with the assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of Mr. Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and buckled on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.

Now, then, sir, said Sam, in an encouraging tone, off with you, and show them how to do it.

Stop, Sam, stop! said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and clutching hold of Sams arms with the grasp of a drowning man. How slippery it is, Sam!

Not an uncommon thing upon ice, sir, replied Mr. Weller. Hold up, sir!

This last observation of Mr. Wellers bore reference to a demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant of a frantic desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head on the ice.

These these are very awkward skates; arent they, Sam? inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.

Im afraid theres an awkward gentleman in em, sir, replied Sam.

Now, Winkle, cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that there was anything the matter. Come; the ladies are all anxiety.

Yes, yes, replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. Im coming.

Just going to begin, said Sam, endeavoring to disengage himself. Now, sir, start off!

Stop an instant, Sam, gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most affectionately to Mr. Weller. I find Ive got a couple of coats at home that I dont want, Sam. You may have them, Sam.

Thank ee, sir, replied Mr. Weller.

Never mind touching your hat, Sam, said Mr. Winkle, hastily. You neednt take your hand away to do that. I meant to have given you five shillings this morning for a Christmas-box, Sam. Ill give it to you this afternoon, Sam.

Youre wery good, sir, replied Mr. Weller.

Just hold me at first, Sam, will you? said Mr. Winkle. There thats right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. Not too fast, Sam; not too fast.

Mr. Winkle, stooping forward, with his body half doubled up, was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular and unswanlike manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently shouted from the bank, Sam!

Sir?

Here. I want you.

Let go, sir, said Sam. Dont you hear the governor calling? Let go, sir.

With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the grasp of the agonized Pickwickian, and in so doing, administered a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could have insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the centre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob Sawyer was performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily. Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet, but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind on skates. He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but anguish was depicted on every lineament of his face.

Are you hurt? inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.

Not much, said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.

Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to Mr. Weller, and said in a stern voice, Take his skates off.

No; but really I had scarcely begun, remonstrated Mr. Winkle.

Take his skates off, repeated Mr. Pickwick, firmly.

The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed Sam to obey it in silence.

Lift him up, said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise.

Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders; and beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look upon him, and uttered in a low but distinct and emphatic tone, these remarkable words, Youre a humbug, sir.

A what? said Mr. Winkle, starting.

A humbug, sir. I shall speak plainer, if you wish it. An impostor, sir.

With those words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, and rejoined his friends.

While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment just recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint endeavors cut out a slide, were exercising themselves thereupon in a very masterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular, was displaying that beautiful feat of fancy sliding which is currently called knocking at the cobblers door, and which is achieved by skimming over the ice on one foot, and occasionally giving a postmans knock upon it with the other. It was a good, long slide, and there was something in the motion which Mr. Pickwick, who was very cold with standing still, could not help envying.

It looks like a nice warm exercise that, doesnt it? he inquired of Mr. Wardle.

Ah, it does indeed, replied Wardle. Do you slide?

I used to do so on the gutters, when I was a boy, replied Mr. Pickwick.

Try it now, said Wardle.

Oh, do, please, Mr. Pickwick! cried all the ladies.

I should be very happy to afford you any amusement, replied Mr. Pickwick, but I havent done such a thing these thirty years.

Pooh, pooh! Nonsense! said Wardle, dragging off his skates with the impetuosity which characterized all his proceedings. Here, Ill keep you company; come along! And away went the good-tempered old fellow down the slide, with a rapidity which came very close upon Mr. Weller, and beat the fat boy all to nothing.

Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and put them in his hat, took two or three short runs, stopped as often, and at last took another run and went slowly and gravely down the slide, with his feet about a yard and a quarter apart, amidst the gratified shouts of all the spectators.

Keep the pot a-boiling, sir, said Sam; and down went Wardle again, and then Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and then Mr. Winkle, and then Mr. Bob Sawyer, and then the fat boy, and then Mr. Snodgrass, following closely upon each others heels, and running after each other with as much eagerness as if all their future prospects in life depended on their expedition.