Billingsly

by Braithwaite, E. R. ;

  Billingsly nodded.

  “I suppose bears are very different, too,” said Lisbeth.

  “Oh yes,” replied Billingsly. “I saw many different bears in the window of the toy shop. Pink bears and red bears and white bears.”

  “Those are only toy bears, silly,” Lisbeth replied, “I was thinking of real bears.”

  “I’ve never seen a real bear,” Billingsly told her.

  “Daddy promised to take me to the Zoo,” said Lisbeth. “Perhaps I can take you with me and we’ll both see real bears.”

  “I’d like that very much,” Billingsly said.

  Just then Lisbeth’s Mummy called her in to dinner.

  Chapter

  Two

  CRADLING BILLINGSLY ON HER left arm Lisbeth stood at her bedroom window, looking out into the garden. The sky was a clear blue with hardly a cloud anywhere. A pair of squirrels chased each other among the branches of the magnolia tree as if enjoying a game in the early morning sunshine.

  “What are they?” asked Billingsly.

  “Squirrels, of course,” laughed Lisbeth.

  “Don’t say of course,” chided Billingsly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Lisbeth, “I thought you knew about squirrels.”

  “I never saw one of them before coming to live with you,” said Billingsly. “From the window of the toy shop I saw children and grown-ups, dogs, birds and sometimes a horse. I never saw a squirrel.”

  “Those two live somewhere nearby in a tree,” Lisbeth said.

  “Sometimes I’ve seen them running about the garden and I wondered what they were,” Billingsly told her, nodding his head. “They always seem to be searching for something in the grass.”

  “They’re searching for nuts or seeds they’ve hidden. My Daddy said that when squirrels have more food than they need they hide some of it in holes in the ground.”

  “Will they know where to find it?” asked Billingsly.

  “I suppose so,” Lisbeth replied. “Today Mummy is taking me to the library.”

  “May I come, too?” asked Billingsly.

  “I’ll ask Mummy if I can take you with us. I’m sure she will let me,” Lisbeth said.

  “What is a library and what will we do there?” Billingsly­ asked.

  “It’s a place where there are lots and lots of books and you can borrow what you want to read. Mummy will borrow some for herself and I will get two of my favourites,” Lisbeth told him.

  “Can you read?” asked Billingsly.

  “Oh yes,” said Lisbeth proudly. “I can read. I’ve already read a few of the Jack and Jill books.”

  “How did you learn to read?” Billingsly asked her.

  “Mummy taught me. When I was much younger I would sit in my high chair in the kitchen and Mummy would teach me the names of everything. Afterwards she would write the names on a little blackboard on the wall. I learned to remember the names of things and the words she wrote. Like c-u-p and c-a-t and m-i-l-k. Then in the evenings she and Daddy would read to me. Now I can read lots of words by myself. Even books.”

  “Will you read to me?” Billingsly asked her.

  “Yes,” promised Lisbeth, “and I’ll even teach you to read just as Mummy taught me.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Billingsly. “If you read to me I’ll remember everything you say, but I don’t think I’ll be able to read by myself. Will you get a book about bears when we go to the library?”

  “Bears? Why bears?” Lisbeth asked.

  “Because, although I’m a bear, I know nothing about bears. I want to know about all kinds of bears, where they live and what they do. Everything.”

  Lisbeth promised to try to find a book about bears.

  After breakfast she helped her mother clear the table and tidy up and before long they were on their way in the car. Lisbeth sat safely buckled with Billingsly on her lap. As they drove along she showed him the house where her friend Michelle lived, the park where her school went to play, with its swings, see-saws, slides and carousels, and the roof of her school which could barely be seen through the branches of the tall trees.

  They left the car in a parking lot a short distance from the library. Near the entrance a group of people stood watching an organ-grinder with his monkey. The monkey wore a bright red suit with silvery buttons and a shiny black hat; around its waist was a thin chain, the other end of which was fastened to the organ-grinder’s wrist.

  The organ-grinder made music by turning the handle on the brightly painted organ and the monkey did cartwheels. The people clapped at these antics and the monkey took off its hat and held it out to the people, some of whom put money in it. Lisbeth held Billingsly so that he could clearly see the organ-grinder and his monkey. After a short while Mrs. Billings led them into the library. Together they went into the children’s section where they tried to find a book about bears. There were many books about teddy-bears and one about Goldilocks and the Three Bears but none about real bears.

  The librarian suggested that they try the grown-ups section. Mrs. Billings waited until Lisbeth selected two books for herself, then left them seated while she searched for the books she wanted and one about real bears. While Lisbeth sat she looked at the shelves with their hundreds and hundreds of books and wished she could read them all. Some of them seemed awfully large and heavy.

  Lisbeth sat without speaking to Billingsly because she noticed a sign on the wall with the word SILENCE. She spelled it to herself silently, pleased that she could read and understand it.

  Soon Mrs. Billings was ready to leave and together they went outside. The organ-grinder and his monkey were gone and so was the crowd which had been watching them.

  “I could not find a book about bears today,” Mrs. Billings said. “Maybe we will be lucky next time.” When they returned home Lisbeth took Billingsly into the garden and sat on the swing.

  “Did you enjoy the trip to the library?” she asked Billingsly as they swung slowly to and fro.

  Billingsly nodded and his ear slowly unfolded.

  “I did not like the squirrel in the red suit,” he said. “I liked the ones in the garden much better.”

  “That was not a squirrel in a red suit,” Lisbeth laughed. “It was a monkey.”

  “Then I did not like that monkey.” Billingsly’s voice was low and sad.

  “Why didn’t you like him?” Lisbeth asked. “I thought he was quite funny. I wish I could do cartwheels like that.”

  “I did not like the chain,” Billingsly said.

  “That’s to stop him from running away,” Lisbeth explained.

  “Why would he run away?” Billingsly asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lisbeth replied.

  “I won’t run away,” Billingsly said so softly that Lisbeth barely heard him.

  “I know you won’t,” she said, hugging him tightly. “Anyway, I would never put a chain on you.”

  From his comfortable cushion on the window seat Billingsly looked out into the garden, wondering what new sound would reach his ear this day and what new sight would come into view. Each day while Lisbeth was at school he paid careful attention to what went on outside, hoping to have something interesting to tell her when she came home.

  Usually, what he heard was the noisy, quarrelsome chirping of sparrows in the privet hedge, the faint sound of traffic from the distant main road, the singing of a mockingbird or cardinal in a nearby tree or the tuneful striking of the clock in the church tower. Sometimes he could hear snatches of music or talking from the radio downstairs where Mrs. Billings was busy with her household chores.

  He could see the squirrels at play on the lawn and the erratic flight of butterflies above the flowerbeds. He wondered about the butterflies. Once he had heard someone call them flutter-bys. He couldn’t remember who it was, but now, as he watched them, he thought the nam
e really suited them; they seemed to flutter aimlessly, letting each lazy breeze take them here or there as it wished, landing on this or that flower as if at random. They were such beautiful creatures, some bright yellow, floating about, light and fragile as goose down; others large and colourful with a huge spot in the centre of each wing like an extra pair of eyes. They seemed to appear from nowhere, fluttering this way and that.

  So unlike the bees, Billingsly thought, which always appeared to know exactly where to go and what to do; the big, noisy bumble bees or the smaller honey bees, they all carefully and deliberately visited flower by flower as if each had a special task and no time to waste. As he watched, Billingsly thought that he had never seen an idle bee; the butterflies seemed to do nothing but play.

  Some movement on a branch of the magnolia tree caught his attention. Something was there among the leaves, something which had not been there before. It shifted to the left and then to the right, then again to the left, as if unable to settle down. Watching very closely, Billingsly observed that it was a small bird, its body and wing striped yellow and black and green so that it blended easily with the leaves. It had a small, curved beak and bright, yellow ringed eyes. Now and then it would turn around on the branch to face the other way and seemed in no hurry to fly off.

  From time to time, as the day wore on, Billingsly would look towards the magnolia tree; the bird was still there. It would spread one wing and then the other to carefully preen each feather as if quite at home on the magnolia branch. Never before had Billingsly seen a bird remain so long in the same place. Perhaps it will still be there when Lisbeth comes home, he thought, and I will have something really exciting to show her.

  Sometimes the branch swayed in the wind and the bird would flap its wings to keep its balance; then Billingsly feared it would fly away but it soon would settle down again, quite comfortable on its perch.

  When Billingsly heard Lisbeth’s voice and footsteps in the hall he was nearly bursting with excitement; a quick look at the magnolia tree confirmed that the bird was still there. When Lisbeth picked him up, hugged him and said, “Hello Billingsly”, his right ear quickly unfolded and the words were already in his mouth.

  “Oh, Lisbeth … ” he whispered, but she, too, was in a great hurry to say something, the words spilling out and covering what he was trying to say.

  “Billingsly, I’ve so much to tell you!” she cried.

  “And I … ” he tried again.

  “It’s about Michelle,” Lisbeth went on, breathlessly. “Her little parrot flew away. He flew out the window and never came back. Michelle was sad all day long. Her eyes were red from crying.”

  Lisbeth sat on the bed with Billingsly on her lap; it seemed as if she, too, would soon be in tears.

  “What’s a parrot?” Billingsly asked, wanting to help. His own news could wait until Lisbeth was in a happier mood.

  “It’s a bird,” Lisbeth replied. “I saw some in the pet shop where Daddy bought my aquarium. They are green with yellow spots or grey with black or red spots on their heads and wings. People keep them as pets and teach them to talk.”

  “Do they have long tails and little curved beaks?” asked Billingsly, thinking of the bird in the tree.

  “Yes,” said Lisbeth, “and bright little eyes.”

  “I’ve seen a parrot,” said Billingsly, his voice smiling with pride.

  “Did they have parrots in the toy shop?” Lisbeth asked.

  “Not in the toy shop,” said Billingsly, turning his head and nodding towards the window. “In the tree.”

  “Which tree?” cried Lisbeth.

  “There, on that branch near the window,” Billingsly said, nodding.

  At first Lisbeth could see nothing but the thick green leaves; then, when the wind blew, the branch swayed and the bird opened its wings to keep its balance.

  “There it is!” she cried. “I can see it. It’s a parrot. I’m sure it’s Michelle’s parrot. Oh, Billingsly, how lovely.” And she gave him a big hug.

  “It’s been there all morning,” Billingsly said.

  “Poor thing. Maybe it’s hungry,” Lisbeth said. “I’ll ask Mummy what we should do.”

  With Billingsly slouched to her side she ran downstairs, calling to her mother.

  Pulling Mrs. Billings with one hand and holding Billingsly with the other, Lisbeth rushed them to her bedroom window. “There he is, Mummy,” she said, pointing to where the bird was daintily preening itself. “I’m sure it’s Michelle’s. Whatever shall we do?”

  “Perhaps, if we open the window and put some fruit on the sill it will come in,” Mrs. Billings said when she saw the bird sitting so quietly among the leaves. She went downstairs and soon returned with a banana and half an apple which she placed on the window sill. Very carefully she opened the window. The bird looked towards them and, after a little while, walked sideways to the end of the branch. Twittering softly, it looked this way and that, then, without hesitation, it flew into the room and landed on Lisbeth’s bed. Mrs. Billings quickly closed the window and they left the room, closing the door after them.

  “I think we should telephone your friend Michelle to let her know her parrot is here,” Mrs. Billings said.

  “Oh, won’t she be pleased,” Lisbeth said, hopping about and hugging Billingsly.

  “What’s Michelle’s full name?” Mrs. Billings asked, while taking the telephone book from a shelf.

  “Michelle Lind,” Lisbeth replied. “Their house is just across the park.”

  Mrs. Billings found the name Lind and dialled the number. Soon she was talking to someone about the bird and giving her address.

  “That was Michelle’s mother,” she told Lisbeth. “They’ll be here in a few minutes with Harpo’s cage. They’re surprised and happy to know that he’s safe.”

  “Harpo?” asked Lisbeth.

  “That’s the parrot’s name,” said her mother.

  In a little while there was the sound of a car, then an impatient ring of the doorbell. Lisbeth ran ahead of her mother to open the door. There stood Michelle, smiling happily, with her mother who carried a large birdcage.

  Mrs. Billings greeted them and led them upstairs to Lisbeth’s room; Mrs. Lind put the birdcage on the bed next to Harpo and opened the door. As if quite happy to see its own home the bird hopped in and climbed up to its perch. Twittering contentedly, it moved from one end of the perch to the other, then climbed down to the feedbox and began to eat.

  Mrs. Billings took Mrs. Lind downstairs, leaving the children to enjoy Michelle’s happy reunion with her pet. Over and over Michelle thanked Lisbeth for finding her beloved Harpo.

  “It wasn’t me,” Lisbeth told them. “It was Billingsly. He found Harpo.”

  Michelle was too excited and happy to understand what Lisbeth meant. However, she gave Billingsly a big hug and kiss and whispered in his ear.

  “Thank you, dear Billingsly.” She picked up Harpo’s cage, carefully closed and latched the door and headed downstairs, not noticing that Billingsly’s right ear had slowly begun to uncurl.

  Chapter

  Three

  LISBETH SAT UP IN bed, a look of surprise and wonder on her face.

  “Billingsly,” she called softly.

  “What is it?” Billingsly answered.

  “My tooth,” Lisbeth replied. She held one of her front teeth between two fingers, examining it carefully as she turned it around and around.

  “What about your tooth?” Billingsly asked.

  “It’s come out,” she said, holding it in front of his face for his inspection.

  “Well!” said Billingsly.

  “My mouth feels funny when I speak,” she said, opening her mouth to show him the gap among her lower front teeth.

  “I don’t hear anything funny,” Billingsly said. “Anyway, what will you do with it?”

  “I�
��ll show it to Mummy and Daddy at breakfast,” she told him. “I wonder how long it will be before I get a new one.”

  Billingsly did not respond because he knew nothing about teeth which fell out or how long it took new ones to grow. Anyway, it was much too early in the morning to think about such things; the sunbeams were already beginning to creep through the branches and into the room.

  “I’ll take it to school to show Michelle,” Lisbeth said; quite proudly she got up, went to the bathroom and returned with a square of tissue in which she wrapped the tooth.

  At breakfast she showed the tooth to her parents. Her mother told her to put it under her pillow so that the Tooth Fairy could take it away and bring her a new one; if she was especially good the Tooth Fairy might even bring her a gift.

  Later that morning as Mrs. Billings was tidying Lisbeth’s room, Billingsly heard her wonder aloud where on earth could Lisbeth have put the tooth; it was not under the pillow where it should have been. He could have told her that Lisbeth took it to school to show it to her friends.

  Afterwards, he was lazily looking through the window at the busy life in the garden, when he became aware of movement in the room; quick, darting movement which always stayed just outside the edge of his vision. Perhaps a bee or other small insect had managed to get into the room, he thought, but just as quickly dismissed the idea. Bees always made a buzzing sound when in flight, and no insect had yet managed to escape his sharp eyes.

  Billingsly concentrated as hard as he could and now and then caught a glimpse of something that was recognisable only as a vague patch of light, barely visible against the pale pink walls of the room. Perhaps a sunbeam, he thought. No, not really. They came early in the morning and stayed only long enough to announce the day.

  “Who’s there?” asked Billingsly, nervously directing his voice to the pale patch of light which seemed to rest for a moment on Lisbeth’s pillow. There was no response and he tried again.

  “Who’s there?” he called, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “I’m the Tooth Fairy,” a small, clear voice replied.