OWLHOOT I.
"What can't be cured must be endured." _Old Proverb._
It was the wish to see Little Miss once more that led my wings past hernursery window; besides, I had a curiosity to look at the clock.
It is an eight-day clock, in a handsome case, and would, undoubtedly,have been a becoming perch for a bird of my dignified appearance, but Iwill not describe it to-day. Nor will I speak of my meditations as I sitin my Ivy Bush like any other common owl, and reflect that if I had nothad my own way, but had listened to Little Miss, I might have sat on anEight-day Clock, and been godfather to the children. It is not seemlyfor an owl to doubt his own wisdom, but as I have taken upon me, for thesake of Little Miss, to be a child's counsellor, I will just observe,in passing, that though it is very satisfactory at the time to get yourown way, you may live to wish that you had taken other folk's adviceinstead.
From that nursery I have taken flight to others. I sail by the windows,and throw a searching eye through these bars which are, I believe,placed there to keep top-heavy babies from tumbling out. Sometimes Ipeer down the chimney. From the nook of a wall or the hollow of a tree,I overlook the children's gardens and playgrounds. I have an eye toseveral schools, and I fancy (though I may be wrong) that I should lookwell seated on the top of an easel--just above the black-board, with apiece of chalk in my feathery foot.
Not that I have any notion of playing school-master, or even of advisingschool-masters and parents how to make their children good and wise. Iam the Children's Owl--their very own--and all my good advice isintended to help them to improve themselves.
It is wonderful how children _do_ sometimes improve! I knew a finelittle fellow, much made of by his family and friends, who used to be sopeevish about all the little ups and downs of life, and had such alamentable whine in his voice when he was thwarted in any trifle, thatif you had heard without seeing him, you'd have sworn that the mostmiserable wretch in the world was bewailing the worst of catastropheswith failing breath. And all the while there was not a handsomer,healthier, better fed, better bred, better dressed, and more dearlyloved little boy in all the parish. When you might have thought, by thesound of it, that some starving skeleton of a creature was moaning for abit of bread, the young gentleman was only sobbing through the soap andlifting his voice above the towels, because Nurse would wash his fairrosy cheeks. And when cries like those of one vanquished in battle andbegging and praying for his life, rang through the hall and up the frontstairs, it proved to be nothing worse than Master Jack imploring hisfriends to "_please, please_" and "_do, do_," let him stay out to run ina final "go as you please" race with the young Browns (who dine aquarter of an hour later), instead of going in promptly when the gongsounded for luncheon.
Now the other day I peeped into a bedroom of that little boy's home. Thesun was up, and so was Jack, but one of his numerous Aunts was not. Shewas in bed with a headache, and to this her pale face, her eyesshunning the light like my own, and her hair restlessly tossed over thepillow bore witness. When a knock came on the bedroom door, she startedwith pain, but lay down again and cried--"Come in!"
The door opened, but no one came in; and outside the voices of thelittle boy and his nurse were audible.
"I want to show her my new coat."
"You can't, Master Jack. Your Aunt's got a dreadful headache, and can'tbe disturbed."
No peevish complaints from Jack: only a deep sigh.
"I'm very sorry about her headache; and I'm very very sorry about mycoat. For I am going out, and it will never be so new again."
His Aunt spoke feebly.
"Nurse, I must see his coat. Let him come in."
Enter Jack.
It was his first manly suit, and he was trying hard for a manly soulbeneath it, as a brave boy should. He came in very gently, but withconscious pride glowing in his rosy cheeks and out of his shining eyes.His cheeks were very red, for a step in life is a warming thing, and sois a cloth suit when you've been used to frocks.
It was a bottle-green coat, with large mother-o'-pearl buttons and threecoachman's capes; and there were leggings to match. The beaver hat, too,was new, and becomingly cocked, as he stood by his Aunt's bedside andsmiled.
"What a fine coat, Jack!"
"Made by a tailor, Auntie Julie. Real pockets!"
"You don't say so!"
He nodded.
"Leggings too!" and he stuck up one leg at a sudden right angle on tothe bed; a rash proceeding, but the boy has a straight little figure,and with a hop or two he kept his balance.
"My dear Jack, they are grand. How warm they must keep your legs!"
He shook his beaver hat.
"No. They only tickles. That's what they do."
There was a pause. His Aunt remembered the old peevish ways. She did notwant to encourage him to discard his winter leggings, and was doubtfulwhat to say. But in a moment more his eyes shone, and his face took thateffulgent expression which some children have when they are resolvedupon being good.
"--_and as I can't shake off the tickle, I have to bear it_," added thelittle gentleman.
I call him the little gentleman advisedly. There is no stronger sign ofhigh breeding in young people, than a cheerful endurance of the rubs oflife. A temper that fits one's fate, a spirit that rises with theoccasion. It is this kind of courage which the Gentlemen of Englandhave shown from time immemorial, through peace and war, by land and sea,in every country and climate of the habitable globe. Jack is a child ofthat Empire on which the sun never sets, and if he live he is like tohave larger opportunities of bearing discomfort than was afforded by thewoolly worry of his bottle-green leggings. I am in good hopes that hewill not be found wanting.
Some such thoughts, I believe, occurred to his Aunt.
"That's right, Jack. What a man you are!"
The rosy cheeks became carmine, and Jack flung himself upon his Aunt,and kissed her with resounding smacks.
A somewhat wrecked appearance which she presented after this boisteroushug, recalled the headache to his mind, and as he settled the beaverhat, which had gone astray, he said ruefully,
"Is your headache _very_ bad, Auntie Julie?"
"Rather bad, Jack. _And as I can't shake if off, I have to bear it._"
He went away on tiptoe, and it was only after he had carefully andgently closed the bedroom door behind him, that he departed by leapsand bounds to show himself in his bottle-green coat and capes, andwhite buttons and leggings to match, and beaver hat to boot, first tothe young Browns, and after that to the General Public.
As an Observer, I may say that it was a sight worth seeing; and as aBird of some wisdom, I prophesy well of that boy.
PROVERBS.
Fine feathers make fine birds.
Manners make the man.
Clowns are best in their own company; gentlemen are best everywhere.
Where there's a will there's a way.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
What can't be cured must be endured.
OWL HOOT NO 2]
Brothers of Pity and Other Tales of Beasts and Men Page 20