XX. FARMER BROWN'S BOY SPEAKS HIS MIND
You cannot always surely tell
If things be ill or things be well.
WHEN the poor suffering, wounded little Bob White crawled under the fence he didn't know it, but he had crawled on to the land of Farmer Brown, where a sign warned all hunters to keep off—that no shooting would be allowed there. And when he looked up and saw right in front of him one of those two-legged creatures like the one with the terrible fire-stick, and at once had given up all hope, he had been too sick at heart and suffering too much to recognize Farmer Brown's boy.
But that is just who it was. You see, Farmer Brown's boy had been so anxious for fear that some hunter would come over on his father's land in spite of the signs, that he had gone down on the Green Meadows just as soon as he had eaten his breakfast. He had seen the hunter on the land of Farmer Jones and had heard him shoot. With all his heart Farmer Brown's boy had hoped that the hunter had missed. Now as he looked down and saw the poor little suffering bird he knew that the hunter had not missed, and fierce anger swelled his heart. He quite forgot that he himself used to hunt with a terrible gun before he had learned to know and to love the little people of the Green Meadows, the Green Forest and the Old Pasture.
He stooped and very tenderly lifted the little Bob White, who closed his eyes and was sure that now all would soon be over.
“You poor little thing! You poor, poor little thing!” said Farmer Brown's boy as he looked at the torn and broken wing. Then he looked across at the hunter and scowled savagely. Just then the hunter saw him and at once started towards him. You see, the hunter thought that perhaps if he offered Farmer Brown's boy money he would allow him to hunt on Farmer Brown's land. He knew that was where Bob White and all his family had flown to. When he reached the fence, he saw the little Bob White in the hands of Farmer Brown's boy.
“Hello!” exclaimed the hunter in surprise, “I guess that's my bird!”
“I guess it's nothing of the sort!” retorted Farmer Brown's boy.
“Oh, yes, it is,” replied the hunter. “I shot it a little while ago, but it got away from me. I'll thank you to hand it over to me, young man.”
“You'll do nothing of the sort,” retorted Farmer Brown's boy. “It may be the bird you shot, more shame to you, but it isn't yours; it's mine. I found it on our land, and it belongs to me if it belongs to any one.”
Now the hunter was tempted to reply sharply, but remembering that he wanted to get this boy's permission to hunt on Farmer Brown's land, he bit the angry reply off short and said instead, “Why don't you wring its neck? If you'll get your father to let me shoot on your land, I'll kill another for you, and then you will have a fine dinner.”
Farmer Brown's boy grew red in the face. “Don't you dare put your foot on this side of the fence!” he cried. “I'd have you to know that these Bob Whites are my very best friends. They've worked for me all summer long, and do you suppose I'm going to let any harm come to them now if I can help it? Not much! Look how this poor little thing is suffering. And you call it sport. Bah! The law lets you hunt them, but it's a bad law. It's a horrid law. If they did any harm it would be different. But instead of doing harm they work for us all summer long, and then when the crops which they have helped us save are harvested, we turn around and allow them to be shot! But they can't be shot on this land, and the sooner you get away the better I'll like it.”
Instead of getting angry the hunter laughed good-naturedly. “All right, I'll keep off your land, sonny,” said he. “But you needn't get so excited. They're only birds, and were made to be shot.”
“No more than you were!” retorted Farmer Brown's boy. “And they've got feelings just as you have. This poor little thing is trembling like a leaf in my hand. I'm not going to wring its neck. I'm going to try to cure it.” With this Fanner Brown's boy turned his back on the hunter and started for home. And the poor little Bob White, not understanding, had no more hope than before.
XXI. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LITTLE BOB WHITE
WITH his eyes tightly closed because of the terror in his heart, the little Bob White was being carried by Fanner Brown's boy. Very tender was the way in which he was handled, and after a while he began to take a little comfort in the warmth of the hand which held him. Once in a while Farmer Brown's boy would gently smooth the feathers of the little head and say, “Poor little chap.”
Straight home went Farmer Brown's boy. Very, very gently he bathed the wounds of the little Bob White. Then, as gently as he could, he put the broken bones of the wing back in place and bound them there with little strips of thin wood to keep them from slipping. It hurt dreadfully, and the little Bob White didn't know what it all meant. But he had suffered so much already that a little more suffering didn't matter much, and he didn't so much as peep.
When it was all over he was put into a box with a bed of soft clean hay, a little dish of water which he could reach by just stretching out his head, and a handful of wheat, and then he was left alone. He was too sick and weary to want to do anything but squat down in that bed of hay and rest. He was still afraid of what might happen to him, but it was not such a great fear as before, for there had been something comforting in the gentle touch of Farmer Brown's boy. He didn't understand at all what those strange wrappings about his body meant, but a lot of the ache and pain had gone from the broken wing.
So he drank gratefully of the water, for he had been burning with thirst, and then settled himself as comfortably as possible and in no time at all was asleep. Yes, Sir, he was asleep! You see, he was so worn out with fright and pain that he couldn't keep his eyes open. Ever so many times during the day Farmer Brown's boy came to see how he was getting along, and was so very gentle and whistled to him so softly that his little heart no longer went pita-pat with fear.
The next morning the little Bob White felt so much better that he was up bright and early and made a good breakfast of the wheat left for him. But it seemed very queer not to be able to move his wings. He couldn't lift them even the teeniest, weeniest bit because, you see, Farmer Brown's boy had bound them to his sides with strips of cloth so that he couldn't even try to fly. This was so that that broken wing might get well and strong again.
Now of course the little Bob White had lived out of doors all his life, and Farmer Brown's boy knew that he never could be quite happy in the house. So he made a wire pen in the henyard, and in one end he made the nicest little shelter of pine-boughs under which the little Bob White could hide. He put a little dish of clean water in the pen and scattered wheat on the ground, and then he put the little Bob White in there.
As soon as he was left quite alone the little Bob White ran all about to see what his new home was like. You see, there was nothing the matter with his legs.
“I can't get out,” thought he, when he had been all around the pen, “but neither can any one get in, so I am safe and that is something to be thankful for. This two-legged creature is not at all like the one with the terrible fire-stick, and I am beginning to like him. I haven't got to fear Reddy Fox or Old Man Coyote or Redtail the Hawk. I guess that really I am a lot better off than if I were out on the Green Meadows unable to fly. Perhaps, when my wing gets well, I will be allowed to go. I wonder where my father and mother and brothers and sisters are and if any of them were hurt by that terrible fire-stick.”
XXII. A JOYOUS DAY FOR THE BOB WHITES
Thrice blessed be the girl or boy
Who fills another's heart with joy.
ONE day just by chance Bob White flew up in a tree where he could look down in Fanner Brown's henyard, and there he discovered the lost little Bob and talked with him. Then Bob White flew back to the Green Meadows where little Mrs. Bob was anxiously waiting for him, and his heart was light. Mrs. Bob was watching for him and flew to meet him.
“It's all right!” cried Bob. “I found him over in Fanner Brown's henyard.” Of course “him” meant the young Bob White who had been given up as killed. “What?” exclaimed Mrs. Bob.
“What is a henyard, and what is he doing there?”
“A henyard is a place where Farmer Brown keeps a lot of big foolish birds,” explained Bob, “and little Bob is a prisoner there.”
“How dreadful!” cried Mrs. Bob. “If he's a prisoner, how can you say it's all right?”
“Because it is,” replied Bob. “He's perfectly safe there, and he wouldn't be if he were here with us. You see, he can't fly. One of his wings was broken by the shot from that terrible gun. Farmer Brown's boy found him and has been very kind to him. He fixed that wing so that I believe it is going to get quite as well as ever. You know quite as well as I do how much chance little Bob would have had over here with a broken wing. Reddy Fox or Redtail the Hawk or some one else would have been sure to get him sooner or later. But up there they can't, because he is in a wire pen. He can't get out, but neither can they get in, and so he is safe. He and Farmer Brown's boy are great friends. With my own eyes I saw him feed from the hand of Farmer Brown's boy. Do you know, I believe that boy is really and truly our friend and can be trusted.”
“That is what Peter Rabbit is always saying, but after all we've suffered from them, I can't quite make up my mind that any of those great two-legged creatures are to be trusted,” said little Mrs. Bob. “I've got to see for myself.”
“You shall,” declared Bob. “Tomorrow morning you shall go up there and I'll stay here to look after the rest of the youngsters. I am afraid if we left them alone some of them would be careless or foolish enough to go where the hunters with terrible guns would find them.”
So the next morning Mrs. Bob went up to visit young Bob, and she saw all that Bob had seen the day before. She returned with a great load off her mind. She knew that Bob was right, and that Fanner Brown's boy had proved himself a true friend from whom there was nothing to fear. The next day Bob and Mrs. Bob took the whole family up there, for Fanner Brown's boy had scattered food for them just outside the henyard where the biddies could not get it, and Bob was smart enough to know that no hunter would dare look for them so close to Farmer Brown's house. Morning after morning they went up there to get their breakfast, and they didn't even fly when Farmer Brown's boy and Farmer Brown himself came out to watch them eat.
Then one morning a wonderful thing happened. Farmer Brown's boy took young Bob out of his pen in the hen-yard. Young Bob looked quite himself by this time, for the strips of cloth which had bound his broken wing in place had been taken off, and his wing was as good as ever. Fanner Brown's boy took him outside the henyard and gently put him down on the ground.
“There you are! Now go and join your family and in the future keep out of the way of hunters,” said he, and laughed to see young Bob scamper over to join his brothers and sisters.
Such a fuss as they made over him! Suddenly Bob White flew up to the top of a post, threw back his head and whistled with all his might, “Bob White! Bob White! Bob White!” You see, he just had to tell all the Great World of the joy in his heart, although this was not the time of year in which he usually whistles.
And this is how it happened that Bob White and his whole family came regularly to Farmer Brown's for their breakfasts, and no hunter ever had another chance to carry fright and suffering and sorrow into their midst.
So this is all about Bob White and his family because Ol' Mistah Buzzard has come all the way up from Ol' Virginny for me to tell you about him and his adventures. I've promised to do it in the very next book.