It was really a lovely afternoon; there was no doubt about that. Elsie felt very comfortable, and just a little bit sleepy. She was lying back in the big chair under the cedar tree, which was the most shady place in the whole garden. On the lawn the thrushes and sparrows were hopping about enjoying the sunshine; while up at the top of the tall elm trees the rooks were cawing away as if they were all trying who could make the most noise.
"I wish I knew what they were talking about," Elsie said to herself. "It would be such fun to shout up something in rook language, and see them all jump. I wonder what 'Caw! Caw! Caw!' means!"
She had asked her big brother that very question only the day before. He had laughed, and declared that the rooks didn't say "Caw! Caw! Caw!" It only sounded like it. What they really said was "Cad! Cad! Cad!" because they knew that he was going to shoot them next week.
Elsie didn't really believe this, because the rooks kept on saying it the whole time, whether her brother was in the garden or not. Of course, they might be only practising, but it seemed much more probable to Elsie that they had a language of their own.
She lay back in the chair and watched them as they fluttered about the tree-tops, or rose in the air in great sweeping circles. In a few more days the baby rooks would begin to fly about. Several of them were out of the nests already, and sat on the twigs looking very miserable and unsafe, while their fathers and mothers hovered round, and jeered at them for being frightened. Elsie thought that it was very unkind of the old rooks; for she was quite sure that it must be a horrible feeling to be perched up at that height on a swaying twig, and not certain whether one could fly if one let go.
"I shouldn't like it a bit myself," thought Elsie dreamily.
With a big yawn she snuggled down amongst the cushions, which were very soft and comfortable. Her eyes would keep on shutting in the funniest way, just as if it were bed-time.
"I—do—believe—I'm—going—to sleep," she murmured.
"Hullo!" said a harsh voice suddenly.
Elsie opened her eyes with a start, and looked round to see who had spoken. There was no one in sight.
"I must have been dreaming," she thought.
"Hullo!" said the voice again—this time just beside her chair.
She glanced down, and there on the lawn stood a large rook, looking up at her out of his black, beady eyes.
"Did you speak?" asked Elsie in astonishment.
"Yes," said the rook. "Do you think I whistled, or what?"
"There is no need to be rude," said Elsie with dignity. "It's only natural I should have been surprised."
"Why?" asked the rook.
"Well, birds aren't supposed to talk."
"Ever seen a parrot?"
"You're not a parrot," objected Elsie.
"Never said I was," replied the rook. "But you seem interested in us," he observed, "judging from the way you were staring just now."
"I beg your pardon," said Elsie, blushing, for she had been properly brought up, and knew that it was rude to stare.
"Don't mention it," said the rook. "I assure you we don't mind in the least. Wouldn't you like to come up and have a look at the nests?"
"Very much," answered Elsie; "but how can I? I can't climb the trees."
"If it comes to that," replied the rook, "neither can I."
"But you can fly," objected Elsie.
"So can you, I suppose," said the rook.
"No, I can't," said Elsie.
"How do you know?" persisted the rook. "Have you ever tried?"
Elsie shook her head.
"Don't be silly," she said. "I know very well I can't fly, so what's the good of trying?"
"That's exactly what our children always say," replied the rook scornfully. "And yet they fly right enough when we push them out of the nest."
He laughed a sort of hoarse, croaking chuckle.
"Of course, if you're afraid"—he added.
Elsie jumped up out of her chair indignantly.
"Afraid? Who's afraid?" she cried. "You're just saying that to annoy me!"
"No, I'm not," answered the rook. "Don't get your feathers ruffled. All you have to do is to copy me, and you'll fly like a bird."
"But I haven't got any wings," said Elsie.
"You've got arms, haven't you? They'll do just as well for a short distance, and if you get tired I'll lend you a claw. Now, come along. Just shut your eyes and jump, and you'll find you're as right as rain."
Elsie thought that there could be no great harm in trying, so she closed her eyes, and jumped up in the air as high as ever she could. Of course, she expected to come down again bang, but to her great surprise she did nothing of the kind. She found herself floating gently upwards, and, opening her eyes, discovered that she was already on a level with the roof of the house. The rook was fluttering lazily alongside.
"Don't look down," he said, "or you'll get giddy. Keep your eyes on the nests, and we'll be there in no time. How do you like it?"
"It's very nice," said Elsie. "I had no idea it was so——"
She had just made a most startling discovery.
"I seem to be getting smaller and smaller!" she exclaimed in a frightened voice.
"Naturally," answered the rook. "Everything does when it goes up in the air. Haven't you ever watched a balloon?"
"But you're just the same size," protested Elsie, for by this time the rook was almost as big as herself.
"Oh, I'm used to it!" he answered carelessly. "You see, after a bit, when one's always flying about, it ceases to have any effect."
By this time they were getting quite near the nests, and Elsie was beginning to feel rather tired.
"We're nearly there now!" said the rook. "Stick to it!"
As she spoke, a whole crowd of other rooks suddenly rose from the trees, and came circling down to meet them. They made such a tremendous noise that for a few moments Elsie couldn't hear what they were saying. At last, however, she began to make out a sort of song; but, as they were all singing it at once, and each to a different tune, it was rather difficult to follow the words. It sounded something like this:
Welcome to our brother Jim!
Caw! Caw! Caw!
He's brought the little girl with him,
Caw! Caw! Caw!
So clap your wings and loudly squeak;
There'll be no bang! bang! bang! next week!
"What do they mean?" asked Elsie.
"Oh, nothing!" said the rook hurriedly. "It's only their idea of a lark."
"I—don't—think—it's—very—like one," panted Elsie.
"Here—take my claw," said the rook. "You're getting tired."
Elsie stretched out her hand and caught hold of the rook's claw, which he held out to her, and then, before she had quite realized what was happening, she found herself sitting on a twig at the very top of the tallest elm tree. The branches all round were simply covered with rooks, who sat and stared at her solemnly. Even the young ones were peering over the edges of the nests, and making rude remarks to each other about her personal appearance.
She looked down at the garden, and it gave her quite a jump to see what a terrible distance it was. It seemed simply miles and miles away. The house looked just like one of those tiny little toy dolls' houses.
"Well," said the rook. "How do you feel?"
Elsie clung to the twig, for it had suddenly begun to sway about in the most alarming manner.
"I feel very small," she answered nervously.
"Naturally," said the rook. "So do most people when they're up a tree."
And all the other rooks went "Ha! Ha! Ha!"
"Does it always sway about like this?" asked Elsie.
"Whenever it blows," answered the rook calmly. "Where there's a wind there's a sway. But come along and see the nests."
"How can I get there?" demanded Elsie.
"Why, jump, of course! It's quite easy."
"But I might fall," objected Elsie.
"Are you proud?" asked the rook.
Elsie shook her head.
"I don't see what that's got to do with it," she remarked.
"Well, you can't fall if you aren't proud. Pride goes before a fall, you know. Now, don't be nervous. Jump when I say three; and we'll catch you if you slip."
He counted out: "One, two, three," and, as he said the last word, Elsie let go the twig and jumped for the nearest nest. It was a close shave, but she just caught hold of the edge as she was falling, and managed to draw herself up.
"Well done!" called out the rook. "You ought to have been a grasshopper."
"I think you're very rude," said Elsie.
"All our family are," replied the rook, fluttering into the nest. "We think it's clever. But come inside and see the children."
"What's that for?" asked Elsie, pointing up above the nest.
She had suddenly caught sight of a kind of round, wickerwork cover, which was fastened to the nest by a hinge, and could apparently be shut down like the lid of a box.
"That?" said the rook. "Oh, that's the roof. We have to have a roof because of the hawk. Otherwise he would eat up the children."
"How horrid of him!" cried Elsie.
There were four little rooks in the nest, and when they saw Elsie they all began to laugh in the rudest possible way.
"What is it?" asked one of them.
"Where did you pick it up, father?" inquired a second.
"She's moulting!" exclaimed a third.
"Smart, aren't they?" said the rook admiringly, turning to Elsie.
"One can see they're your children," retorted Elsie, "because they've got such bad manners; and now, if you don't mind, I think I ought to be getting back. It must be nearly tea-time."
"Getting back where?" asked the rook.
"Why, home, of course," answered Elsie.
The rook shook his head.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," he said, "but I'm afraid you won't be able to go home for another week at least."
"What do you mean?" cried Elsie.
"It may be mean," said the rook, "but I can't help it. Your brother is going to shoot at us next week, and if we've got you up here he won't be able to—see?"
"Oh!" cried Elsie. "Then that was why you invited me up?"
"Of course it was," replied the rook. "You don't suppose it was for the pleasure of your society, do you?"
You can imagine Elsie's feelings when she realized how she had been trapped. She knew she would never have the courage to try to fly down by herself; and as for climbing—well, the very thought made her giddy! In despair she stood up, and looked over the side of the nest. Far, far down below she saw her brother coming out into the garden with his gun on his shoulder. If only she could make him hear!
"Jack!" she cried. "Jack!"
She watched her voice going down, down, down; but it only got about half the distance, and then faded away.
"Try again," said the rook, with a chuckle.
But Elsie saw that it was no good; so she just sat down on the side of the nest and began to cry.
"Whatever shall I do?" she said helplessly.
"You'll have to grin and bear it," said the rook.
"It's no good blubbering," added one of the young ones.
"Coward!" said a third scornfully.
And all the rooks who were sitting round went "Yah! Yah! Yah!"
A moment later, however, one of them gave a sudden scream of terror.
"Look out!" he cried. "The hawk! The hawk!"
They all rose into the air in a great, flapping crowd, and flew away to their nests to shut down the covers before the hawk could reach them. The rook who had enticed Elsie up at once hopped across to close his own lid, but with one jump she reached the hinge before he could touch it.
"No, you don't!" she cried. "I'm not going to be shut in your horrid, stuffy nest."
"Let go!" he shrieked, pecking at her furiously.
But although he hurt her very much, Elsie held on. She could hear the sound of the hawk's wings as he came nearer and nearer, and at last, with one hoarse cry of rage, the rook abandoned his efforts and scuttled off as fast as ever he could go.
Elsie felt so tired that she could scarcely move. She just sat down on the side of the nest, and waited to see what would happen. There was a loud "whirr!" of wings, and then suddenly the hawk dropped down from above like a stone, and perched on a twig exactly opposite.
"Hullo!" he said. "What's the meaning of this?"
Elsie looked up, and found him staring at her with his bright brown eyes.
"Oh, Mister Hawk," she said. "They asked me to come up, and now they won't let me go. They tried to shut down the lid when they heard you coming, but I wouldn't let them."
"I am much obliged to you," said the hawk, eyeing the trembling young rooks with a pleasant smile. "I was feeling a bit peckish. Can I do anything for you in return?"
"If you could take me down to the garden," said Elsie timidly, "I should be so grateful."
"Why, of course," cried the hawk. "That's nothing."
He fluttered across, and took hold of her sash with his claws.
"I'll be back in a moment," he said to the young rooks, with a kind of hungry laugh.
Elsie shut her eyes. She felt herself skimming through the air at a terrific pace—there was a sudden bang—and she woke up with a start to find herself sitting in the garden chair.
Her brother was standing in the middle of the lawn. His gun was at his shoulder, and he was just going to take a second shot at a large hawk, which he had missed with his first barrel.
Elsie jumped up with a wild scream.
"Stop, Jack!" she cried. "Stop!"
He was so surprised that he lowered his gun, and in another moment the hawk was out of sight.
"Why, Elsie," he said. "What's the matter? Did I frighten you."
"Oh, Jack!" she cried. "You were just going to shoot the hawk!"
"Yes, I know I was," he said, laughing. "It's after the young rooks. It had one in its claws just now."
"Jack!" said Elsie very solemnly. "That wasn't a young rook, that was me."
"What on earth do you mean, Elsie?" cried her brother. "You've been dreaming."
Elsie shook her head.
"No, I haven't, Jack," she said, and then she sat down in the chair and told him the whole story.
He listened with a grave face right to the very end, and then bent over and kissed her.
"I'm glad I didn't shoot the hawk," he said. "Still, you know, Elsie dear, it was only a dream."
But Elsie knew better.