Chapter VII: Birdland City

"You are a wicked, cruel cat!" shrieked Gladys, breathlessly, chasing Spottikins round and round the garden, and in and out amongst the gooseberry bushes.

"A nasty, vicious, greedy horrid thing, to catch a poor little bird, and then purr as if you'd done something clever! Oh--oh--I've got you at last!"

She thumped Spottikins on the back, till she opened her mouth and a small brown bird fell out of it.

Spottikins spat at Gladys--she really did. And then she walked off with her fur bristling and her tail in the air, while Gladys picked up the poor little Sparrow and took him into the nursery.

She made him a bed with an old shawl, and stroked his soft throat, for it was wet where Spottikins had held him.

"She nearly choked the breath out of you," said Gladys, touching one tiny claw. "And how dreadfully afraid you must have been!--What?"

She started back, for the claw suddenly fastened round her finger, and the little bird perched himself on her wrist. He looked at her sideways with his bright little eyes.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he chirped, and he began to preen his feathers.

"Not afraid of anything?" repeated Gladys.

"No," continued the Sparrow. "It doesn't do to be afraid. Why, I get pecked to death every night of my life," he said with emphasis, gazing at Gladys the while in order to see what effect his words had upon her.

"Pecked to death every night of life!" repeated Gladys. "That's silly. You couldn't be."

The Sparrow chuckled wickedly.

"I was last night, anyway," he said. Gladys looked at him severely for a moment or two, then she said:

"That's worse than silly. It's not true. Because if you had been pecked to death, you wouldn't be alive now, would he, Freda?"

"Of course not," said Freda gravely. "You would be dead, you see."

"Oh, but I shouldn't," argued the Sparrow.

"Yes, you would," answered Gladys.

"I shouldn't."

"You would."

"Shouldn't."

Gladys was getting angry, when Tommy came bounding into the room. Immediately she appealed to him.

"Tommy, if a--a--person, I mean a bird,--got pecked to death, wouldn't he be dead now?"

"That's easy," said Tommy. "Of course he would. Why?"

"Well, this sparrow says he gets pecked to death every night and yet he isn't dead."

Tommy surveyed the Sparrow with interest.

"I say, that's a little too tall," he remarked.

The Sparrow, who had now finished preening his feathers, began to laugh in an aggravating manner.

"Well," he said at last between his chuckles, "I'm an actor, and that's my part, you know. I'm the villain, and they peck me to death. See?"

"Why couldn't you say so before," said Gladys crossly, "instead of talking in that silly way. I wish Spottikins had eaten you. Yes, I do."

"Here, shut up!" whispered Tommy in her ear. "Perhaps he will tell us something about the play and all that, you know."

Then aloud to the Sparrow, he said:

"We should very much like to see you act your part. Will you tell us where you are appearing just now?"

"Why, don't you know?" asked the Sparrow. "At the Hall-in-the-Wood, of course, the most magnificent edifice in Birdland City, and we get a full house every night, now that Cock Robin is on."

"Cock Robin, is it?" cried Freda. "Oh, how I should like to see him! Robins are such dear little birds."

"I can't say I care much for this one," said the Sparrow trying to reach a ruffle at the very back of his neck. "He's such a proud little beggar, and gives himself dreadful airs, just because they applaud so when he comes on the stage."

"How far is it to Birdland City?" asked Tommy in a business-like voice.

"As far again as a half," replied the Sparrow, hopping to the window sill.

"Oh, stop!--do stop just a minute!" cried Gladys suddenly. "I rescued you from Spottikins, you know I did. Won't you tell us how we can get to the Hall-in-the-Wood?"

"Can't stop. Rehearsal at twelve. Here, you can have these; come, if you can," and out flew the Sparrow through the window, while the children gazed after him open-mouthed.

Tommy was the first to recover himself.

"He threw something on the floor," he said, stooping to see what it was.

"Why, it's three tickets for the play to-night!" exclaimed Freda. "Look, Gladys, front seats too."

She held up three brown leaves, which had printed on them:

HALL-IN-THE-WOOD.
WHO KILLED COCK ROBIN?

To-night at eight.
Front Seats. Early Doors.

"We must go," cried Gladys. "Where's John James?"

"Here I am," replied the Golliwog, "What is it? Where are you going?"

"To Birdland City to see Cock Robin. Do you know the way, John James? Oh, dear, we haven't got a ticket for you. What ever shall we do?"

John James grinned.

"I can get in without one," he said. "They'll be only too glad to get a notice in the _News_. And I'll tell you what, we might get there early, and I'll go round to the back and interview Cock Robin, and a few of 'em while they're making up."

"Oh, John James, how splendid!" cried Gladys, hugging him, "You do think of lovely things."

"Don't kiss the paint off my nose," said John James disengaging himself. "I must look as well as possible to-night. I shall try to interview the Dove if I can, and she's a very particular person indeed."

_Who'll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove,
For I mourn for my love.
I'll be chief mourner._

"Is that the one you mean?" asked Freda.

"The same," said John James, "and a prettier little piece of goods I never saw."

"You don't like her better than me, do you?" asked Gladys anxiously.

John James got out his note book.

"We'd better be off," he said, "or we shan't be in time." And they started off on the Golliwog and Teddy Bear Railway, before Gladys had time to notice that he had not answered her question.

When they got out at Birdland City, they saw a board fixed in a chestnut tree with these words on it:

"This way to the Hall-in-the-Wood," and a bird's claw pointed towards the right direction.

"Right-oh," said Tommy striding along, and by and by they saw the twinkling of lights in the distance, a strange building loomed up before them, and the next minute they stood outside the Hall-in-the-Wood.

It was very curiously fashioned, something like a huge tree, with many wide spreading branches, where the audience could perch comfortably. Although it was so early, a number of birds had already assembled, and formed a long queue outside, waiting impatiently to be let in. As the tickets which our friends now presented were for admittance by "early doors," they were shown to their places without any delay by an obsequious Chaffinch.

"I'll go round to the Green Room," whispered John James, and off he went to the door at the back of the Hall, intent upon interviewing Cock Robin.

He found that gentleman in a daintily furnished apartment, upholstered in soft green moss.

"So you want to interview me, do you?" said the Robin condescendingly, as the Golliwog was shown in.

"If you could spare me five minutes," replied John James.

"What paper do you represent?" enquired the Robin, as he put an extra dash of colour on his scarlet breast, and then rubbed it off again.

John James presented his card.

"Hum!--_The Golliwog News_!" The Robin was visibly pleased. "Well, you can ask me a few questions if you like," he said.

"Could you tell me anything interesting about your early days?" asked John James sharpening his pencil.

The Robin considered.

"My ancestors were all highly respectable people," he said, "and all of them possessed the dramatic instinct. My great grandfather was one of the original Robins who placed dead leaves over the Babes in the Wood. It was in this very wood, too, and not one hundred yards from this very Hall. But that, of course, was years before this place was built."

"I must make a special note of that," said John James.

"I have taken the part of Cock Robin for over three hundred nights," continued the vain little bird, "and received tremendous applause every time. I don't want to sing my own praises, but I may venture to say--and of course you need not put this in the paper, unless you particularly wish to do so--that I am the most popular person in this piece. In fact," he continued, in a low voice, "I am the chief attraction."

"I quite agree with you," said John James suavely, writing rapidly.

"I suppose," he added, "that the other members of the company admire and envy your histrionic powers?"

The Robin coughed, and surveyed himself in a large swinging mirror.

"Well, between you and me," he began confidentially, "they are all jealous of my popularity, especially the Sparrow, whose very minor part is as much as he can manage. I have heard on excellent authority----"

Here a noise outside interrupted the Robin's flow of eloquence. A rustle, rustle, as of a lady's silk petticoat, was heard in the passage and a loud banging of doors sent a sudden draught through the Hall-in-the-Wood. The door handle was turned, and as John James looked up, a beautifully plumed grey Dove burst into the Robin's private dressing-room.

When she saw the Robin she laughed immoderately.

"Oh, dear! I _am_ so sorry!" she cried, giggling very much, and trying to stuff her handkerchief into her beak. "So stupid of me. Hee-hee-hee. Forgive me, Mr. Robin, I opened the wrong door by accident. Ho-ho-ho. You _do_ look smart. And who is the gentleman with the note book? A newspaper man? Well, well! Come and see me when you've finished here, and I'll tell you something to put in the paper. Goodbye."

She rustled out again, banged the door behind her, and as she went to her own room they could distinctly hear her faint "Hee-hee," and then in shrill tones: "My dear, such a joke! I went into that _horrid_ Robin's room by accident, and----"

"Just like her!" cried the Robin wrathfully, when the last sound of her voice had died away.

"She's always doing things like that. Well, you'll have to excuse me now, Mr. Golliwog, or I shan't be ready when the curtain rises."

John James hurried away, and found the Dove without much difficulty. A Wren was standing on a chair dropping something into her eyes to make them look large and mournful. As John James was announced, she was so startled that she tipped the bottle and the fluid ran all over the Dove's feathers and down on to the floor.

"Careless thing!" said the Dove laughing, and giving the little Wren a playful peck.

"Now you'd better wipe it up. Be off, and fetch Mr. Robin's silk neckerchief--that will do nicely."

Then she turned to John James.

"I like worrying Mr. Robin," she remarked with a charming smile. "He is so proud of his fancied popularity. And really, everyone knows that he has nothing to do, only to lie still and be carried about in a starch box. Now, my part requires genuine skill. Emotional, you see. So difficult to manage one's voice."

"Have you been acting this part long?" asked John James, trying to keep her strictly to the business in hand.

The Dove shut her eyes.

"Not very long. I am still so young you see. It seems only the other day that mamma said to me----"

"May I ask what is your favourite recreation?" said John James.

"Walking, I think," was the reply, "with plenty of people looking on, you know. But I can't keep it up very long. I get such a stiff neck."

"I've made a note of that," said John James. "And your favourite dish?"

"Green peas."

"And may I enquire," continued John James suavely, "what is your favourite flower?"

"Orange blossom," sighed the Dove coyly. "So white, so pure, so inno----"

"Yes--and what tooth-powder do you use?"

"Powdered gravel," she said; "it loosens the tongue and aids conversation."

"And what toilet soap do you most affect?" said the Golliwog, still writing busily.

"Lick-lick, of course. It is simply delightful! I recommended it to Mr. Owl the other day and now he wouldn't be without it for worlds. He tells me that sometimes when he is hungry, he simply makes a lather of lick-lick and bathes in it. He finds it quite a tonic."

"Thank you," said John James. "We must let Mr. Purr-Catt know that."

"Don't mention him!" exclaimed the Dove, ringing hastily for the Wren. "His very name makes my head ache."

There was no time for further conversation, as the curtain was timed to rise in a very few minutes; so John James bade a hurried farewell to Miss Dove, who seemed quite affected at parting with such a pleasant fellow.

Hurrying back to Gladys and her friends John James had to follow behind three old lady Owls who wore cobwebs tied over their heads. They all glanced reproachfully at Gladys, Tommy and Freda, and one remarked to the other that there seemed hardly room for a body to perch.

"We do seem to take up rather a lot of room," said Gladys, but John James only laughed and told her to sit as tight as she could or someone else might get her place.

Birds were now rapidly arriving from all quarters, many of them in evening dress, and there was a good deal of stir and flutter while they were arranging themselves in their places.

"You're on my twig!" said a shrill, sharp voice suddenly, and, looking round, our little party was confronted by an important looking Blue Titmouse in a mustard coloured waistcoat.

The children apologised in chorus, and moved further along the branch.

"I've perched here every night since the Hall was opened," said the new-comer slightly mollified, "and it's very annoying indeed when other people take it. Ah, the orchestra is just beginning. I thought I wasn't late."

Gladys, Tommy and Freda jail looked in the direction indicated, and for a few minutes they were unable to take their eyes off these truly wonderful musicians.

There were a dozen Bantam Cocks scraping on violins, and an equal number of smart Cockerels, with bulging eyes and puffed-out cheeks, behind as many silver cornets. Then, slightly elevated, sat a row of fat Turkeys with crimson wattles, playing enormous 'cellos, and punctuating the music with gobble--gobble--gobbles. Behind them stood a number of Peacocks, piping tunefully on Clarionettes. Their tails were outspread and formed a brilliant background.

At the piano sat an affected Goose, who appeared to be somewhat too large for the music stool. She was deeply interested in her own reflection, which shone in the polished piano case, and continually arranged the feathers at her throat.

A Parrot with bright green plumage worked himself into a perfect fury, trying, with his trombone, to drown the sound of bagpipes, which were played to a great nicety by a Flamingo dressed in a kilt and wearing a tam-o'-shanter.

A very thin Stork stood upon one leg beating a huge drum with the other, while the conductor, Herr von Pelican, stood solemnly in front, beating time with his beak.

Upon all sides of the three children rose a murmur of bird-chatter, which they thought very amusing. The bird-gossip was something like this:

"I should like to _kiss_ that sweet Cock Robin!"

"She's got the loveliest dress you ever saw. Green shot with----"

"Take those dirty claws off my waistcoat!"

"I always scream when the arrow flies----"

"No, they haven't built a nest yet, but I heard the other day----"

"If you don't stop chirping this very minute, I shall take you out!"

"Mind my cobweb, or you'll drag it off my head!"

"Have you been to the Bazaar? I am told things are going for a song!"

"Don't say I said so, but our neighbour Tim Jackdaw is losing all his feathers----"

"My dear, imagine my horror! I went into the kitchen and found a policeman sitting at the table eating my best----"

The children did not hear what dainty the policeman was devouring, for at that moment the curtain rose, and the performance began.

CHAPTER VIII.

Here you meet an old friend in a different dress,
But we think you will recognize, nevertheless,
The story we all in our nurseries heard,
A very old tale of a bad little bird.