Chapter VIII: Who Killed Cock Robin

Every member of that feathered audience looked with rapt attention towards the stage, where a Sparrow and a Robin stood facing each other in menacing attitudes.

SPARROW, fiercely:
_And so 'tis clear,
There is no welcome for you here.
Be off! And never yet again
Let me behold you in this lane._

ROBIN, cheerfully:
_Ha, ha! Ha, ha! Tra, la, la, la!_

SPARROW, dancing with rage:
Your senseless song enrages me!

ROBIN, more cheerfully:
_Don't listen, friend. Tra la, la lee!_

SPARROW, trembling with anger:
_I'll find a way to silence that.
I will, or else I'll eat my hat!
Such insolence I never heard--
You are a most outrageous bird.
I'll go, but we shall meet once more._

ROBIN, calmly:
_Had you not better go before
Your claws wear out? You seem excited,
Or I should now be most delighted
To sing to you a little ditty.
You cannot stay? Ah, what a pity!_

As the Sparrow turned away, he shook his claw at the Robin, who, perching on a lilac tree, began to sing:

_I know a fellow,
Such a funny fellow,
Never knew him jolly, never yet.
How he shrieks and chatters,
Tearing things to tatters,
I shall never nevermore forget!
Why, a vegetable marrow
Has more brains than Mr. Sparrow,
And his singing!--well, I know it for a fact,
When once to sing he tried,
All the birdies far and wide,
Had to stuff their ears quite full
Of the softest cotton wool,
For his voice was like a penny whistle--cracked!_

Just as the Robin finished his song, the Sparrow, armed with a bow and arrow, crept up behind him, muttering:

_I'll shoot so steadily and true,
I fancy this will settle you._

And taking careful aim, he shot at the Robin, who fell, quivered for a moment, then, attempting to rise, gasped feebly:

_A craven's trick! He takes to flight!
I'll beat him yet in open fight._

He then made a further attempt to rise, but fell back, while the Sparrow, disappearing, remarked in a low voice:

_'Tis done! And no one saw the deed._

But he was mistaken, for a Bluebottle had watched the whole affair from the top of the lilac tree, and flying down beside the Robin he said:

_We'll catch him yet, for all his speed._

A Starling, dressed as a policeman then entered.

BLUEBOTTLE FLY, buzzing angrily:
_Ho, there! Why, here's a nice to-do!
A pretty constable are you!
An idle loon, a careless lout.
Don't loiter there. Shout, fellow, shout!_

The Starling immediately blew his whistle and other policemen rushed in, accompanied by quite a mob of birds. They raised Cock Robin's head, and tried artificial respiration, but without effect.

FIRST STARLING:
_Go, one of you for Doctor Drake,
Not for a quack--make no mistake._
Voices from the mob:
_I'll go for him.
And I.
And I._

STARLING, calling after them as they disappear:

_I saw him on the pond hard by,
An hour ago, and talked with him
The while he took his morning swim.
Go there, and if you find him not,
Search underneath the pigeon cote,
And in the barn and round about--_

Voice from the mob:
_And let his mother know he's out!_

STARLING, brandishing his truncheon:
_Be silent, sirrah, or I'll whack
You, on your idiotic back._

FIRST STARLING, sorrowfully:
_Somehow, 'twas always my belief
That yon poor bird would come to grief,
But not with such a fearful death._

A WREN:
_A nobler fellow ne'er drew breath.
Once on a cold December day,
I saw him give a worm away;
A mangled worm, he could not eat--
Such kindness it were hard to beat.
He will be missed. We'll never see
Another such a bird as he._

A RAVEN, aside:
_How queer, that now poor Rob is dead,
These very pleasant things are said.
'Tis strange, when only yesterday
He was a "wretch," a "popinjay."
A "vicious bird," and "quarrelsome,"
But now--why, every mouth is dumb
Except in praising him!_

Aloud: _I see
Good Doctor Drake comes hastily._

The Doctor now hurried in, attired in a white waistcoat, and wearing a gold watch and chain. He bent over Cock Robin and felt his pulse.

FIRST STARLING:
_Ah, the good Doctor shakes his head!_

DOCTOR DRAKE:
_Yes, friends, the poor, dear bird is dead._

At this point, the Sparrow rushed in, with eyes starting out of his head, and stooping over the Robin, cried in an agitated voice:

_What's this I hear? My dear, dear friend
Cock Robin! Oh, is this the end
Of all our pleasant times together?_

Looking round at the crowd, he began to sob:

_I loved him, friends, loved every feather
In his dear breast. And now--and now._

He would have said more, but the Bluebottle Fly, pushing his way to the front of the crowd, shouted:

_The lying traitor! Hear me how,
I saw him with his bow and arrow
Kill poor Cock Robin! Treacherous Sparrow,
Your deed is known. Seize him, my men,
And let him ne'er escape again!_

Three Starlings at once seized the Sparrow and led him away. Three other Starlings carried Cock Robin in a starch box, and they all marched off the stage followed by Doctor Drake, the Bluebottle Fly, and the mob, everyone singing dolefully the following dirge:

_Poor Cock Robin is surely dead.
Dead as a door nail, he.
Shot with an arrow right through the head,
Under the lilac tree._

_Poor Cock Robin! He fought us all,
Danced in his warlike glee.
From early morn until evening fall,
Under the lilac tree._

_Poor Cock Robin is dead as bone.
King of warriors he!
And to his name we'll raise a stone
Under the lilac tree._

Then the curtain fell, for the first scene was over.

The children each drew a long breath.

"Oh, wasn't it lovely!" sighed Gladys. "I could listen all night."

"Those old ladies are wiping their eyes," whispered Tommy. "Crazy old Owls! There's nothing to cry about."

"Hush!" said Freda. "They'll hear you."

And evidently, one of them--a sad-looking Owl with spectacles--actually did, for she put up both claws and adjusted her cobweb which had got pushed to one side, and looking round, tried to appear as if she had not been weeping.

"That wicked Sparrow!" sobbed the young Wren, who was just behind. "I should like to peck him."

"But it isn't true, you know," said Gladys turning round and looking at her solemnly. "It is only a play, and Cock Robin is as much alive as you are."

"I know," said the Wren, "I know it quite well, but I cry like this every night. It's my tender heart, the least little thing---- Oh, here come the refreshments!"

She dried her tears very quickly, and beckoned to a Magpie who was carrying round a tray of eatables.

Gladys felt rather pleased too, for she thought that she could enjoy a chocolate.

"A packet of dried flies, please," said the Wren quickly, holding out her claw when the Magpie arrived.

"I want----" began Gladys, and then she stopped, for she discovered that there was nothing on the tray but bits of groundsel, little dishes of bird-seed, packets of flies, and a few snails done up in silver paper.

"What a sell!" cried Tommy, as the Magpie hopped away to supply a Thrush. "Never mind, I've got some butter-scotch."

"Where is it?" asked Freda. "Give me a bit, please."

Tommy hesitated.

"It's in my pocket," he said, "but it won't come out. Let's all pull together, and perhaps it will."

The three children tugged with all their might, and the butter-scotch was persuaded to sever its connection with Tommy's coat. He broke the sticky lump into three pieces, and they each sucked steadily.

"The curtain's going up for the second act," whispered the Wren, with her mouth full of flies.

The scene revealed was the corner of a wood, where stood a great oak, crowded on every branch with all kinds of birds, screaming, and chattering, and flapping their wings. Suddenly there was silence as Mr. Justice Hawk entered, and said haughtily to two Starlings:

_Mind, fellows, now what you're about;
Make haste and bring the prisoner out._

STARLINGS, hastily dragging in the Sparrow:
He's here my lord.

HAWK: _Hum! Ha! 'Tis well._
_Now, villain, speak. I pray you tell
Who killed Cock Robin?_

SPARROW, boldly, shaking his claw-cuffs:
_I--I--I!
D'you want to know the reason why?
He stole the crumbs the children spread
For me and mine. He also said
My voice was cracked. He took the site
In yonder hawthorn blossom white,
That I had chosen for a nest.
He made himself a perfect pest,
Till I was weary of my life.
He made grimaces at my wife!
And so I shot him, and rejoice
That I shall never hear his voice----_

HAWK, interrupting him, with a horrified exclamation:
_Bloodthirsty wretch! Ah, vicious bird!
Your wicked tale we all have heard.
And that poor Rob is truly dead,
Slain by an arrow, as you said,
We cannot doubt. Yet 'tis for me
To ask of this vast company,
Did anybody see him die?_

The Bluebottle Fly, who was quite overawed by Mr. Justice Hawk, stammered badly, as he said:

_I did, m-m-my lord. With my-my-eye._

HAWK, impatiently:
_Well, what of that? We don't suppose
You could have seen him with your nose._

At this, there was loud laughter in the court, which was speedily suppressed, as Judge Hawk turned to the Sparrow again:

_And all that now remains to do,
Is just to deal--vile wretch!--with you.
You're sentenced to be pecked to death,
Till you shall drop for want of breath._

The Starlings then released their prisoner who fluttered away, followed by the whole court, all calling and screaming and trying to peck him. Presently they returned without him. The Hawk resumed his seat, and addressed the court as follows:

_Now, gentlemen, it is for us
Without unnecessary fuss,
To see that our lamented friend
Who met with such a grievous end,
Is well and honourable interred
As shall become a noble bird.
And since of kin he is bereft,
And has no near relations left,
Because--ahem!--He fought them all._

Voice from the mob:
_Good old Cock Robin!_

HAWK, looking round angrily:
_I must call
On you for aid. And first I ask,
Who'll be chief mourner?_

In response to this appeal, a grey Dove pressed forward weeping, and said:

_I, my lord,
I weep, sir, at the simplest word.
I'll gladly mourn for poor Cock Robin._

HAWK, kindly:
_My dear good madam, cease your sobbing._

THE DOVE:
_I can't, my lord. I weep in flight,
And in the middle of the night.
Weep at a frown, or at a kiss,
Or at important times like this.
I weep in March, and weep in June,
And at the changes of the moon.
When leaves are green, and leaves are falling.
My laundry bill is most appalling.
And not the least of all my griefs,
I lose so many handkerchiefs._

The Dove walked away, still sobbing, and the Hawk looked after her, remarking absently:

_Poor thing! So pretty too! And young!_

A PIGEON:
_Bold hussey! With her smooth false tongue!_

HAWK, turning to the court:
_Who'll dig the grave?_

Six Owls then marched in, carrying spades and trowels, and arranging themselves in a semi-circle, they sang in chorus, blinking violently to the music:

_We will quickly dig a grave,
For the Robin bold and brave.
Line it with the softest moss,
Strew forget-me-nots across._

_Plant sweet roses o'er his head--
Roses white, and roses red.
All without reward or fee,
Just in loving memory._

HAWK:
_That's settled, then. Now, stir your stumps,
Before I get the doleful dumps._

Exit Owls.

Then to the court he said:

_But which of you will be the clerk?_

A LARK replied:
_I will, if it's not after dark._

HAWK:
_Who'll carry Robin to his rest?_

A KITE:
_I will. But daylight suits me best._

HAWK:
_That's all, I think? Why, no! Well, well,
I had forgot! Who'll toll the bell?_

Now a Bull thrust in his head from the back of the stage, and bellowed at the top of his voice:

_I will, my lord!_

HAWK, doubtfully:
_But can you pull?_

BULL, looking injured:
_Now, do I look a sickly bull?
Last time--well, just to show my power,
I dragged the bell out of the tower,
And broke the rope, and smashed the door,
Which made the mourners weep the more.
In fact, I nearly killed them all.
It was a splendid funeral!_

HAWK, rising:
_Well, now we start. I trust those Owls
Have nimbly plied their spades and trowels._

The curtain fell, as the procession, headed by the Hawk, left the stage. But the play was not quite over, for almost immediately the curtain rose once more, revealing the birds standing in tableau round the Robin's grave, singing softly and mournfully the closing chorus:

_Lay him under the lilac tree,
'Neath the twig where he loved to be.
Trilling loudly his cheery song,
Morn by morn all the winter long.
Silent now, for he takes his rest.
Poor little bird with the scarlet breast!_

_Nevermore, when the sweet Spring stirs,
Will he hunt for worms in the chestnut burrs.
Nevermore will the snails hard by,
Hide away from his bold bright eye.
Hark! How his mate calls to her dear,
Bui poor Cock Robin will never hear.
Never fashion a cosy nest--
Poor little bird with the scarlet breast!_

The curtain fell for the last time, and with a great deal of fluttering and commotion, the audience began to disperse.

"I'm glad Spottikins didn't eat the Sparrow, aren't you?" said Gladys.

CHAPTER IX.

They saw the streets of old Fish Town
So gaily decorated.
While long for Father Neptune's car
Among the crowd they waited.
Rubbed shoulders 'mid the noise and fuss,
With such a frisky Octopus!