David and the Phoenix Part 2

"Delighted, my dear fellow! An honor and a pleasure." They shook hand and wing solemnly. "Now, as you were saying--?"

"Well, Phoenix, I was just thinking," David stammered. "It's too bad--I mean, couldn't you--it would be nice if we--Well, do you really _have_ to go to South America? It would be nice if you'd stay a while, until the Scientist shows up, anyway--and I like talking with you...."

His face burned. It seemed like a lot to ask.

The Phoenix harrumphed several times in its throat and shuffled its feet. "Really, I cannot tell you how--how much you--well, really--such a delightful request! Ah--harrumph! Perhaps it can be arranged."

"Oh, Phoenix!" David threw his arms around the bird's neck and then, unable to restrain himself any longer, turned a somersault on the gra.s.s.

"But for the present, it seems to be getting late," said the Phoenix.

"We shall talk it over some other time and decide."

"Golly, it _is_ late--I hadn't noticed. Well, I'll have to go, or they'll worry about me at home. But I can come up and see you tomorrow, can't I?"

"Of course, my boy! In the bustle of morning, in the hush of noon, in the--ah--to be brief, at any time."

"And I'll bring you some cookies, if you like."

"Ah," said the Phoenix, closing its eyes. "Sugar cookies, by any chance?" it asked faintly. David noticed the feathers of its throat jumping up and down with rapid swallowing motions.

"I'll ask Aunt Amy to make some tonight."

"Ah, splendid, my boy! Splendid! Shall we say not more than--ah--that is, not _less_ than--ah--fifteen?"

"All right, Phoenix. My Aunt Amy keeps a big jar full of cookies, and I can have as many as I like."

The Phoenix took David's arm, and together they strolled to the other end of the ledge.

"Now, don't mention this to anyone, but there is an old goat trail down this side. It is somewhat grown over, but eyes as sharp as yours should have no trouble with it. It will make your travels up and down easier. Another thing--I trust you will not make known our rendezvous?"

"Our what?"

"You will not tell anyone that I am here?"

"Oh, no. I won't say a word! Well, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes. As the French so cleverly say it--ah--well, to be brief, good-by, my boy. Until tomorrow, then."

David waved his hand, found the goat trail, and started down. He was too happy even to whistle, so he contented himself with running whenever he found a level place. And when he reached home, he stood on his hands in the back yard for two whole seconds.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

3: _In Which It Is Decided that David Should Have an Education, and an Experiment Is Made_

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Next day it took less than an hour to reach the ledge, and David was sure that he could shorten the time even more when he was familiar with the goat trail.

The Phoenix was not in sight when he arrived, and for an instant David was stricken with fright. Had the bird gone in spite of its promise?

But no--he heard a rea.s.suring noise. It came from the thicket, and it sounded very much like a snore.

David smiled to himself and shouted, "h.e.l.lo, Phoenix!"

There was a thrashing sound in the thicket, and the Phoenix appeared, looking very rumpled and yawning behind its wing.

"Greetings, my boy!" it cried. "A splendid morning!" Then the Phoenix caught sight of the paper bag in David's hand, and swallowed in a suggestive way.

David thrust the bag of cookies behind his back. "Now, Phoenix," he said firmly, "you have to promise me you won't go away to South America. You said last night that it could be arranged, so let's arrange it right now. Until we do, not one."

The Phoenix drew itself up indignantly. "My very dear fellow," it said, "you wound me. You cut me to the quick. I will not be bribed.

I--" It stopped and swallowed again. "Oh, well," it continued, more mildly, "one does not fight fate, does one? I suppose under these circ.u.mstances, I must accept."

"It's settled, then!" David cried joyfully.

So they sat down on the gra.s.s together, and for a long time nothing was heard but sounds of munching.

"My boy," said the Phoenix at last, brushing the crumbs from its chest, "I take a modest pride in my way with words, but nothing in the language can do these--ah--baked poems justice. Words fail me."

"I'm glad you like them," David said politely.

"And now, my boy," continued the Phoenix, as it settled back comfortably, "I have been thinking. Yesterday you showed an intelligent interest in my problems and asked intelligent questions.

You did not scoff, as others might have done. You have very rare qualities."

David flushed, and mumbled denials.

"Do not be so modest, my boy! I speak the truth. It came to me that such a mind as yours, having these qualities, should be further cultivated and refined. And I should be avoiding my clear-cut duty if I did not take this task in hand myself. Of course, I suppose some attempt to educate you has already been made, has it not?"

"Well, I go to school, if that's what you mean. Not now, though, because it's summer vacation."

"And what do they teach you there?"

"Oh, reading and writing and arithmetic, and things like that."

"Aha!" said the Phoenix triumphantly. "Just as I suspected--a cla.s.sical education. Understand me--I have nothing against a cla.s.sical education as such. I realize that mathematics, Greek, and Latin are excellent for the discipline of the mind. But in the broad view, a cla.s.sical education is not a true education. Life is real, life is earnest. One must face it with a _practical_ education. The problems of Life, my dear fellow!--cla.s.sical education completely ignores them! For example, how do you tell a true Unicorn from a false one?"

"I--I don't know."

"I thought not. Where do you find the Philosopher's Stone?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then, I shall ask a simple one. What is the first rule of defense when attacked by a Chimera?"

David squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm afraid I don't know that, either,"

he said in a small voice.