The Pond Part 14

The reed-warbler saw it himself. The pike hung and sprawled terribly at the end of a thin line, flew through the air in a great curve and fell down on the gra.s.s. At the other end of the line was a rod, and at the other end of the rod a boy, who was crimson in the face with delight at the big fish he had caught.

"It serves him right, the highwayman!" said the perch.

"Thank goodness, he's gone!" croaked the frogs.

And all the little roach and carp danced round the water with delight.

"He had not many friends," said the reed-warbler.

"He had not one," said the perch. "He was the worst robber in the pond."

"He never did anything to me," said the water-lily. "He was a brave and distinguished gentleman, who hadn't his equal among the lot of you. It was always a real pleasure to me when he came sweeping past my stalks."

"Well, I have seen many go sweeping down his throat," said the eel. "And they did not think that so amusing. But he did just what I should have done in his place! Now that he's gone, I suppose I'm the biggest in the pond."

He stretched himself to his full length.

"You have grown big and stout," said the reed-warbler.

"I have had a good year," said the eel. "But I shall soon be going to sea now and working off my fat."

On the evening of the same day a man stood at the edge of the pond, just where the reed-warblers lived. He wore high boots with wooden soles and whetted a scythe till the sound of it whizzed through the air.

"What's going to happen now?" said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"Quack! Quack!" cried the duck in terror.

But the man spat on his hands and took hold of the scythe. Then he walked out into the water and began to cut down the reeds, close in, at the edge, and right out, as far as they grew. They fell into the water, with a soft sigh; and then, when he had finished, he stood on the bank and contemplated his work.

"That was a fine clearing," he said. "Duck-hunting begins to-morrow."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Then he went a bit farther with his scythe and made another clearing.

But he had caused terrible misfortunes. He had torn the water-spider's nest and crushed the spider herself. He had broken the bladder-wort at the root with his heavy wooden boots. And the reed-warblers' nest lay overturned among the cut reeds.

The reed-warblers flew round the nest with loud screams:

"The children! The children!" they cried.

The children had saved themselves. Four had fluttered on land and sat there and looked thoroughly bewildered. The fifth was half-buried under the reeds and could not get out.

The two old ones with difficulty brought it in to the others:

"Oh dear! oh dear!" said little Mrs. Reed-Warbler, in despair. "What are we to do now?"

"It might have been worse," replied her husband. "Suppose it had happened a month ago! Now the youngsters are able to look after themselves, all except that one there."

"Oh, it was a terrible place to come to!" said she. "It was a great shame of you to drag me here. I would much rather have remained in Italy, even if I had never got married."

"Don't talk nonsense, wife," said he. "You wanted to come here just as much as I did. This is where we were born and where our home is and where we had to build our nest. We can't help it; it's in our blood.

Besides, we have had a very good time, and have shared each other's joys and sorrows. Don't let us squabble now in our old age, but rather see that we get the children's travelling-suits ready and then be off."

Then she became sensible and they sat late into the night and talked about it. The youngsters ran round in the gra.s.s and ate ants and thought the whole thing great fun, for children know no better. Only the fifth one hung about disconsolately.

"What are we to do with the poor little wretch?" said Mrs. Reed-Warbler, pushing a mouthful to him.

"We shall never get him to Italy alive," said her husband.

Quite early next morning there was a tremendous uproar round the pond.

Men shouted and dogs barked. They put out the boat and rowed her with difficulty through the thick weeds. The woman of the pond stood outside her cottage, curtseying and pouring out tea.

"Whatever is this?" asked the reed-warbler.

"It's the world coming to an end," said the duck. "Quack! Quack! Quack!"

"To the bottom! To the bottom!" said the eel. "Wriggle and twist!"

The terrified reed-warbler family pressed close together in the gra.s.s.

But then the two old ones grew inquisitive and could not keep still.

They warned the youngsters to stay quiet, whatever happened, and sat down, a little way from each other, on the tops of the reeds beside the clearing.

"Bang! Bang!" went the guns over the pond. "Bang! Bang! Bang!"

And there were lots of ducks quacking and lots of small birds who flew out of their hiding-places in terror. Great ugly dogs, with their tongues hanging out of their mouths, swam round and barked. The leaves of the water-lily dived right under the water and the spear-wort disappeared entirely and never came back again.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

"There lies our duck," said the reed-warbler.

And there she lay on her back, dead, only waiting for the dogs to come and fetch her.

"Bang! Bang!"

"I must get away, I can stand it no longer," said Mrs. Reed-Warbler.

"Let us fly back to the children."

She received no answer and, when she looked round, her husband was gone.

She stared at the reed on which he had been sitting and up in the air and down at the water. Then she gave a frightful scream:

"Oh, poor forlorn widow that I am! What shall I do? What shall I do?"

He lay in the water, hit by a stray shot, dead, stiff.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'HE LAY IN THE WATER, HIT BY A STRAY SHOT']