By MARY MAPES DODGE
Midway between a certain blue lake and a deep forest there once stood a cottage, called by its owner “The Rookery.”
The forest shut out the sunlight and scowled upon the ground, breaking with shadows every ray that fell, until only a few little pieces lay scattered about. But the broad lake invited all the rays to come and rest upon her, so that sometimes she shone from shore to shore, and the sun winked and blinked above her, as though dazzled by his own reflection. The cottage, which was very small, had sunny windows and dark windows. Only from the roof could you see the mountains beyond, where the light crept up in the morning and down in the evening, turning all the brooks into living silver as it passed.
But something brighter than sunshine used often to look from the cottage into the forest, and something even more gloomy than shadows often glowered from its windows upon the sunny lake. One was the face of little Ruky Lynn; and the other was his sister’s when she felt angry or ill-tempered.
They were orphans, Cora and Ruky, living alone in the cottage with an old uncle. Cora—or “Cor,” as Ruky called her—was nearly sixteen years old, but her brother had seen the forest turn yellow only four times. She was, therefore, almost mother and sister in one. The little fellow was her companion night and day. Together they ate and slept, and—when Cora was not at work in the cottage—together they rambled in the wood, or floated in their little skiff upon the lake.
Ruky had bright, dark eyes, and the glossy blackness of 10his hair made his cheeks look even rosier than they were. He had funny ways for a boy, Cora thought. The quick, bird-like jerks of his raven-black head, his stately baby gait, and his habit of pecking at his food, as she called it, often made his sister laugh. Young as he was, the little fellow had learned to mount to the top of a low-branching tree near the cottage, though he could not always get down alone. Sometimes when, perched in the thick foliage, he would scream, “Cor! Cor! Come, help me down!” his sister would answer, as she ran out laughing, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming.”
Perhaps it was because he reminded her of a crow that Cora called him her little bird. This was when she was good-natured and willing to let him see how much she loved him. But in her cloudy moments, as the uncle called them, Cora was another girl. Everything seemed ugly to her, or out of tune. Even Ruky was a trial; and, instead of giving him a kind word, she would scold and grumble until he would steal from the cottage door, and, jumping lightly from the door-step, seek the shelter of his tree. Once safely perched among its branches he knew she would finish her work, forget her ill-humor, and be quite ready, when he cried “Cor! Cor!” to come from the cottage with a cheery, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming! I’m coming!”
No one could help loving Ruky, with his quick, affectionate ways; and it seemed that Ruky, in turn, could not help loving every person and thing around him. He loved his silent old uncle, the bright lake, the cool forest, and even his little china cup with red berries painted upon it. But more than all, Ruky loved his golden-haired sister, and the great dog, who would plunge into the lake at the mere pointing of his chubby little finger. In fact, that finger and the commanding baby voice were “law” to Nep at any time.
Nep and Ruky often talked together, and though one used barks and the other words, there was a perfect understanding between them. Woe to the straggler that dared to rouse Nep’s wrath, and woe to the bird or rabbit that ventured too near!—those great teeth snapped at their prey 11without even the warning of a growl. But Ruky could safely pull Nep’s ears or his tail, or climb his great shaggy back, or even snatch away the untasted bone. Still, as I said before, every one loved the child; so, of course, Nep was no exception.
One day Ruky’s “Cor! Cor!” had sounded oftener than usual. His rosy face had bent saucily to kiss Cora’s upturned forehead, as she raised her arms to lift him from the tree; but the sparkle in his dark eyes had seemed to kindle so much mischief in him that his sister’s patience became fairly exhausted.
“Has Cor nothing to do but to wait upon you?” she cried, “and nothing to listen to but your noise and your racket? You shall go to bed early to-day, and then I shall have some peace.”
“No, no, Cor. Please let Ruky wait till the stars come. Ruky wants to see the stars.”
“Hush! Ruky is bad. He shall have a whipping when Uncle comes back from town.”
Nep growled.
“Ha! ha!” laughed Ruky, jerking his head saucily from side to side; “Nep says ‘No!’”
Nep was shut out of the cottage for his pains, and poor Ruky was undressed, with many a hasty jerk and pull.
“You hurt, Cor!” he said, plaintively. “I’m going to take off my shoes my own self.”
“No, you’re not,” cried Cora, almost shaking him; and when he cried she called him naughty, and said if he did not stop he should have no supper. This made him cry all the more, and Cora, feeling in her angry mood that he deserved severe punishment, threw away his supper and put him to bed. Then all that could be heard were Ruky’s low sobs and the snappish clicks of Cora’s needles, as she sat knitting, with her back to him.
He could not sleep, for his eyelids were scalded with tears, and his plaintive “Cor! Cor!” had reached his sister’s ears in vain. She never once looked up from those gleaming knitting-needles, nor even gave him his good-night kiss.
12It grew late. The uncle did not return. At last Cora, sulky and weary, locked the cottage door, blew out her candle, and lay down beside her brother.
The poor little fellow tried to win a forgiving word, but she was too ill-natured to grant it. In vain he whispered, “Cor, Cor!” He even touched her hand over and over again with his lips, hoping she would turn toward him, and, with a loving kiss, murmur, as usual, “Good night, little bird.”
Instead of this, she jerked her arm angrily away, saying:
“Oh, stop your pecking and go to sleep! I wish you were a crow in earnest, and then I’d have some peace.”
After this, Ruky was silent. His heart drooped within him as he wondered what this “peace” was that his sister wished for so often, and why he must go away before it could come to her.
Soon, Cora, who had rejoiced in the sudden calm, heard a strange fluttering. In an instant she saw by the starlight a dark object circle once or twice in the air above her, then dart suddenly through the open window.
Astonished that Ruky had not shouted with delight at the strange visitor, or else clung to her neck in fear, she turned to see if he had fallen asleep.
No wonder that she started up, horror-stricken,—Ruky was not there!
His empty place was still warm; perhaps he had slid softly from the bed. With trembling haste she lighted the candle, and peered into every corner. The boy was not to be found!
Then those fearful words rang in her ears:
“I wish you were a crow in earnest!”
Cora rushed to the door, and, with straining gaze, looked out into the still night.
“Ruky! Ruky!” she screamed.
There was a slight stir in the low-growing tree.
“Ruky, darling, come back!”
“Caw, caw!” answered a harsh voice from the tree. Something black seemed to spin out of it, and then, in great sweeping 13circles, sailed upward, until finally it settled upon one of the loftiest trees in the forest.
“Caw, caw!” it screamed, fiercely.
The girl shuddered, but, with outstretched arms, cried out:
“Oh, Ruky, if it is you, come back to poor Cor!”
“Caw, caw!” mocked hundreds of voices, as a shadow like a thunder-cloud rose in the air. It was an immense flock of crows. She could distinguish them plainly in the starlight, circling higher and higher, then lower and lower, until, with their harsh “Caw, caw!” they sailed far off into the night.
“Oh, Ruky, answer me!” she cried.
Nep growled, the forest trees whispered softly together, and the lake, twinkling with stars, sang a lullaby as it lifted its weary little waves upon the shore: there was no other sound.
It seemed that daylight never would come; but at last the trees turned slowly from black to green, and the lake put out its stars, one by one, and waited for the new day.
Cora, who had been wandering restlessly in every direction, now went weeping into the cottage. “Poor boy!” she sobbed; “he had no supper.” Then she scattered breadcrumbs near the doorway, hoping that Ruky would come for them; but only a few timid little songsters hovered about, and, while Cora wept, picked up the food daintily, as though it burned their bills. When she reached forth her hand, though there were no crows among them, and called “Ruky! Ruky!” they scattered and flew away in an instant.
Next she went to the steep-roofed barn, and, bringing out an apronful of grain, scattered it all around his favorite tree. Before long, to her great joy, a flock of crows came by. They spied the grain, and soon were busily picking it up with their short, feathered bills. One even came near the mound where she sat. Unable to restrain herself longer, she fell upon her knees with an imploring cry:
“Oh, Ruky! is this you?”
Instantly the entire flock set up an angry “caw,” and, surrounding the crow, who was hopping closer and closer to 14Cora, hurried him off, until they all looked like mere specks against the summer sky.
Every day, rain or shine, she scattered the grain, trembling with dread lest Nep should leap among the hungry crows, and perhaps kill her “little bird” first. But Nep knew better; he never stirred when the noisy crowd settled around the cottage, excepting once, when one of them pounced upon his back. Then he started up, wagging his tail, and barking with uproarious delight. The crow flew off in a flutter, and did not venture near him again.
Poor Cora felt sure that this could be no other than Ruky. Oh, if she only could have caught him then! Perhaps with kisses and prayers she might have won him back to Ruky’s shape; but now the chance was lost.
There was no one to help her; for the nearest neighbor dwelt miles away, and her uncle had not yet returned.
After a-while she remembered the little cup, and, filling it with grain, stood it upon a grassy mound. When the crows came, they fought and struggled for its contents with many an angry cry. One of them made no effort to seize the grain. He was content to peck at the berries painted upon its sides, as he hopped joyfully around it again and again. Nep lay very quiet. Only the tip of his tail twitched with an eager, wistful motion. But Cora sprang joyfully toward the bird.
“It is Ruky!” she cried, striving to catch it.
Alas! the cup lay shattered beneath her hand, as, with a taunting “caw, caw,” the crow joined its fellows and flew away.
Next, gunners came. They were looking for other birds; but they hated the crows, Cora knew, and she trembled for Ruky. She heard the sharp crack of fowling-pieces in the forest, and shuddered whenever Nep, pricking up his ears, darted with an angry howl in the direction of the sound. She knew, too, that her uncle had set traps for the crows, and it seemed to her that the whole world was against the poor birds, plotting their destruction.
Time flew by. The leaves seemed to flash into bright colors 15and fall off almost in a day. Frost and snow came. Still the uncle had not returned, or, if he had, she did not know it. Her brain was bewildered. She knew not whether she ate or slept. Only the terrible firing reached her ears, or that living black cloud came and went with its ceaseless “caw.”
At last, during a terrible night of wind and storm, Cora felt that she must go forth and seek her poor bird.
“Perhaps he is freezing—dying!” she cried, springing frantically from the bed, and casting her long cloak over her night-dress.
In a moment, she was trudging barefooted through the snow. It was so deep she could hardly walk, and the sleet was driving into her face; still she kept on, though her numbed feet seemed hardly to belong to her. All the way she was praying in her heart; promising never, never to be passionate again, if she only could find her bird—not Ruky the boy, but whatever he might be. She was willing to accept her punishment. Soon a faint cry reached her ear. With eager haste, she peered into every fold of the drifted snow. A black object caught her eye. It was a poor storm-beaten crow, lying there benumbed and stiff.
For Ruky’s sake she folded it closely to her bosom, and plodded back to the cottage. The fire cast a rosy light on its glossy wing as she entered, but the poor thing did not stir. Softly stroking and warming it, she wrapped the frozen bird in soft flannel and blew into its open mouth. Soon, to her great relief, it revived, and even swallowed a few grains of wheat.
Cold and weary, she cast herself upon the bed, still folding the bird to her heart. “It may be Ruky! It is all I ask,” she sobbed. “I dare not ask for more.”
Suddenly she felt a peculiar stirring. The crow seemed to grow larger. Then, in the dim light, she felt its feathers pressing lightly against her cheek. Next, something soft and warm wound itself tenderly about her neck, and she heard a sweet voice saying:
“Don’t cry, Cor,—I’ll be good.”
She started up. It was, indeed, her own darling! The 16starlight shone into the room. Lighting her candle, she looked at the clock.
It was just two hours since she had uttered those cruel words! Sobbing, she asked:
“Have I been asleep, Ruky, dear?”
“I don’t know, Cor. Do people cry when they’re asleep?”
“Sometimes, Ruky,” clasping him very close.
“Then you have been asleep. But Cor, please don’t let Uncle whip Ruky.”
“No, no, my little bird—I mean, my brother. Good night, darling!”
“Good night.”