Part 16

Little did these two lads know how much trouble and anxiety their conversation was to bring upon the inhabitants of that peaceful lawn. That young wagtail had heard what they said; for birds certainly understand what men say. Do they not carry secrets? People should be careful what they say in their hearing.

Now up to this time this young bird, like her brothers and sisters, had never given a moment’s thought to what she did, or what she looked like. Nor had she noticed what the others did, or what they looked like. She wagged her tail, but she did it without thinking of it; as for asking why she did it, that was very far from the mind of herself or any of the family. And now she suddenly became aware, not only that she did it, but that it was possible to ask why she did it.

She looked at the others: they were all doing it, every other minute or so. Then she wagged her own tail, to see what it felt like, now she knew that she did it. And now she began to feel very ill at ease.

“What can it all be for?” she said to herself. “Even that man didn’t seem to know all about it. There goes my tail again! Really, it wags almost without one’s knowing it. There can’t be any harm in it, I should think, as father and mother are doing it too. But why do we all do it? I don’t see any use in it. There it goes again, before I ever thought of holding it still. I must really go and ask mother about it.”

She flew up to her mother, who was in a very happy and contented frame of mind, having brought up her young so prosperously in the midst of plenty and comfort.

“Mother,” she said, “will you please tell me why we all wag our tails?”

The prudent mother was rather taken aback; but after taking a little run and flight, to collect her mind, she returned answer very decidedly,

“We don’t wag our tails. Who’s been putting such fancies into your head?”

“A big man on the other side of the lawn said he should like to know why we wag our tails!”

“Men are blockheads,” said the mother. “Don’t you go near them, Kelpie, on any account. They know nothing about us. I tell you we don’t wag our tails, and I won’t be contradicted. Go away, child, and look for beetles.”

Kelpie went away, but she could not throw herself into the beetle-catching with the same ardour as before. Whenever she looked up she saw some one’s tail moving, and she got more and more puzzled over it. At one moment she thought she was rid of the puzzle: “Mother says we don’t,” she reflected, “so of course, at least I suppose, it’s all my fancy;” and she began to search for food. But the next minute she felt that her own tail was going up and down, and back came all the puzzling thoughts as lively as ever again. At last she lost all confidence in her mother, and resolved to ask her father’s opinion.

“What does my little Kelpie want?” said he, as the young one came flying up.

“I want to ask a question, father. Mother says we don’t wag our tails, but a man I heard talking said we did. Which do you think is right?”

“Your mother’s sure to be right, my dear,” said he; “I never, never knew her wrong. Never,” he said with warmth, and wagging his tail to emphasize his words. “Believe all she says, and do everything she tells you.”

“But father, dear, you’re wagging your own tail now as fast as you can!” cried Kelpie.

“I do it sometimes when I am a little excited,” he said, taken by surprise. “But don’t you think any more about it, Kelpie, there’s a dear; it would vex your mother so, you know. And promise me you won’t say anything about it to your brothers and sisters. Will you promise? All sorts of dreadful things might happen, you know, if one went about asking questions like that.”

Worse and worse for poor Kelpie! Her mother had plainly told her an untruth; her father had half admitted it to be so, and had seemed quite frightened at the idea of such questions being asked. What could the mystery be? Kelpie’s little mind was all in a flutter.

She went on as usual however from day to day, and said nothing to the rest of the family about the troubles of her mind. At last however it struck her that she might question other birds, though it was clearly no good consulting her own kith and kin. A thrush who frequented the lawn, and always looked very wise, seemed likely to be a friend in need; so she took an opportunity one day, when the others were out of hearing, of asking him her question.

The thrush put his head on one side, and listened very attentively while Kelpie was speaking. “Now,” thought she, “I shall get an answer. Oh, what a relief.” She stood quite still and waited patiently.

“Ah,” said the thrush, quite suddenly, “I thought I heard it!” And he made a quick dig into the earth with his bill, and pulled out a long worm by the tail. Kelpie watched while he swallowed it,--it did not take more than a few seconds--and then said timidly, “If you please, sir, I don’t think you heard me, I--”

The thrush again put his head on one side, stood quite still in an erect attitude, and seemed absorbed this time in Kelpie and her troubles.

“I asked you a question, sir,” said she again; “I’m very much afraid I’m troubling you, but I do so want to find out the answer.”

“I’ve found it,” said the thrush, as suddenly as before; and he darted his bill into the ground again, pulled out another worm, and this time flew away with it. Kelpie was left alone, a sadder but not a wiser bird.

She was greatly disheartened for a time. At last however she determined to try once more. An old jackdaw, with a very gray head, used to come very early of a morning on to the lawn when no one was about except a few starlings. Kelpie didn’t think the starlings looked very promising, they were so restless, and there were so many of them together. But the jackdaw, she had heard her parents say, was the wisest bird in the whole garden; so she watched her chance, and approached him one morning very modestly.

“I fear, sir,” she said, “that you will think me very bold, but I have heard of your great wisdom, and I thought you would be good enough to explain something to me.”

The jackdaw looked at her, not unkindly. “Have you asked your parents?” he said.

“Yes, sir, but they won’t explain it to me.”

The jackdaw shook his head. “Probably they couldn’t,” he replied. “Wagtails are very ignorant birds. But I’ll give you a bit of advice. If anything puzzles you, go and listen in chimneys. There are no fires there now, and you can hear what men and women say. That’s how my family has come to be so wise. But you must get into the habit of it, you know; you must spend a good deal of time there; it may be years before you get an answer to your question.”