Born to Wander: A Boy's Book of Nomadic Adventures Read online

sky of cloudless blue.

  It is early morning, but those rooks have been at it long before thebeams of the rising sun capped the hills with crimson. There are manyother voices in the woods; indeed, every tree is alive with song, butyou would have to walk a long distance into the forest before you couldlisten with pleasure to either the merle or the mavis, so loud-voicedare those rooks with their everlasting but senseless song of "Caw--caw--caw."

  But listen!--if indeed it be possible to listen to anything--there isevidently a merry party coming towards the mound here, from thedirection of Grayling House.

  There is a manly voice singing, and there is the merry laughter ofchildren, with every now and then the sharp ringing bark of a collie, orthe deeper bay of a hound in the woods.

  And now they burst into view. At the head of the procession, hatchet inhand, marches Captain Lyle himself, flanked on the right by Leonard, onthe left by Effie. Behind them come men carrying baskets of tools andspades and shovels, and bringing up the rear, and limping somewhat, isold Peter himself.

  What are they all doing here? Why, they are going to complete thebuilding of the Miniature Menagerie. And if you now look behind you,and to the top of the little green hill, you will notice risingtherefrom a structure of such fairy-like dimensions, but of such graceand beauty withal, that no one could have been blamed for mistaking itfor the palace of some elfin king.

  Externally, and seen from a distance, it looked already complete, but acloser inspection showed that the rooms were all unfurnished as yet, andthe place void of tenants.

  There was much to do, but there was a merry, busy crew to do it, andwhat with shouting and what with talking and singing, I must say that ifthe din at the building of the Tower of Babel was anything in comparisonto this, it must have been very great indeed.

  I do not know that Effie did much to assist--assist the work, I mean,for she _did_ add to the din most considerably--but Leonard proved anable lieutenant in running here and there, conveying his father'scommands, and seeing that they were executed promptly.

  Well, everybody worked, and worked, and _worked_, and not on thisparticular day only, but for many days, for it happened to be a schoolholiday, and so, by-and-bye, everything was completed, even to thesatisfaction of Captain Lyle himself, who, being a soldier, was veryparticular indeed.

  And after everything was done and finished, and the trees and flowers inthe grounds that surrounded Castle Beautiful had nothing to do but togrow, then the animals and pets were taken to this beautiful home, andduly installed therein.

  And old Peter the butler, whose labours at the house itself were reallynot worth speaking about, he being kept as a kind of human heirloom andnothing else, was appointed custodian of the castle. For Peter, beingso very old, and having been always in the country, in the woods and inthe wilds, since the days of his boyhood, not only knew a deal aboutevery kind of animal, but was also fond of all things living. It hadoften been remarked of Peter by the other servants that he would, if inever so great a hurry, step on one side rather than trample a gardenworm on the footpath.

  "Hae!" he would say sometimes when he found one of these on the gravel,"whaur are gaun ye crawling ferlie? Whaur are ye hurryin' to sae fast?I'll put you out of harm's way at the risk o' even displeasing ye."Then he would lift it, and gently deposit it on the grass.

  On a shelf in one of the rooms lay a note-book, and in this book CaptainLyle had written--so plainly that even Peter could see to read itwithout those immense spectacles he used to wear when droning over theGood Book of an evening to the servants--all that it was necessary toknow about the feeding and comfort of the poor wee animals who lived inCastle Beautiful. And Leonard and Effie, being Scotch, had learned toread very early, and soon could tell by heart everything in the book.

  Leonard had a very high sense of what duty meant, and even Effie knewthat if we keep animals to minister to our pleasure, we ought to do ourbest to make them as happy as the summer's day is long.

  Well, let us take a glance at Castle Beautiful and the Menagerie threemonths after that busy, bright spring morning I have just described.Leonard and Effie come with us to answer questions and explain things ingeneral, and old Peter goes hobbling on in front, in a great hurry,though with little speed, to open the gates for us.

  The palisade that surrounds the hill there is quite a rustic one, and sois the gate that opens through it. Even the bark has been left on thebranches that compose it.

  Once through this gate--and mind you, old Peter takes good care to lockit behind him--we find ourselves in quite a little shrubbery, thoughlaid down with exquisite taste and without any overcrowding. Andupwards, through the grass and miniature trees, the path goes windingand zig-zig-zagging till it lands us on the flat roof of the hill, infront of the little palace.

  We observe that the gravel on the path, and all round the palace, as wemay well call it, is as white as snow. It is a mixture of shells andsea sand, brought all the way from the beach at the mouth of the Tweed,and being so white, it looks in charming contrast to the greenery oftrees and grass.

  But what strikes a grown-up person most here, is that everything abouthim is in miniature, dwarfed, as it were; the very bushes and shrubshave the appearance of being old, and yet they are excessively small.Here, for example, is a little forest of pine trees and larches which,as far as shape goes, might be a hundred years old, and here again is athicket of spruce, so ancient looking, yet so tiny, that if pigeons flewabout in it no bigger than humble-bees, we would not be a bitastonished, and if, flitting from bough to bough of these dwarfed elmsand oaks, we saw thrushes and blackbirds not a whit larger thanblue-bottle flies, we should not raise our brows in wonder.

  Again, when we look around us at the tiny rockeries and flower beds andthe Liliputian fountains, and then glance at the fairy-like palaceitself, why, we--that is, we grown-up folks--begin to think we aregiants and ogres, or that all we see around us is due to some kind ofenchantment. If a regiment of real fairies came trooping out of theminiature palace, we would not be rude enough to look as if there wereanything particularly strange in the matter.

  But behold, Peter, who does look tall amid such surroundings, opens thehall door of the Castle, and out step Don Caesar de Bazan and the Hon.Lady Purr-a-meow.

  Don Caesar shakes hands with everybody all round, and her ladyship doesthe same. The Don is a poodle with his hair cut in the most fantasticFrenchified fashion, and her Ladyship is a cat of the tabby persuasion,who condescends to accept bed and board at Castle Beautiful. Don Caesarand Lady Purr-a-meow go off for a scamper round the hill and through theminiature woods, and Peter, preceded by Leonard and Effie, enters theporch, and we follow, feeling all the while as big as giants. Theverandah is just under the tower where the pigeons dwell, and a coupleof tame jackdaws have built a nest and brought out young.

  And the very first or ante-room we reach is the private apartment of DonCaesar and Lady Purr-a-meow. I really ought to have put Lady P. beforeDon C. in that last sentence of mine, for she alone rules king andpriest in this charming little room.

  Of course Don Caesar has a couch in one corner, in which he isgraciously permitted to sleep at night, or enjoy a siesta during theday. Lady Purr-a-meow does not object to that, and she even allows himto have his meals here so long as he behaves himself. She does notobject either to have a game at romps with Don Caesar when _she_ has amind to; I emphasise the _she_ because it makes all the difference inthe world if Don Caesar himself proposes the game. She whacks him atonce, and sends him to bed, and she knows exactly all his tender points,and where a claw hurts most, on his nose, for example, or on hisclosely-shaven loins. She whacks him if he goes too near her dish, shewhacks him if he barks, and sometimes whacks him because he doesn't.She whacks him if he comes too near to the window, and whacks him if hestops too far away from it. She whacks him sometimes for looking ather. If he doesn't look at her she says he is sulky, and whacks him forthat; she whacks him for fun and for exercise, and to show hera
uthority, so that, upon the whole, Don Caesar de Bazan gets a good dealmore whacking than he deserves.

  In this room is Leonard's and Effie's library of old-fashionedpicture-books, and many toys, and a little couch near thenicely-curtained window, on which it is delightful to recline on alovely summer evening and read while dreamy, old-fashioned music isbeing played by a huge musical box that stands on a table, and while abreeze, laden with the odours of the woods and the wild flowers, isstealing in at the open window, and toying with the crimson curtains.

  This window opens right on the lawn, that is, on the back lawn, and herea strange sight may be seen--namely, half a score of snow-white,smutty-nosed, garnet-eyed Himalayan rabbits, brought home first by asailor uncle, and the same number of daft-looking little piebald guineapigs. These have houses outside, and a monstrous owl called Tom iswatching them half asleep from his cage near a window, and thinking hownice one or two of them would be to eat.

  But we