Hugh Lofting: Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary

'Not many days after they had gone we had another new kind of excitement, another army. But this one did not wear smart uniforms or march to the beat of a drum. It was composed of ragged people, wild–eyed, untidy and disorderly! They came scrambling into the inn yard, shouting and waving sticks. A leader among them stood on an upturned bucket and made them a speech. The owner of the inn begged the leader to take them away. He was evidently very worried about having them in his yard. But the leader wouldn't listen. When one speech was finished another would begin. But what any of them was about I couldn't make out.

'Finally the ragged mob drifted away of its own accord. And as soon as the yard was clear the innkeeper shut and locked the gate so they couldn't come back.

'I asked one of my pigeon friends what it all meant. He shook his head seriously:

'"I don't quite know," he said. "Something's been going on for weeks now. I hope it isn't war. Two of the carriers, the best flyers in the dovecote, were taken away last Monday. We don't know where they went to. But those two pigeons were used for carrying war messages before."

'"What is war?" I asked.

'"Oh, it's a messy, stupid business," he said. "Two sides wave flags and beat drums and shoot one another dead. It always begins this way, making speeches, talking, about rights, and all that sort of thing."

'"But what is it for? What do they get out of it?"

'"I don't know," he said. "To tell you the truth, I don't think they know themselves. When I was young I carried war messages myself once. But it never seemed to me that anyone, not even the generals, knew any more of what it was all about than I did."'

Pippinella stopped in her story long enough to take a sip of water and then went on again.

'That same week that the ragged people came to the inn to make speeches we had still another unusual arrival. This was a frightfully elegant private coach. It had a wonderful picture painted on the door, handles and mountings of silver, outriders on fine horses to guard it, and altogether it was the grandest equipage I had ever seen.

'On its first appearance way down the road I had started singing my usual song, " Maids, come out, " and so forth. And I was still singing when it came to a halt in the yard and a tall superior sort of gentleman got out of it. The innkeeper was already on the steps, bowing low, and porters were standing around to help the guest out and to attend to his luggage. But strangely enough, the first thing that the elegant person took any notice of was myself.

'"By Jove!" he said, putting a quizzing glass to his eye and sauntering towards my cage. "What a marvellous singer! Is it a canary?"

'"Yes, my lord," said the host, coming forward, "a green canary."

'"I'll buy it from you," said the elegant gentleman. "Buckley, my secretary, will pay you whatever the price is. Have it ready to travel with me in the morning, please."

'I saw the innkeeper's face fall at this. For he was very much attached to me and the idea of selling me, even for a big price, evidently did not appeal to him. But this grand person was clearly someone whom he was afraid to displease by refusing.

'"Very good, my lord," said he in a low voice, and he followed the guest into the hotel.

'For my part I was greatly disturbed. Life here was very pleasant. I did not wish to exchange it for something I knew nothing of. However, I had been sold. There was nothing I could do about it. That is perhaps the biggest disadvantage in being a cage bird: you're not allowed to choose your own owner or home.

'Well, after they had gone inside the inn I was sitting on my perch pondering rather miserably over this new turn of affairs, when along came my chaffinch friend who nested in the yard.

'"Listen," I said. "Who is this haughty person who drove up in the coach just now?"

'"Oh, that's the Marquis," said he. "A very big swell. He owns half the country around here, mills, mines, farms and everything. He's frightfully rich and powerful. Why do you ask?"

'"He has bought me," I said. "Just told the innkeeper to wrap me up, like a pound of cheese or something—without even asking first if he wanted to sell me."

'"Yes," said the chaffinch, nodding his head, "the Marquis is like that. He takes it for granted that everybody will do what he wants—and most people do, for that manner. He's awfully powerful. However, there are some who think things are going to change. That meeting, you remember, when the workmen and ragged people came here making speeches? Well, that was mostly over him. He has put a whole lot of machinery into the mills and mines, it seems. There has been a terrible lot of grumbling and bad feeling over it. It is even widespread that the Marquis's life is in danger all the time now."

'"Well," I said, "he won't get me to do what he wants. If he takes me away from here I won't sing another note. So there!"

'"I don't see why you should grumble," he said. "You will have the most elegant home. Why, he lives in a castle with over a hundred servants, they say. I know he has a tremendous lot of gardeners myself, because I've built my nest in his garden and I've seen them. If you ask me I should say you are very lucky."

'"I don't care anything about his hundred servants," I said. "I don't like his face. I want to live here with the host and his family and old Jack and the other coach drivers. They are my friends. If the Marquis takes me away I'll stop singing."

'"That's rather a joke," chuckled the chaffinch thoughtfully. "The all–powerful Marquis getting defied by a cage bird. He got his way with everybody till he met a canary who didn't like his face! Splendid! I must go to tell that to the wife."

'Well, the next morning my cage was wrapped up while the children of the family stood around weeping. I was ready to weep myself, too, to tell the truth. After I was all covered up the youngest one broke a hole in the top of my paper to say a last farewell to me. She dropped a couple of large tears on my head, too. Then I felt myself being carried out into the yard.

'And so, after weeks and months of watching people arrive and depart from my inn, I, too, was to set forth by coach along the white road that led away to the horizon. Whither was I going? What adventures were in store for me? I fell to thinking of good old Jack. I wondered how his cheery face would look as he swung into the gate this evening to find my cage gone from the wall and no Pip to whistle "Thank you" for his lump of sugar. Would he care very much, I asked myself. After all, to him I was only a canary—not even his canary at that. Oh, well, I thought, as the horses started forward with a jerk, it was no use being sentimental over it, I would face the future with a stout heart.'

'IT was long journey. Sometimes I felt the coach going uphill, the horses panting, slowed to a walk. At other times we descended into valleys with the brakes creaking and groaning on the wheels. At last, after about seven hours of driving, we came to a halt and I heard the patter of hurrying feet. By the echoes I gathered that we had passed into some kind of a courtyard or the stone portico to a big building. My cage was taken out and carried up a long, long winding flight of stairs.

'At length, on the wrapping paper being taken off, I found myself in a small, very beautifully furnished round room. There were two people in it—the Marquis and a woman. The woman had a very nice face. She seemed sort of scared of the Marquis.

'"Marjorie," said he, "I've brought you a present. This canary is a magnificent singer."

'"Thank you Henry," said she. "It was very thoughtful of you."

'And that was all, I could see there was something wrong. Marjorie was evidently the Marquis's wife. But after his being away from her for several days that was all she said: "Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you."