f.a.n.n.y did not laugh at what Norman said, though she felt much inclined to do so. She remembered too well the effect her laughter had produced on the previous evening, and she was most anxious not to irritate his feelings.

The laird had now, as he called it, taken Norman in hand, and for several days allowed the boy to accompany him when he went fishing on the loch. On each occasion he made him practise with his little rod and line, but would not permit him to put on a hook, in spite of the earnest request Norman made that he might be allowed to use one.

"No, laddie, no; not till I see that you can throw a fly with sufficient skill to entice a fish shall you use a hook while you are with me," he answered.

His refusal greatly annoyed Norman, who one day, losing his temper, declared that unless he was allowed to have a hook he would not go out any more in the boat.

"Very well, laddie, ye maun just stay at home and amuse yourself as best you can," was the answer he received from the laird, who, taking up his rod, went off, accompanied by old Sandy, without him.

Norman walked about the grounds in a very ill-humour, wishing that he had kept his agreement with his good-natured host. At last, growing tired of his own company, he returned to the house, thinking that a game of some sort or other, even with f.a.n.n.y, would be better than being all alone. She, supposing that he had gone off with the laird, did not expect to see him, and having brought Pecksy down to the library, was amusing herself by playing with her little favourite. Having collected some crumbs after breakfast in a paper, she brought them with her, and seating herself in a large arm-chair at the library table, placed the cage by her side, and took Pecksy out of it. Having given him one or two crumbs, she thought she would make him run round and round the table, and then from one end to the other, so she placed the crumbs at intervals round the edge, and then in a line down the centre.

"It would amuse granny to see Pecksy at my word of command hop round the table, and then come back to me, and as she would not observe the crumbs, she would wonder, till I told her how very obedient he has become. But I would tell her directly afterwards, for I would not really deceive her even in that way," f.a.n.n.y said to herself.

f.a.n.n.y, having placed the crumbs, was delighted to find how well her plan succeeded, for as soon as Pecksy had picked up one crumb, seeing another before him, he hopped forward and picked that up, and so on, till he had gone round the whole circle.

f.a.n.n.y had made him go through his performance once or twice, for she had wisely put down very small crumbs indeed, so that his appet.i.te was not satisfied. Having placed Pecksy at the further end of the table where she had left him a few crumbs to occupy his attention, she had just resumed her seat, when, unperceived by her, Norman stole into the room.

A large book lay on a chair near him. On a sudden an evil thought entered his mind. Pecksy was in his power, and he had an opportunity of venting the ill-feeling he had long entertained against f.a.n.n.y and her little pet.

Taking up the book, he stole round behind a high-backed chair, which was placed against the table. f.a.n.n.y was so engaged with her bird that she did not see him. Rising up suddenly with the book in his hands, the cruel boy let it fall directly down on the little bird. Perhaps he was scarcely aware of the fatal consequences of his act, perhaps he thought that the falling book would only frighten the bird, which would fly away and save itself. We cannot bear to suppose that, ill-tempered as he was, he could have meditated the destruction of his gentle sister's little favourite. People often do not consider the sad results of their evil temper and bad conduct.

The book fell directly on poor little Pecksy. f.a.n.n.y gave a cry of grief and terror.

"Oh, what have you done, Norman!" she exclaimed, as she saw his face just above the chair, with an expression, oh how different to what she could have supposed that of her little brother could wear.

He did not utter a word, but gazed intently at the book. She lifted it up. There lay her dear little Pecksy motionless. She took the bird up in her hands, examining it anxiously, while the tears fell fast from her eyes.

Norman, conscience-stricken for the first time in his life, could not bear to look at her any longer, and rushed out of the room.

"Oh, what have I done! what have I done!" he exclaimed; "it cannot be dead! the book was not so very big--that could not have killed it all in a moment."

He was afraid of meeting anybody, and he hurried out into the grounds.

At first he ran very fast, supposing that some one would come after him, then finding that he was not pursued, he went at a slower pace. On reaching the woods he turned off the path and plunged into them to hide himself. First he crouched down beneath some thick bushes, thinking that no one would discover him there, but he felt too uncomfortable to stay long quiet--he must keep moving on. Slowly he made his way through the woods. He thought he heard footsteps. He tried to push deeper into the woods. On and on he went--he tore his clothes, and scratched his face and hands, he did not know where he was going, he did not care-- provided he could keep out of the way of everybody. Never before had he been so miserable, his feelings at last became intolerable.

"Perhaps after all the bird is not dead," he thought.

The idea brought him some relief. "I must go back and try and find out," he said to himself. "If I hear f.a.n.n.y crying, and making a noise, I will run off again. I could not face mamma and granny and the rest of them if they were to know that I had killed f.a.n.n.y's bird."

To his surprise, as he went on through the woods, he suddenly saw the house directly before him. He ran towards it. He met the gardener, who, however, took no notice of him. "He at all events knows nothing about what has happened," he thought. At a little distance off was Mrs Maclean with scissors in hand, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g; her roses, but she only looked up for a moment, wondering why Norman should be running about without his hat.

"It's all right, the bird cannot have been killed after all," he thought.

He entered the house, and went into the library. There sat f.a.n.n.y in the arm-chair, hiding her weeping eyes with one hand, while in the other, which rested on the table, lay poor little Pecksy. Norman, stealing up close to her, gazed at the bird. It lay on its back with its delicate little legs in the air, its feathers were ruffled, and a drop of blood was on its beak.

"It does not move, but perhaps it is sleeping," thought Norman; "yet I never saw a bird sleep in that way. I am afraid it must be dead; and if it is, what will f.a.n.n.y do to me? She will box my ears harder than she ever did, and then she will tell the laird, and he will whip me, to a certainty."

Norman moved a little nearer. f.a.n.n.y heard him, and, lifting up her head from her hand, she looked at him for a moment, and said in a low voice--

"O Norman, poor Pecksy is dead," and then again burst into tears.

CHAPTER NINE.

SORROW IS NOT REPENTANCE.

Norman had intended to run away and hide himself should he find that he really had killed the little bird. He was sure that f.a.n.n.y and everybody else would be ready to beat him, but her gentle, though reproachful, tone greatly calmed his fears.

"If she is not angry, I suppose that others will not be," he thought, as he stood by her side, with his eyes still fixed on the dead bird. "I wish I had not done it; if I had frightened her by merely letting the book drop near the bird, it would have been enough. Oh dear! oh dear!

I wish I could bring it to life again! Can it really be dead?"

As these expressions were uttered in a very low voice, they did not reach f.a.n.n.y's ears. For some minutes she did not move. He could not longer endure to watch her silent grief.

"f.a.n.n.y," he said, in a gentle voice, very unusual for him, "is little Pecksy really dead? Do look and see; perhaps you can make it come to life again. I wish you could; I am so sorry I hit it so hard."

f.a.n.n.y lifted her head from her hands, and turned her eyes towards the little bird. She got up from her chair, and examined it carefully.

"Give it something to eat, perhaps that will make it move about,"

suggested Norman.

f.a.n.n.y shook her head. She tried to open its beak, but could not succeed.

"O Norman, it already feels quite cold. It cannot open its beak, and its legs are stiff. It will never hop about any more, or pick up crumbs, or come flying to me, or sing in the morning to wake me up; poor, dear, little Pecksy is really dead."

All this time she did not utter a word of anger or reproach. Instead of rushing at Norman and boxing his ears, as he had expected, she stood still, contemplating with grief her dead bird. Again the tears trickled from her eyes. For the first time in his life Norman felt ashamed of himself.

"I am very sorry," he murmured; "I did not intend to kill the bird."

"I was sure you did not," she said. "I do not think any human being could be so cruel."

"No, I did not--I did not," said Norman. "But do you think that anybody else can make it live again?"

"Oh, no, no; I am sure no one can," answered f.a.n.n.y.

"Then, what are you going to do? Tell them all that I killed it?" asked Norman.

"I would rather you did that yourself," said f.a.n.n.y. "I cannot; it would break my heart to talk about it, and I should be so very, very sorry to say how it happened."

"Then you really mean to say that you do not wish to tell granny or mamma, or to get Mr Maclean to whip me?" he asked, in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, indeed, Norman, I would much rather not have to tell granny or mamma, and I have not for a moment thought of asking Mr Maclean to punish you."

"Still, they must all know it," said Norman, "and what will they do when you tell them?"

"They would, of course, be very angry if they could think you did it on purpose," said f.a.n.n.y. "That is the reason why I wish you to tell them yourself. Mamma, and granny, and Mrs Maclean are in the drawing-room now, and they will be wondering why I am so long away. Could you not go in at once and tell them what has happened, and ask granny to come to me. I cannot go in by myself with poor little Pecksy in my hand. It would make them all so sad."

Norman felt very unwilling to do as his sister advised, still he could not help seeing that it was the best plan, though a very disagreeable one. In consequence of the way f.a.n.n.y had spoken to him, he had no longer any fears about himself.

"If she is not angry with me, they cannot be." He stood, however, irresolute for some time, thinking whether he would or would not go--if he did go, what he should say. f.a.n.n.y again urged him to go at once.