David and the Phoenix by Edward Ormondroyd (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📕

other side of the valley, you know," said the Scientist eagerly. "Quite by accident—I was really looking for another species. Now, birds, you know, have fixed habits. If you know those habits, you can predict just what they will do at any time. This particular bird was a daytime creature, so I tried to watch it between dawn and dusk. But it seemed to have a mind of its own—you might almost say an intelligence. It avoided me in a very clever way, and it avoided my traps also. Uncanny! So after several weeks I decided to shoot it if I got the chance. Then suddenly it disappeared, but I'm certain it came over to this side of the valley—"

There was no escape from the subject during dinner. The Scientist could think and talk of nothing else. He described the merits of deadfalls, snares, steel traps, and birdlime. He asked which they thought would make the best bait, a rabbit, a beefsteak, a live lamb, or carrion. He told them all about the new high-powered, long-range rifle which he had ordered. And he vowed to them all that he would not rest until the bird was either caught or killed "for the advancement of human learning."

David listened with horror. The dinner before him went untouched. His only thought was that now he would have to warn the Phoenix as soon as possible. The Phoenix would go to South America after all, and his education would end before it had even started. All because of this hateful man! He fought to hold back his tears.

Dinner was over at last. David mumbled his excuses and ducked out of the dining room, but Aunt Amy seized him firmly just as he thought he had got away.

"Bedtime for you, David," she said firmly.

"Oh, Aunt Amy, please! I've got to—"

"Upstairs, young man. You've had enough gallivanting around for one day. You're all worn out."

"I'm not!" said David, struggling. "I feel fine. Look, I just have to—"

It was useless. She marched him upstairs to his room and stood in the doorway until he had undressed and put on his pajamas and got into bed.

"Now," she said, "you go to sleep. The mountain will still be there in the morning—unless there's a landslide. Good night." And she turned out the light and shut the door.

This was awful! He could not sneak downstairs, because the stairs could be seen from the living room. He could not climb out of his window, because a rose arbor was directly beneath it, and he would be ripped by the thorns. And Mother always came in to say good night before she went to bed. If he was not there when she came in tonight, there would be a lot of unpleasant explaining to do. The only thing, then, was to wait until the Scientist went home and everyone was in bed.

It was a maddening wait. The Scientist's voice went on and on like the drone of an electric fan, interrupted only by an occasional murmur from Mother or Dad. For a while David sat in bed twisting the sheets in his hands; then he got up and paced the room in his bare feet. It seemed to him that three or four whole nighttimes had passed before he finally heard all three voices raised and talking at once.

The Scientist was going! Now they were saying good-by at the front door ... now the door was being closed ... now there were footsteps on the stairs. He jumped into bed just before Mother put her head in and said, "Good night, dear." David murmured, pretending to be half asleep. His door closed again. The light switches snapped, and there was silence.

He waited another half hour to make sure everyone was asleep. As quickly and silently as he could, he pulled on his clothes, crept out of his room, and slid cautiously down the bannister. In the back yard he put on his shoes, dived through the hedge, and started to race up the mountainside.

Fortunately there was a nearly-full moon and no clouds in the sky. But even with this light, it was not easy to keep to the trail. Several times he lost his way, so that the trip took much longer than usual. But he found the ledge at last, climbed over the final difficult rock, and sat down to catch his breath. When he could speak, he called softly:

"Phoenix!"

There was no answer.

"Phoenix!" He pushed through the thicket to the other side of the ledge. "Phoenix!"

The Phoenix was gone.

The tears that had been stopped up all evening could be held no longer. David dropped to the ground, leaned his forehead against a rock, and let them go. He had just remembered. As soon as they had come back from the Gryffon adventure, the Phoenix had flown off on some sort of business. And it had not said when it would return.

The tears cleared David's mind and made him feel better. Now what? He began to think. If he stayed on the ledge all night, they might find out at home and make a terrible fuss. But if he did not warn the Phoenix before morning, the Scientist might creep up while the bird was resting and trap it or shoot it. So he would have to warn the Phoenix and return home. And the only way to do both these things was to write the Phoenix a note.

But he had neither paper nor pencil.

A fine mess he had made of everything! Now he would have to go all the way back home, write the note, come all the way back up to the ledge, and then go home again.

David trudged down the mountainside in a very low mood. Now that he had a definite plan to work on, his fear was gone, but he felt that he had been pretty stupid to rush off without thinking of everything first. In his mind he could hear the Phoenix saying, "Look before you leap, my boy," and other wise words of advice. And he had cried, too. Lucky that no one had been there to see that.

As he approached the house he was surprised to see all the lights ablaze and to hear his name being called. "Oh-oh," he thought, "they've found out I've gone."

"Here I am!" he shouted, opening the door. "What's the matter?"

It was a strange sight which met him inside. Dad, in his gray pajamas, was waving a revolver and making fierce noises. Mother, looking frightened, had a shoe in one hand. Aunt Amy, with her hair in rags, was also well-armed—with a big cast-iron frying pan. Beckie was howling upstairs.

"David!" Mother cried. "Are you all right? Where have you been? Did he hurt you?"

"Who?" said David. "I'm all right. What's the matter?"

"The burglar!" said Mother excitedly. "He put his head in the window and said 'pssssst!'"

"I tell you, burglars don't say pssssst!" Dad said. "They try to make as little noise as possible. Just let me catch him doing it again!" he added, waving his pistol.

"Running around on that mountain at all hours of the night," Aunt Amy grumbled, "with burglars and I don't know what-all loose in town!"

"And then we found that you were gone, and we thought he had stolen you," Mother went on. "Where have you been?"

"I couldn't sleep," said David. "So I went for a walk."

"Well, thank heavens you're safe," said Mother.

"Hankering after that mountain all night," Aunt Amy muttered. "As if he wasn't up there all day."

"Look here, Son," said Dad. "What do you know about this?"

"Honestly, Dad," said David, "I couldn't sleep. There's nothing wrong with that. I can't help it if I can't sleep. So I took a walk. There's nothing wrong with—"

"Oh, all right, all right," his father said. "I suppose it's just a coincidence. Let's all get back to sleep. And, David, the next time you can't sleep, try counting sheep."

Gradually the house calmed down. Beckie stopped wailing, Dad put away his gun, good nights were said, the lights were turned off.

David knew that it would be at least an hour before he dared to move again, and he would have to be doubly careful this time. And he was a little nervous himself now about that burglar. What if he should meet him when he went out again? He tried to forget about that by thinking of what he would put in the note for the Phoenix.

He had got as far as "Dear Phoenix:" and was wondering how you spelled "Phoenix," when there came a swish and a thump at his window, followed by a cautious whisper:

"Pssssst!"

David felt his scalp prickle. "Wh-wh-who's that?" he quavered.

"Is that you, my boy?" whispered a familiar, guarded voice. "Ah, thank heavens!"

And the Phoenix crawled through the window.

Weak with relief, David snapped on the bedside light. The Phoenix presented a shocking sight. Its face was drawn with fatigue, and it looked rather draggled. Its back sagged, its wings drooped to the floor, and it walked with a limp.