The Tale of Jolly Robin by Arthur Scott Bailey (best black authors TXT) đź“•
So Jolly Robin laughed happily. And old Mr. Crow remarked that it was a fair laugh, though not so loud as he would have liked.
"I'll do better next time," Jolly assured him.
"Good!" said Mr. Crow. "And now, since I've finished my breakfast, we'll go over to the woods and see what's going on there this morning."
The first person they saw in the woods was Peter Mink. He was fishing for trout in Broad Brook. And old Mr. Crow, as soon as he spied him, sang out:
"How many of Farmer Green's fish have you eaten this morning?"
Peter Mink was just crawling out of the water, with a fish in his mouth. When he heard Mr. Crow calling to him, he dropped his trout upon a rock and looked up quickly.
"How much of Farmer Green's corn have you stolen for your breakfast?" he cried.
At that Jolly Robin began to laugh. But Mr. Crow stopped him quickly.
"Don't laugh!" the old gentleman squawked. "There's nothing to laugh at, so far as I
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“I understand!” said Jimmy Rabbit. “And I won’t mention the matter to her. You’re afraid she might lose her head, I suppose, if she heard about it.” 63
Having made a joke, Jimmy Rabbit thought it was a good time for him to be leaving. So he said good-by and hopped briskly away.
And Jolly Robin’s wife never knew that her husband and Jimmy Rabbit had a secret that they did not tell her.
Of course, if they had told her it would have been no secret at all.
Though Jolly Robin was quite bold for his size, he had a cousin who was actually shy. This timid relation of Jolly’s belonged to the Hermit Thrush family; and Jolly Robin always spoke of him as “The Hermit,” which was a good name for him, because he never strayed from the depths of the swamp near Black Creek. At least, he stayed there all summer long, until the time came for him to go South.
If Jolly Robin wanted to see this shy cousin, he had to go into the swamp. For the Hermit never repaid any of Jolly’s calls. He was afraid of Farmer Green 65 and the other people that lived in the farmhouse. Apple orchards, and gardens and open fields he considered good places to avoid, because he thought them dangerous.
“There’s no place to live that’s quite as safe and pleasant as a swamp,” he often remarked. “I have one brother who prefers an evergreen thicket, which doesn’t make a bad home. And another brother of mine lives in some bushes near a road. But how he can like such a dwelling-place as that is more than I can understand.”
Now, there were two things for which this cousin of Jolly Robin’s was noted. He was an exquisite singer; and he always wore a fine, spotted waistcoat.
Jolly always admired the Hermit’s singing. But he didn’t like his spotted waistcoat at all.
“That cousin of mine is too much of a 66 dandy,” Jolly remarked to his wife one day. “I’m going to pay him a visit this afternoon. And I shall speak to him about that waistcoat he’s so fond of wearing. It’s well enough for city birds to dress in such finery. But it’s a foppish thing for anybody to wear way up here in the country.”
Jolly’s wife told him plainly that he had better mind his own business.
“It’s no affair of yours,” she said. “And you ought not to mention the matter to your cousin.”
Jolly Robin did not answer her. He thought there was no use arguing with his wife. And since the Hermit was his own cousin, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t tell his relation exactly what he thought.
The Hermit appeared glad to see Jolly Robin when he came to the swamp that afternoon. At least, the Hermit said he 67 was much pleased. He had very polished manners for a person that lived in a swamp. Beside him, Jolly Robin seemed somewhat awkward and clownish. But then, Jolly always claimed that he was just a plain, rough-and-ready countryman.
“I never put on any airs,” he often said. “Farmer Green and I are a good deal alike in that respect.”
After the Hermit had inquired about Jolly’s health, and that of his wife as well, he smoothed down his spotted vest, flicked a bit of moss off his tail, and said that if Jolly cared to hear him he would sing one of his best songs.
“I’d like to hear you sing!” Jolly told him.
So the Hermit sang a very sweet and tender melody, which was quite different from Jolly’s cheery carols.
It was a great pleasure to hear such a 68 beautiful song. And Jolly Robin was so delighted that he began to laugh heartily the moment his cousin had finished the final note.
“I wouldn’t laugh, if I were you,” the Hermit reproved him mildly. “That’s a sad song.... If you care to weep, I’d be more than gratified,” he said. And he shuddered slightly, because Jolly’s boisterous laughter grated upon his sensitive nerves.
You can see, just from that, that the Hermit was a very different person from his merry cousin, Jolly Robin.
Jolly Robin’s cousin, the Hermit, seemed much disappointed because Jolly did not weep after hearing the beautiful, sad song. But no matter how mournful a song might be, Jolly Robin could no more have shed tears over it than a fish could have. Naturally, a fish never weeps, because it would be a silly thing to do. Surrounded by water as he is, a fish could never see his own tears. And so all the weeping he might do would be merely wasted.
Not wanting to hurt his cousin’s feelings, Jolly Robin said that he would try to weep after he went home. And that 70 made the Hermit feel happier once more.
“Perhaps you’d like to see our eggs?” he suggested.
And since Jolly Robin said he would be delighted to look at them, if the Hermit’s wife had no objection, his cousin led him further into the swamp. And there, in a nest of moss and leaves, lined with pine needles, the Hermit proudly pointed to three greenish blue eggs, somewhat smaller than those in Jolly’s own nest in Farmer Green’s orchard.
Jolly Robin stared at the nest in amazement. And pretty soon the Hermit grew quite uncomfortable.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You seem surprised.”
“I certainly am!” Jolly Robin cried. “How do you dare do it?”
“Do what?” his cousin inquired uneasily. 71
“Why, you and your wife have built your nest on the ground!”
“Well, why shouldn’t we?” the Hermit asked. And he looked the least bit angry.
“But everybody knows that the best place for a nest is in a tree,” Jolly Robin told him.
His cousin shook his head at that.
“It’s a matter of taste,” he said. “Our family have always preferred to build their nests on the ground. And as for me, I shall continue to follow their example.... It suits me very well,” he added.
Jolly Robin couldn’t help laughing, the sight struck him as being such an odd one.
“It’s a wonder—” he remarked—“it’s a wonder your wife doesn’t bury her eggs in the sand beside the creek, like old Mrs. Turtle.”
“I’d thank you,” said the Hermit, 72 stiffly, “not to say such things about my wife.” And though he spoke politely enough, his manner was quite cold. It was clear that he felt terribly insulted.
Jolly Robin saw that he had blundered. And wishing to change the subject, he said hastily:
“Won’t you sing another song?”
So the Hermit cleared his throat and began to sing again.
Although this song was not so sad as the first one, Jolly Robin did not like it half so well. The chorus, especially, he considered quite offensive. And it is not surprising, perhaps, that it displeased him, for this is the way it went:
“Any old vest
May do for the rest;
But I like a spotted one best!”
If it hadn’t been for that song, Jolly Robin would not have remembered that he had intended to speak to his cousin about his spotted waistcoat. Jolly had been so interested in the nest on the ground that the matter of the waistcoat had slipped out of his mind. But now he suddenly recalled the reason why he had come to see the Hermit. And he disliked his cousin’s spotted finery more than ever.
Thereupon, he resolved that he would speak about it, too.
When the Hermit Thrush had finished his song about the spotted vest, he looked at his cousin Jolly Robin out of the corner of his eye.
“How do you like that one?” he inquired. He noticed that Jolly was not laughing.
“That seems to me to be a very silly song,” Jolly Robin said. “But I’m glad you sang it, because it has reminded me that I was going to speak to you about that spotted waistcoat you’re so fond of wearing.”
“What’s the matter with my 74 waistcoat?” the Hermit asked quickly. “I’m sure it’s a very handsome one.”
“I don’t like it!” Jolly told him. “I wouldn’t be caught with it on me for anything. Everybody says that you’re a great dandy because you wear it. And since you’re my cousin, I think I ought to tell you what people are saying about you.”
“I don’t care what people say!” the Hermit exclaimed. “Those that don’t like my beautiful waistcoat can look the other way when I’m around. And if my style of dress doesn’t please you, I’d suggest that you keep out of this swamp.”
“Now, don’t get angry!” Jolly Robin begged. He gave his cousin a smile, hoping that it might make him feel pleasanter. “I was only trying to help you. I was only going to advise you to wear a red waistcoat, like mine.”
Now, the mere thought of wearing a red 75 waistcoat made the Hermit feel faint. Some people say that all great singers are like that. If they don’t like a thing, they can’t bear even to think about it. And it was a fact that the words “red waistcoat” had always made Jolly Robin’s cousin shudder.
Maybe one reason why he never went to visit Jolly was because he couldn’t endure the sight of his bright red vest.
Of course, Jolly Robin knew nothing about all this.
“Red would be very becoming to you,” he continued. “And it’s certainly a cheerful color, too. You need brightening up. I don’t believe it’s good for you, living in this damp swamp and singing sad songs. What you ought to do is to get some clothes like mine and bring your wife over to Farmer Green’s orchard and build a nest in an apple tree.... We could have some 76 gay times together,” he said smilingly.
Like many other people Jolly Robin thought his own ways were the best. And since the Hermit was just as sure that nobody else knew how to dress, or how to sing, or how to build a house as well as he did, it is quite plain that the two cousins never could agree.
“Just tell your wife about my plan when she comes home,” said Jolly Robin. “And I’ll fly over to-morrow and show you the way to the orchard.”
“I’ll tell her,” his cousin promised.
“Good!” said Jolly Robin. And he gave his delicate cousin a hearty slap on the back, which made the poor fellow wince—for it hurt him not a little. “Good-by!” Jolly cried. And chirping loudly, he flew back home.
Now, Jolly noticed, as he left, that his cousin called “Farewell!” in a melancholy 77 tone. But he thought no more about it at the time. He told his wife the good news as soon as he reached the orchard; for Jolly was sure that his cousin the Hermit was going to follow his advice.
But the next day Jolly met with a great surprise. When he went to the swamp near Black Creek he couldn’t find his cousin anywhere—nor his cousin’s wife, either. Even their three eggs had disappeared from the nest on the ground.
“I hope Fatty Coon hasn’t eaten the eggs,” said Jolly Robin, as he gazed into the empty nest. “But it’s no more than anybody could expect who’s so foolish as to build a nest on the ground.” He grew quite uneasy. And he was puzzled, too.
Later, when Jolly Robin met old Mr. Crow, he learned that his cousin, the Hermit
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