Chapter VI: The Scarecrow

Tommy was tired of his tin soldiers. He had been having a very exciting battle in the parlour, and was quite worn out with it. Also, he had managed to break a valuable vase, and his mother had said that she really could not have such rough games played in the house any more.

Tommy was very sorry that he had hit the vase with his pea-shooter, but he felt it to be against his dignity to be found fault with, so he piled his toys away, and ran over the road to play with Gladys. On the way, he met Freda Morris starting out on the same errand, and she told him a strange story about a Scarecrow that was in one of her father's fields.

"He is dressed just like a real person," said Freda, "only his clothes are rather old. I have seen him in that field ever since I can remember. But yesterday, Tommy,"--Freda dropped her voice to a mysterious whisper--"yesterday, as I was getting over the stile near Long Meadow, I heard him coughing, I did really."

"Go on!" said Tommy incredulously.

"Well, I did," repeated Freda. "But I didn't like to speak to him."

"Well, never mind him now," said Tommy. "Let's go and play with Gladys, at hunting on the prairie."

Freda agreed, and they very quickly found Gladys. She was in the nursery making a new hat for Adeliza May, but she left off at once and found some peacocks' feathers to stick in her hair, because Tommy said she was to be a Red Indian prowling about after deer, and he and Freda would be two Englishmen hunting buffaloes, and they must shoot at her because she was stealing.

They had a very exciting game. The two Englishmen shot the Red Indian with a walking stick, and he fell over on the hearth-rug terribly wounded. Then suddenly he rose and scalped the Englishmen, and chased them under the sofa, where they lay panting for breath. After a time, however, and a great deal of strange talking, which Gladys said was Red Indian, they all became friendly and decided to light a fire and smoke the pipe of peace.

So to begin with, Tommy tried to strike a match on his boot, as he had sometimes seen other boys do. But as it would not light, he threw it away, and forgot all about it till there was a great fizz inside the dolls' house, where the match had fallen, and a tiny flame burst out of the kitchen window.

"Oh, dear!" cried Gladys, "the dolls' house is on fire, and Adeliza May is inside with her best frock on. Water! Where is some water?"

She ran out of the room and fetched the jug from her washstand, and Tommy tipped it over the dolls' house. The water ran all over the floor, and through the ceiling into the kitchen, where Jane was talking to the cook, and that is how she guessed that something was the matter and came rushing up to see what it was.

"Well, Miss Gladys and Miss Freda! Well, Master Thomas!" she cried, when she saw what had taken place. "I wouldn't have believed that two young ladies and a young gentleman could do such depredations, and Cook and me so busy we don't know what to do first."

"It was an accident," said Gladys meekly. "Shall I help you wipe it up? I am very sorry."

But Jane was not to be pacified.

"You'd better go out for a walk," she said crossly, "while I get the place straight again. Oh, my goodness!"

So the three children stole down into the garden thinking it would be nicer to have a romp there than to stay with Jane and that fearful mess on the floor.

"What was that you were telling me about the Scarecrow?" said Tommy to Freda as they hurried along.

"Oh!" cried Freda, "couldn't we go and see him now--this very minute? The Scarecrow, Gladys, in my daddy's field. Yesterday I heard him coughing. I've got a few peppermints in my pocket--shall we go and give him one?"

"Yes, of course," said Gladys, very pleased at the idea. "Here's John James, let him come too if he will."

John James was very willing to accompany them, so Gladys picked him up, and off scampered the merry trio, until they reached the forlorn-looking object.

"You speak first," said Tommy giving Freda a push.

"No, no. Let Gladys," replied Freda timidly.

So Gladys cleared her throat.

"Good morning, Mr. Scarecrow," she said.

"Good morning, ma'am," the old fellow replied in a quavering voice.

Gladys felt very proud at being called ma'am.

"Take a chair," he went on--"I mean, won't you sit down?"

The children sat down on the trunk of a tree and surveyed the Scarecrow from head to foot. He had on a hat with a dent in the top, rather a good coat, but his trousers were frayed at the ankles, and he had only one leg; indeed, it seemed to be a very difficult matter for him to stand up at all. Certainly the poor old chap was wheezing, and he had a very bad cough.

"On my chest," he said to Freda, when she offered him a peppermint.

"You ought not to be out in this cold wind," said Gladys.

"No, indeed," he replied, "I am past the job now. The birds get mortal cheeky!" Here the Scarecrow was seized with a violent fit of coughing, which continued until Gladys patted him on the back.

"Mortal cheeky!" he resumed. "Just before you came I tried to scare a Robin, but he took no notice of me at all. He told me he would come next Spring and build a nest in my hat. That is the biggest piece of impudence I've ever had to put up with. Scare-crowing is most certainly not the profession it used to be."

John James, who had been listening very attentively, now found his voice.

"This will make good copy for the _News_," he said, taking his note book out of his pocket. "Perhaps you will tell us something more about yourself?"

The Scarecrow seemed a bit doubtful.

"What paper do you represent," he enquired cautiously.

"I am the Editor of _The Golliwog News_," said John James proudly.

"Really!" cried the Scarecrow, his thin face lighting up with pleasure. "That's a very respectable paper, and I have no objection to telling you a little,--but mind you, I wouldn't give any information to some of the other papers, not if you'd give me a new hat!"

"When did you first take to scarecrowing?" asked John James.

"I've been in the business ever since I can remember. In fact, I have been told that I am a born Scarecrow. My father was a Scarecrow before me, so it may be hereditary.

"He was a good father to me," continued the Scarecrow his eyes filling with tears at the remembrance of his aged parent. "Never let me lark about with other scarecrows of my age, always kept me strictly to business. He caught a chill one bitter night, and became very ill, but, would he leave his post?"

The Scarecrow looked round fiercely as if he hoped someone might contradict him. "Would he leave his post?" he repeated severely, and looked at the children so hard that Freda felt she ought to say something, especially as this was her father's field.

"I don't suppose he would?" she ventured.

"Not he," snapped the Scarecrow, "and what is more, no member of our family ever has left his post."

"Perhaps you would tell us how you came to lose your leg!" asked John James trying to change the conversation.

"That was a great blow to me," said the Scarecrow sorrowfully. "It was the beginning of the end, for I shall not last much longer now. I used to be as strong and hearty a Scarecrow as you would find in a day's march, now I am eaten up with rheumatism, and find it a hard matter to stand out here in these rough winds at all. They are almost enough to blow one off one's legs--I mean one's leg.

"Well, one day there were a number of pigeons stealing the corn quite close to me. I had been awake nearly all night, and was just having a snooze, so didn't know they were there, when--_bang!_ I woke with a start and a stinging pain in my leg, and there stood Mr. Morris with a smoking gun in his hand. In firing at the thieves he had accidently shot me in the leg. I was removed to the Wood Limbo Hospital, where it was found necessary to amputate the limb above the knee.

"It was rather hard on me," he continued after a pause. "I lost a leg, but down at the house they had pigeon pie."

"I am sure father would be sorry if he knew," began Freda, but the Scarecrow did not hear her; he was clearing his voice by giving a series of tremendous "Ahems."

"Too much talking makes me worse," he gasped.

"Then I think we had better go now," said Gladys, "and we will come and see you again soon. You have talked quite enough for the present."

A whole week went by, and the children had apparently forgotten all about their visit to the Scarecrow, but they were suddenly reminded by John James. He had been lying on the sofa, with his legs sticking in the air. A very undignified attitude--so the children thought--for the Editor of _The Golliwog News_. While they were watching him, he got on his feet and began to rub his eyes.

"Silly old thing, pretending you have been asleep," said Gladys scornfully.

John James frowned.

"I've got an inquest to attend at three o'clock," he said.

"Well, it's after three now," Gladys told him.

"I'm off, then," he shouted, rushing out of the room.

Of course they all followed him, tearing along like mad things, while John James led the way to Farmer Morris' field.

"We're in time," he gasped breathlessly, as they reached the large wooden gate.

"They are just swearing in the jury."

Our young friends were all eyes at once. They looked across and saw the poor old Scarecrow was lying on the ground, and twelve black crows, forming the jury, were arranged in a ring round him. When they reached the spot the foreman had just been elected, and the Coroner, a wise-looking old Hawk, was perched on a tree stump where he could keep his eye on the prostrate Scarecrow. The children hastily found seats just behind the jury, where they could get a splendid view of the whole proceedings.

The first witness called was Mr. Peter Bunney, who nodded and smiled at Gladys. He had first discovered the death of the Scarecrow. He said he was crossing the field late on the previous night, on his way to a cabbage patch on the other side, when he thought he heard singing. Believing it to be some friends of his returning from a little party, witness went nearer, and on putting up his ear-trumpet, discovered that the sound he had heard was the Scarecrow's violent coughing.

The poor old fellow's hat, Mr. Peter Bunney proceeded to state, was blown off by a gust of wind. Witness attempted to chase it, but without success. Then another blast of wind, more furious than the last, bowled the Scarecrow completely over. He made no effort to rise, and witness, after trying hard to assist him, placed his ear-trumpet near the Scarecrow's heart and listened intently. He could hear no sound and was therefore forced to the conclusion that their friend had breathed his last.

The next witness was Mr. Robin, who said he had spent a great deal of time in the vicinity of the Scarecrow during the last few days, and that he was not surprised to find the old chap "off his perch" that morning. He had had frequent conversations with the Scarecrow and noticed that he had lately become very "touchy," which witness attributed to advancing age.

Questioned by the Coroner, Mr. Robin admitted threatening to build a nest in the Scarecrow's hat, but explained that he had no serious intention of doing so, because his wife was terribly afraid of deceased and would on no account go near him.

"Did he appear alarmed by your remark?" asked the foreman of the jury.

"He did," replied the Robin, "but as I considered him feeble-minded I thought no more about it."

Doctor Drake then said that in his opinion deceased had been suffering from the "flu." He ought not to have been out on such a night as that upon which he met his death, but it was common knowledge that these Scarecrows were very much devoted to their employers, and could on no account be prevailed upon to leave their posts.

The jury then retired to a corner of the field to consider their verdict. It took them a very long time, and the children had begun to fidget a little. Tommy had screwed up his mouth ready to whistle, when quite suddenly he unscrewed it.

He nudged Gladys and Freda, who were sitting on either side of him.

"Look at the Scarecrow," he whispered.

The little girls did so, and to their intense surprise they distinctly saw him wink. There could be no mistake about it, for while they were still looking, he did it again.

"I don't believe he's dead at all," said Gladys softly.

"He's as right as ninepence, the artful old beggar!" said Tommy, and he was about to attract the attention of the Coroner, when the Scarecrow frowned, and shook his head, as if entreating him to be silent.

In a few minutes the jury returned in a talkative and jovial mood. One of them hummed a little tune, and looked contemptuously at the prostrate figure. Evidently they were all very pleased to think that they were now free to come and go in Farmer Morris' field just as much as they liked.

"Now we shall see some fun," remarked Tommy, as the foreman of the jury rose to deliver the verdict.

"We rejoice to find," he began, giving the Scarecrow a vicious little peck, "that our deceased--er--friend----"

But he got no further, for suddenly the Scarecrow rose, stood on his leg, and surveyed the Coroner and jury with a solemn eye.

For a moment they were too much amazed to move. Then, with a tremendous flutter, and a series of terrified squawks, they all flew away, without leaving so much as a feather behind them.

CHAPTER VII.

Relates how naughty Spottikins
Had caught a cheeky Sparrow,
Who told some very wondrous tales,
About a bow and arrow.
How Gladys, Tom, and Freda liked
His stories gay and witty,
So on the G. and T.B.R.
They went to Birdland City.