WHITE PEACOCKS

During the time that Jimmy stayed at his grandmother's farm—a period that was lengthened to more than two weeks—we were all agitated by the approach of a circus. Excitement had reached such a pitch that when, three days before circus-day, Jimmy invited me to make him a visit, I was in some doubt whether I ought to venture so far afield.

But on a solemn promise from Jimmy's Uncle Will that he would personally convey me home, behind one of his own horses, at least twenty-four hours before the great event, I thought it might be safe to risk it. Jimmy could stay at the farm (fully two miles away) until the very morning, if he liked. I preferred to be nearer at hand. So to the farm I went.

Certainly, no other place would have tempted me. It was, to our fancies, perhaps the most fortunate spot on earth. Historians and antiquaries might deny that it had been the scene of a proper Indian raid. We could see the loopholes from which the flintlocks had been fired, and mark the small window whence a dipperful of molten lead was poured, to discourage an Indian whose anxiety to come inside the house made him indiscreet. I have never heard any of the slaves to fact assert that the farm-house might not have seen the tomahawk flashing about its walls and heard the war-whoop ring out.

It was there in the days of tomahawks and war-whoops.

If the Indians had been so inconsiderate as to pass it by, we were not going to let that trouble us. Certainly, a plough seldom turned the earth of the adjoining meadow without bringing to light a flint arrow-tip or the head of a stone axe—weapons which even the scientific historian might hesitate to attribute to the ministers and deacons of Puritan times.

There was the meadow itself, an enormous tract of land, as it appeared to us. In it, somewhere, dwelt the lord of the herd, a legendary bull whose uncertain temper might be aroused by the sight of a small boy wearing a plaid necktie with a single spot of red in it. He could detect this spot at half a mile, and the boy had better make for the nearest fence, and affect blue neckties exclusively henceforth. Thus the crossing of the meadow had that spice of danger without which life is tasteless.

There were other reasons for crossing the meadow besides the mere braving of the bull. At its foot was a pond, rich in mud of primeval blackness, and well stocked with turtles and "green-leapers." Farther on was a bog and wood, deep and gloomy as the magic forest of Broceliande, and not less pleasing to us because it went by the more homely name of Pettingell's Swamp. Crows built their nests in its trees, and without its borders jack-in-the-pulpit held his springtime services. Beyond this, more meadows—salt ones this time; then the river, the sand-dunes, and the ocean.

The barns about the farm-house were full of sweet-smelling hay. You could bore long tunnels through this, and come out with your hair full of dust and spiders' webs. Certain cocks of salt hay stood outside. By climbing to the top of one of them, sitting down, and sliding to the bottom you could enjoy an exhilarating exercise. It is only fair to say, however, that the salt water and occasional bit of mud which gave the hay its slipperiness had an evil effect upon knickerbockers, and furnished relatives with a subject for wearisome jest which dieth never.

Yet with all these methods of entertainment, Jimmy and I considered the peacocks chief among the attractions of his grandmother's farm. They did not really belong on the farm, but were the property of Mr. Bartlett, who lived at some distance. We judged that the owner of such exotic fowls must possess the wealth of Ormus and of Ind. The birds themselves were indifferent in the matter of domicile, and spent most of the day and all the night on the Toppans' land.

Their bedtime was an hour of unusual interest. They gathered about sunset around a large apple tree which stood near one corner of the farm-house. There was much strutting and spreading of tails among the gentlemen of the party; the peahens moved about nervously, but with less ostentation. Both sexes raised discordant shrieks from time to time, for no purpose that we could discover.

When, one by one, they had taken up their roosting-places in the tree, they made an impressive spectacle, especially after night had fallen, and seemed to bring the jungles of Hindustan to our very doors.

They inspired a feeling of awe and mystery because of their radiant plumage and reputed value. It was the veneration which we felt toward the whole tribe that turned so quickly to terror in the matter of the white peacock.

The adventure flashed on us suddenly the morning after my arrival at the farm.

In a sand-pit beyond the orchard it was the immemorial custom to build fires and roast potatoes and other eatables. Marks of fires long dead showed us that the practice extended far back, perhaps to the boys of prehistoric times, or to those whose fathers had shot the arrows whereof the flint heads lay beneath the surface of the meadow. Potatoes and apples were placed in the hot embers, and removed at the end of about twenty minutes. The apples were, by this time, roasted not wisely but too well. The potatoes had an outer region of softness, but at heart were firm and unyielding. Both were so covered with wood ashes that their consumption left streaks of soot all about the vicinity of the mouth, extending back even to the ears.

Potatoes and apples, thus prepared, had palled upon us. We sought for variety in the bill of fare, and this morning Jimmy proposed eggs.

"At clam-bakes they roast eggs in hot seaweed," declared Jimmy.

The idea was worthy, but eggs were not so easy to procure. A visit to the hen-house proved that the day's supply had already been gathered. Then, though Robinson Crusoe would hardly have done it, we applied at the kitchen. But Grandmother Toppan, who might have humored our whim, was away from home. The Power temporarily in command dismissed our request brusquely:—

"Ye byes git outer here, now, or I'll be afther takin' the paddle to yez."

We did not know what paddle was referred to, but we understood that we had leave to withdraw. We wondered if Robinson Crusoe ever met with humiliating rebuffs like that. It was impossible; no tyrannous cook could lord it over him while he carried that long gun.

But we had no gun, so, in dejection and despair, we wandered again toward the sand-pit. As we crossed the orchard, a startling event occurred. Some large bird rustled off through the grass, and in the little round hollow where she had been sitting gleamed four white objects. It was enough to renew our trust in the gods who favor the romantic in their everlasting encounters with the practical folk of the world.

For here were eggs!

And eggs obtained under conditions that our friend Crusoe need not have scorned. To us the adventure said in no unmistakable tones: Abase yourself not before cooks when your spoil is at hand. Trust Providence, as did the Swiss Family Robinson.

We hurried to the sand-pit, kindled the fire, and put in the eggs. I refuse to dwell upon their condition when we took them out, or on the difficulty attendant upon eating the two that remained unbroken, or what these tasted like.

People who think that the carnal joy of eating is of much importance at these camp-fires have vulgar, prosaic minds.

We heard the dinner-bell ringing just as we disposed of the second egg, and we hurried toward the house.

Ten minutes later (for it takes some time to remove from one's face and hands the evidences of a feast of roasted eggs) we appeared at the dinner-table. It was a long one, with Uncle Will at one end, Uncle Charley at the other. The eggs had not spoiled our appetites, and we ate, with nothing to disturb our pleasure, up to the point when blueberry pie came on. Then Uncle Will, his carving duties over, and his own share of the dinner consumed, leaned back in his chair and addressed Uncle Charley:—

"I was over at Bartlett's last night."

"That so?" returned Uncle Charley. "Did you speak about the peacocks?"

"About the peahen that's setting in the orchard? Yes. He knew she had been setting there on nothing for three days. The eggs came from New York yesterday, and he said he was going to send Foley over with them this morning."

Aunt Ellen showed an interest in the conversation. "Eggs from New York?" she queried.

"Yes," replied Uncle Will; "from the Zoo. They're peacocks' eggs. White peacocks, too. They cost him ten dollars apiece—forty dollars for the four. I told him 'twas a risky thing to leave them out in the orchard. Said I wouldn't be responsible. Bartlett said the peahen wouldn't set anywhere else. He'd have to take the chance. What are you going to do with a man like that?"

I glanced out of the corner of my eye at Jimmy Toppan. He was trying to insert a piece of blueberry pie in his mouth. Three times he made the attempt, and each time his aim was poor. I had a feeling as if my chair were sinking beneath me. The dining-room and the whole family of Toppans revolved about me in a blur.

Peacocks' eggs! Forty dollars!

I have no recollection of the rest of the meal. The elder Toppans talked together, I believe, but on what subject I have not the faintest notion.

In five or six minutes Jimmy and I were safely over the fence and running across the meadow. We had to stop once or twice for breath, but we covered the distance to the wooded swamp in record time. Back of a large oak, where we were nearly covered by ferns, we stopped and panted.

Jimmy spoke first.

"They don't hang people under sixteen years old," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he replied.

"They put 'em in prison, though," I remarked, "for life!"

"What'll we do?" asked Jimmy.

We debated the question from every point of view. Of one thing we were determined: we would never be taken alive.

"There's the circus," I suggested. "Don't you suppose we could join that?"

"Like Toby Tyler? He had a horrible time!"

"It's better than stayin' all your life in a dungeon on bread and water hollowed out of the living rock," I reminded him.

"I'd have to go home first and get my decalcomania book," Jimmy stipulated.

"Well, that will be all right; I'll get my punch."

About my most cherished possession was a discarded punch, formerly used by a real conductor on a train. It seemed that I ought not present myself to the circus people empty-handed if Jimmy were going to bring his book of decalcomanias. It struck me that I might be especially welcome, as a ticket-taker, if I had a punch. I could work in that capacity while I was learning to ride bareback, or qualifying for the position of ring-master, or perhaps—so high do one's air-castles tower—that of clown!

Why not? Others had achieved it.

We decided to leave our refuge in the swamp, sneak up the meadow, pass the farm by a back route, and so to the highroad and home. Then, separating long enough to get the decalcomania book and the punch, we could camp for a night or two in Davenport's field, and join the circus in the morning. By the time the peacocks' eggs were missed we would be far away.

The first part of the plan was carried out. We crossed the meadow stealthily, creeping a greater part of the way on our hands and knees. Once in a while, when this got tiresome, we would rise and walk in the normal fashion, which was probably just as safe, for there was no one within half a mile.

As we slunk by the rear of the barn we came suddenly on Mr. Bartlett and his man, Foley. There was no time to run. Mr. Bartlett addressed us genially.

"Hullo, boys! Want to see something? Look in this box. Peacocks' eggs—white peacocks, too. Very rare. We're going to set them under that peahen in the orchard. I suppose she's there all right, Foley?"

"Yis, sorr. She was at foive o'clock this marning, sorr. Oi give her four ducks' eggs to kape her continted-loike."

"All right, then. Come on, boys. We'll see how she's getting on. We'll have to set a guard around her while she hatches these out. They're too valuable to risk. Do you suppose she'd stand for it if we put up a little tent around her, Foley? Big nuisance she won't set in some convenient place."

Mr. Bartlett and Foley walked on ahead, discussing ways and means for protecting the peahen against marauders. We followed, a dozen steps behind. The shadow of the dungeon fell no longer upon our path, and there was no necessity for joining the circus. We did not admit it to each other, but we felt it to be a happy release.

In a moment we heard Foley's voice.

"Here she is, sorr. An' settin' on nothin' again. Phwhere's thim ducks' eggs gone, Oi dunno. Somebody's shtole thim, fir the birrd niver ate thim, shills an' all. 'Twill niver do to lave thim ixpinsive eggs here, sorr!"

Jimmy Toppan and I maintained expressions of innocent wonder.