He sat down, and drew the leaves of faded corn between his
fingers. "'Tis a poor life, this in a cage, after all--eh,
dickey-bird? If a soldier can't stand in the field fighting, if
a man can't rub shoulders with man, and pitch a tent of his own
somewhere, why not go travelling with the Beast--aho? To have all
the life sucked out like these--eh? To see the flesh melt and the
hair go white, the eye to be one hour bright like a fire in a kiln,
and the next like mother on working vinegar--that's not living at
all--no."
The speech had evidently cost him much thinking, and when he ended,
his cheeks puffed out and a soundless laugh seemed to gather,
but it burst in a sort of sigh. I would have taken his hand that
moment, if I had not remembered when once he drew back from such
demonstrations. I did not speak, but nodded assent, and took to
drawing the leaves of corn between my fingers as he was doing.
After a moment, cocking his head at me as might a surly
schoolmaster in a pause of leniency, he added, "As quiet, as quiet,
and never did he fly at door of cage, nor peck at jailer--aho!"
I looked at him a minute seriously, and then, feeling in my
coat, handed to him the knife which I had secreted, with the words,
"Enough for pecking with, eh?"
He looked at me so strangely, as he weighed the knife up and
down in his hand, that I could not at first guess his thought;
but presently I understood it, and I almost could have told what
he would say.
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