The Wind on the Moon (18 page)

‘And now,' said Dinah, ‘we'll go and look for the Golden Puma and the Silver Falcon.'

They found them beside the old and ruined tree in which they had once hidden their clothes. The Falcon, bolt-upright in his snowy plumage, sat on a dead branch, and the Puma in a pool of sunlight lay stretched on the warm turf.

‘Greeting!' cried the Falcon, lifting his small and lovely head. ‘Greeting, my noble children!'

But the Puma rose and walked towards them, slowly and not speaking. She stopped before Dinah, looked up at her, and then with a light and easy movement laid her fore-paws on Dinah's shoulders. First on the one side, then on the other, she rubbed her head against Dinah's face, purring like a great cat, and Dinah felt on her cheeks the warm harsh fur, the wiry bristles, and the thin dark lips of the Puma. Dinah kissed her between the eyes and laughed aloud. Then the Puma greeted Dorinda in the same way, and Dorinda kissed her, and she too laughed with sheer delight because she had for a friend so beautiful a being as the Golden Puma.

‘Children,' said the Puma, ‘let me tell you this. You have done me the greatest service in the world. You have given me freedom, and I am grateful. You have given me life again.

‘All last night I walked in the Forest with the smell of the trees and the rich ground in my nostrils, and the darkness was beautiful, the sky with a few stars looked through the branches, and a little while before morning the late moon came out, a small and yellow moon. Then a little breeze ran through the Forest and I caught another smell. I had not known there were deer in the wood till I smelt the draught of their movement. So I turned and followed up the wind, and in the first dawning found a stag going to drink. But the wind played me false, he scented me, and ran. So we had a chase, and I was slow and stiff because I had lain so long in a cage. But presently I felt, like a brook running more strongly after rain, the returning tide of strength in my legs. Faster I went, fast and easy, till the morning air was whistling past my ears and the forest floor slid below my feet like a torrent racing down a mountain, and the labouring haunches of the stag came nearer. I drew closer to him then—we were now on green turf, and his hooves were cutting the surface, and flinging crumbs of damp soil in my face—I drew near-level with him, he glanced backward, checked a moment, and in that moment I leapt upon his shoulder. Down he went with a thud and thump on the grass, and as the sun came up I made my kill.

‘For that glorious moment and the headlong chase in the morning, thank you. For the life you have given me, thank you. For the freedom of today and the liberty of to-morrow, thank you. I shall never cease to be grateful, and if I can ever serve you, in a little thing or a great thing, then tell me and I shall be with you.'

Both Dinah and Dorinda were somewhat horrified to learn that the Puma, so soon after regaining her freedom, had killed a deer. Deer were pretty creatures, and another reason for not killing them was that all those in the Forest of Weal belonged to Mr. Bevidere FitzGarter. The children began to realise that what they had done was rather serious. It seemed that you could not release a Puma, and set her at liberty in an English county, without some awkward consequences. And the longer she remained at liberty, obeying her instincts and satisfying her hunger, the more and more numerous the awkward consequences would be. Not only were there deer in the Forest, but in the neighbouring fields there were cattle and sheep. Dinah and Dorinda, while listening to the Puma's story, felt more than a little anxious about the future.

But then they remembered—both together, for they often had thoughts in common—that the Puma was their friend, and there was no use having a friend if you were going to complain about everything that he or she did. You had to understand her point of view; or his. Few things were pleasanter than having a great number of friends, but the only way to keep your friends was to make allowance for them. And the Puma, of course, didn't know that all the deer in the Forest belonged to Mr. Bevidere FitzGarter. And as to her killing one now and then—well, was that any worse than buying a leg of lamb which the butcher had killed?

All these thoughts passed through the children's heads, and when the Puma had finished her story they said nothing to show they disapproved, but agreed with her that the hunt must have been delightful. They thanked her for the friendship she offered them, and all promised to be good friends together: the Falcon and the Puma and Dinah and Dorinda.

Then the Falcon said that he had news to tell. He had been to the zoo that morning, and talked with several of the birds and animals there. They were all in a state of great excitement.

Sir Lankester and Mr. Plum, it appeared, had been extremely worried and alarmed when they discovered that not only the Puma but the two young Kangaroos had escaped. There had been far too many strange happenings in the zoo, Sir Lankester had said. And Mr. Plum had declared that never in his life had he known anything like it. Then Sir Lankester, in a very bad temper, had shouted at Mr. Plum: ‘I have always done my best to make my animals happy, but if they are not grateful to me, I shall try no longer. Go round the cages, open every door, and those who want to escape may do so. I shall keep none here who does not stay of his own free will.'

‘And have they all gone?' asked Dinah.

‘Very, very few,' said the Falcon. ‘Very few indeed. Most of them are indignant against Sir Lankester for trying to turn them out. Bendigo, and Mr. Parker, and Marie Louise are especially angry, and say that nothing will ever make them leave.'

‘Poor Bendigo,' said Dinah. ‘Dorinda and I are going to send him
The Times
every day so that he won't have to steal it from Sir Lankester, and on Sundays we're going to take him a cigar. Father left quite a lot behind when he went abroad.'

‘And we ought to give Mr. Parker a present of some kind,' said Dorinda. ‘What do you think he would like?'

So they talked about the animals in the zoo, and the Falcon described the nest where he had been hatched on a mountainside all white with snow in Greenland, and how frightened he had been when he made his first flight. But the Puma, who was tired after her night's hunting and lazy after the great breakfast she had eaten, fell asleep in the sun and lay dreaming on the turf. And when it was late in the afternoon, Dinah and Dorinda went home.

Every morning they had their weary lesson from Miss Serendip, but later in the day they often escaped from her and went into the Forest to meet the Falcon and the Puma. There they learnt more than Miss Serendip could teach them. They learnt to see things.

They would play hide-and-seek with the Puma, and at first the Puma could lie within three or four yards of them and not be found. She would choose a place where the leafy ground in the sunlight was nearly the same colour as her coat, and there she would lie without a single movement, so still that she might have been the fallen dead branch of a tree all covered with lichen. Dinah and Dorinda, searching in all directions, might pass within three paces of her, and not see her unless she made a movement to attract their attention. But after a good deal of practice they grew more clever, and the Puma had to hide herself with the greatest care if she wanted to avoid discovery.

Then she taught them, when they were hiding, to lie as still as she did, and choose a place to lie in where the frocks they were wearing would match their background of shady bushes, or rocks and grass, or dead leaves. And often, when they lay like that, the birds of the Forest would come within a few feet of them, or a rabbit would sit down beside them, or a weasel with its little darting eyes would walk by no more than a yard away.

Sometimes they would climb to the topmost branches of a tall tree, and the Falcon would sit beside them and point his head towards little movements in the bushes below that otherwise they would never have noticed. Birds were there, and small animals. There was far more life in the Forest than they had ever guessed, and the Falcon taught them to see it. The Falcon saw everything.

They learnt to know, by the smell of the wind and the look of the sky, whether to-morrow was going to be fine or foul. They learnt to remember the look of a certain tree, as if it were a man or a woman whom they knew, and when they had learnt that, they could go anywhere in the Forest without losing their way. They learnt to be interested in everything they saw or heard, and because of that they even learnt something from Miss Serendip's dreary lessons.

But they learnt neither Music nor Dancing, because Mr. Casimir Corvo, who had taught them both these subjects, was still in prison.

Every day Mr. Justice Rumple used to go to Mid-meddlecum Prison to see the twelve Members of the Jury whom he had committed because they would not agree that Mrs. Taper the draper's wife was Guilty of trying to steal some stockings; nor would not acknowledge that she was Not Guilty.

Every day the twelve Members of the Jury would assemble in the prison yard. Dr. Fosfar, Mr. and Mrs. Leathercow, Mrs. Fullalove and Mr. Fullalove, Mr. Crumb and Mrs. Crumb, Mrs. Wax, Mrs. Horrabin, Mrs. Steeple, Mr. Casimir Corvo and Mr. Whitloe the drayman—they all gathered in the shady rectangle which was enclosed by the prison buildings, on the outer walls of which grew virginia creeper, and on the inner walls rambler roses. And there Mr. Justice Rumple would march up and down, then halt and stare at them most fiercely, and shout in a threatening voice, ‘Well, have you made up your minds yet?'

‘Yes!' they would answer, shouting twelve times as loudly as he had.

‘But have you all made up your minds
in the same way
?' he would bellow.

‘No!' they would bellow in reply, bellowing twelve times as boisterously as he.

‘Then when
are
you going to make up your minds all in the same way?' he would demand.

‘Never!' they would answer.

‘Then you'll stay in prison for ever,' he would cry.

‘Hurrah!' they would reply.

‘Because you're a stiff-necked, rascally, rebellious, unruly rout of predestined skilly-swillers,' he would yell.

And then they would all sing, at the top of their voices:

After that Mr. Justice Rumple, looking as red and swollen as a turkey-cock, would march out of the prison yard muttering fearful threats, and the twelve Members of the Jury would make speeches.

All the speeches were always on the same subject, and everybody agreed that every British citizen had the right to hold his own opinion on any matter whatsoever, and talk freely about it, whether it was a good opinion or a bad opinion, a silly opinion or a sensible opinion, an opinion he had formed for himself or an opinion he had picked up in a train. Even Mr. Casimir Corvo, who was really a foreigner, had lived so long in Midmeddlecum that he shared this noble faith and made speeches with the best of them.

Then, after everyone had made a speech, they went to dinner with a good appetite. And because Mrs. Jehu the gaoler's wife was an excellent cook, they always had a very good dinner indeed, beginning with soup and finishing with cheese, but not forgetting roast beef and apple tart in the middle. After that they played darts and dominoes, draughts and chess, or read good books and the newspapers. Then it was time for tea. After tea they talked about a hundred and one different things, and then it was time for supper. And after supper they practised
Rule, Britannia
, and then it was time for bed.

The beds in Midmeddlecum Prison were quite comfortable. Mrs. Jehu the gaoler's wife changed the sheets and pillow-slips every week, and anyone who wanted such a thing could have a hot-water bottle when the weather was cold. Eleven Members of the Jury slept soundly every night, and every morning woke in the glad assurance that they were suffering in a good cause and for a noble principle. The principle, that is, that every British subject can make up his mind in his own way, and no one shall dictate to him.

But Mr. Casimir Corvo slept badly, and when he woke he could hardly refrain from tears at the thought of yet another day in prison. Like the others, he firmly believed that a man has the right to his own opinions, and he had no intention of giving in to Mr. Justice Rumple. But he wanted, above all things, to play the piano and teach people to dance; and so long as he remained in prison he could do neither, because there was no piano there, and the Members of the Jury preferred making speeches to dancing. So Mr. Corvo was desperately unhappy, and every night he prayed for release.

And that was the state of affairs in Midmeddlecum Prison.

One afternoon in the Forest of Weal, Dinah and Dorinda were lying on the grass with the Golden Puma between them, and the Silver Falcon stood on the stump of a dead tree a few feet away. Dinah had asked them how they came to be captured and brought to England, and the Puma answered, ‘By the treachery of an Indian.'

‘To satisfy the greed of a white man,' said the Falcon.

But afterwards they spoke of happier things, telling tales of life in the hot Brazilian forest, and adventure among the cold white cliffs of Greenland, and then they were all silent while they thought about what they had heard. Then Dinah said, ‘Whenever I hear stories about other people doing exciting things, I want to do something exciting myself.'

‘It's a long time since we did anything interesting,' said Dorinda with a sigh. ‘All we do nowadays is to listen to Miss Serendip, and that gets duller and duller.'

‘We have lessons from her all day,' said Dinah, ‘except, of course, when we run away.'

‘Which you do fairly often,' said the Falcon.

‘Who wouldn't?' asked Dorinda.

‘We used to have music or dancing twice a week,' said Dinah, ‘but Mr. Corvo, who taught us, is still in prison, so now we have neither.'