The Wind on the Moon (36 page)

By this time they had all had a good wash and looked a little more respectable, though not much. So they said good-bye to the policemen and went out to buy new clothes. Major Palfrey and Mr. Corvo went to a barber's and got shaved and had their hair cut, while Dinah and Dorinda in another part of the shop had their hair cut and washed. By one o'clock they were all as smart as if they were going to a party, and then they went to a hotel and had an enormous meal, and presently caught a train to Midmeddlecum.

Every single person in Midmeddlecum was at the station to meet them, and as the train drew in the Vicar got on to a porter's barrow and conducted his great choir while they sang
See the Conquering Heroes Come
.

Mrs. Palfrey and Miss Serendip were the first to greet them, and Mrs. Palfrey said to Major Palfrey, ‘Darling, how tired you look! I really think you will have to have your breakfast in bed to-morrow.' And to Dinah and Dorinda she said, ‘Isn't it nice to have Father at home again! Thank you so much for rescuing him. I've quite forgiven you for worrying me so dreadfully.'

But Miss Serendip said, ‘You have a great deal of lost time to make up, and I hope that you are now prepared to work very hard at your lessons, because I am prepared to work very hard at teaching you.'

Then everybody came and shook hands with them, and presently they formed a great procession and marched home singing
Begone Dull Care, Stormalong
, and
Bannocks o' Bere-meal
. Outside their house the people of Midmeddlecum gave them three cheers and another for luck, and then Constable Drum sent them all home. But everybody had so much to talk about that neither the Palfreys nor anyone else in Midmeddlecum went to bed before midnight.

The Falcon was sitting on their window-sill when at last Dinah and Dorinda went upstairs, and because he had been thinking of the Puma's death, and felt sad and lonely in consequence, he came inside and spent the night on the mantelpiece.

He had gone when they woke, however, and they did not see him again for some time.

They found it very difficult to settle down after their adventurous weeks in Bombardy, but Miss Serendip did everything she could to help them by giving them lessons from morning till night, every day except Sunday. On Sundays they went to the zoo and had long talks with their old friends there. They took presents to several of them, including a whole year's subscription to
The Times
for Bendigo the Bear, a pair of handcuffs for Mr. Parker the Giraffe, which made him feel very important, and some blue ribbon for Lady Lil the Ostrich's daughter, who was running about and being a great nuisance to Sir Bobadil.

By trying extremely hard they behaved, for two or three weeks, so well that their mother was delighted with them, and even Miss Serendip became kindly and gracious. But one day Dorinda said, ‘I can't stand this any longer!' And Dinah said, ‘Neither can I.' So they escaped from Miss Serendip and went into the Forest of Weal.

It was a cold day and by now the trees had lost all their leaves, and their thin tall branches were bare against a cloudy sky. Though it was only a few weeks since they had longed so ardently to be at home again, and thought that nothing else was needed to make them perfectly happy, both Dinah and Dorinda now felt rather depressed, and life seemed painfully dull. They missed the Puma and the Falcon, and they felt hurt because the Falcon, as it seemed, had gone back to Greenland without even saying good-bye.

They walked along, saying nothing because they could think of nothing they wanted to say, and both were bored and rather cross. Then, far above the trees, they heard a familiar rushing sound, and looking up they saw the Falcon stooping. Down through the cold air he came, faster than a falling stone, his wings a little way open, down to the height of their heads, and then he soared again, but only to the height of the trees, and presently settled, balancing with wings half-open that brushed her cheek, on Dinah's shoulder.

They were delighted to see him and asked him a score of questions without giving him time to answer one of them. ‘We thought you had gone back to Greenland,' said Dorinda.

‘I am going,' said the Falcon. ‘As your desire was to come home, so is mine to go home. I have been dreaming of the great cliffs of ice and snow, the frozen sea, and hunting in that crystal air for lemmings and hares and ptarmigan among the rocks. I cannot rest my mind until I see Greenland again. But I have other news for you, greater news than that. I flew back to Bombardy to see what happened after we left. There has been a revolution there. All the many prisoners whom that man kept in his dungeons have been set free, and every night the people are dancing and singing in the streets. They have buried the Puma in the garden of the house where she was killed, and set up a great monument to her with these words upon it:

‘Well, I'm glad they've done that,' said Dinah. ‘It is comforting to know that they realise what she did for them.'

‘Poor Puma,' said Dorinda. ‘A monument doesn't really do much good, does it?'

‘She could not have lived here,' said the Falcon. ‘She would have made too many enemies. I too am making enemies, for a man tried to shoot me this morning for taking a cock pheasant. It is better for me to go back to Greenland while my wings are still whole. I shall go the old road, the Viking road, by the islands of Orkney to the Faeroes, and so to Iceland, and thence to the mountains above Godthaab where I used to live. Good-bye, Dinah. Good-bye, Dorinda. And good fortune to you both!'

‘Shall we never see you again?'

‘Who knows?' cried the Silver Falcon. ‘I may be tempted to wander again. I may come back. But first I must look at the great fields of ice and snow. Good-bye, good-bye!'

He rose on his broad wings, snow-white in the winter sky, circled above them, and then, climbing still, flew swiftly to the north. They watched him till he became small as a pin's head, bright against a cloud, and disappeared.

‘And now,' said Dorinda, ‘we're lonelier than ever. We're losing all our friends.'

‘There's still Mr. Corvo.'

‘Oh yes, but he's an ordinary human being, like us.'

‘He looks very handsome in his new suit with a tartan waistcoat.'

‘And he's very kind, but still—'

‘Dorinda! I've got an idea!'

‘What is it?'

‘Let's go and see Mrs. Grimble. We won't exactly ask for anything, because she doesn't like being asked for things now, but we'll tell her what a dull time we're having, and perhaps make her feel a little sorry for us, and just see if she offers to help in any way. She might suggest how to make things more interesting.'

‘Can I come too?'

‘Yes, I promised to take you the next time.'

‘Oh, Dinah, what a good idea, and how very exciting! Let's hurry. I'm feeling better already!'

They went faster, running parts of the way where the path was firm, and at last through the naked trees they saw the little green house with yellow curtains and a red door where Mrs. Grimble lived. But as they drew nearer they saw something else. There was a notice-board in front of the house, and from twenty yards away they could read the large letters:

TO LET

‘She's gone!' said Dinah.

‘And I never saw her!' cried Dorinda. ‘Oh, everybody's deserting us! Isn't it sickening?'

‘It is,' said Dinah. ‘I never expected this.'

Now they felt more depressed than ever, and stood there for several minutes, not knowing what to do. Then Dinah went to the red door and tried the handle. It turned easily, and the door opened.

‘Do you think we ought to go in?' asked Dorinda.

‘Come on,' said Dinah.

The house was spotlessly clean and at first sight was completely empty. Every piece of furniture had been removed and it seemed as though no one had ever lived there till, on the kitchen mantelpiece, they saw Mrs. Grimble's cuckoo-clock, and under it a sheet of notepaper. Dinah lifted the clock and read what was written:
To Dinah and Dorinda with Mrs. Grimble's compliments. P.S. I got rheumatism very badly and the Doctor says I must go to the Sahara Desert where the climate is nice and dry so I can't help you any more but the Cuckoo will tell you what to do.

‘It's a present. A farewell present. Well, that
is
kind of her!'

‘It's stopped,' said Dorinda.

‘Here's the key. Wind it up.'

Dorinda wound the clock, which began to tick with a loud metallic sound, and put it back on the mantelpiece. Then the cuckoo-hatch opened, and the Cuckoo leapt out. He was a disreputable bird with a broken beak and only one eye and a dragging wing, but what was truly surprising was his language. He was more talkative than a parrot.

To begin with, he coughed two or three times to clear his voice, and then he recited a poem:

Then the Cuckoo began to shake his head so wildly that he nearly fell out of the hatch. ‘Oh dear, oh dear!' he cried, ‘I can't remember any more. Oh, what would Mrs. Grimble say! There are ten more verses, all of them
most
important and
very
beautiful, and I can't remember another line. Oh, I
am
a silly bird! Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo!'

Faster and faster he cried ‘Cuckoo!' till at last, with a whirr and a clatter and a bang, the mainspring broke and there was dead silence.

Dinah and Dorinda immediately carried the clock to Mr. Sprocket the watchmaker in Mid-meddlecum, who took three weeks to mend it and charged them seven-and-sixpence. For several years it kept the time as well as Big Ben, but the Cuckoo never spoke again except on Tuesdays and Thursdays, about tea-time, when he used to appear and exclaim, in a grave and angry voice, ‘Quack, quack! Quack, quack!'

Everybody who heard him always used to say, What an extraordinary bird! I never heard a Cuckoo say
Quack
before!'

Then Dinah and Dorinda would say, proudly but a little sadly, ‘This Cuckoo used to belong to Mrs. Grimble, you see.'

THE END

ERIC LINKLATER (1899–1974) was born in Wales but grew up on the Orkney Islands. He served as a sniper in the First World War, from which he returned to study English at the University of Aberdeen. In the course of a busy life, he worked as a journalist for
The Times of India
, stood as a candidate for the National Party of Scotland, commanded a wartime fortress in his native Orkneys, searched out lost Italian art after the Second World War, and served as rector of his alma mater. He was also celebrated as a writer. Among his books are
Juan in America
, a comic picture of Prohibition-era America,
Private Angelo
, the story of an Italian peasant in the Second World War, several satires, a history of Scotland, a study of the Icelandic Sagas, and, along with
The Wind on the Moon
, another acclaimed book for children,
The Pirates in the Deep Green Sea
.