Part I Chapter 1 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
The Doctor Meets the Green Canary
This story of the further adventures of Pippinella, the green canary, begins during the time of the Dolittle Circus. It will tell—in much greater detail—the strange events which took place in the life of the little bird before she came to live with John Dolittle.
Pippinella was a rare kind of canary which the Doctor had found in an animal shop while taking a walk with Matthew Mugg, the Cats'–Meat–Man. Thinking he had made a bad bargain because—as he thought—hen canaries couldn't sing, he had been greatly astonished, on getting her back to the caravan, to find she had a most unusual mezzo–contralto voice.
And what was more unusual still, she had travelled many thousands of miles and lived a most varied and interesting life. When she had told the Doctor some of the dramatic happenings which led up to her being sold to the animal shop he interrupted her to say:
'You know, Pippinella, for many years now, I have wanted to do a series of animal biographies. But, because most birds and animals have such poor memories for details, I have never been able to get on to paper a complete record of any one animal. However, you seem to be different—to have the knack for remembering the proper things. You're a born story–teller. Would you be willing to help me write your biography?'
'Why, certainly, Doctor,' replied Pippinella. 'When would you like to begin?'
'Any time you feel rested enough,' said the Doctor. 'I'll have Too–Too fetch some extra notebooks from the storage tent. How about tomorrow evening after the circus is closed up for the night?'
'All right,' said the canary. 'I'll be harry to begin tomorrow. I am rather tired tonight; this has been a most trying day. You know, Doctor Dolittle, for a few moments this afternoon I was afraid you were going to pass right by that dreadful shop and leave me there.'
'Indeed, I might have,' said John Dolittle, 'if your cage hadn't been hanging in the window where I could see how disappointed you looked as I began to move away.'
'Thank heaven you came back!' sighed Pippinella. 'I don't know how I could have borne another moment in that dirty shop.'
'Well,' said the Doctor, 'that's all over now. I hope you'll be very happy with us. We live quite simply here—as you can see. These animals and birds I call my family, and—for the time being—this wagon is our home. One day when we have had enough of circus life, you shall return to Puddleby with us. There you will find life a great deal quieter—but pleasant just the same.'
This conversation, which the Doctor had with the green canary, was all carried on in the bird's own language. You will remember—from previous stories about John Dolittle and his animal family—that he had learned, many years before, to speak the language of animals and birds. This unique ability had earned for him the friendship and loyalty of all living creatures and had influenced him to change his doctoring of humans to a busy life of caring for the illnesses and injuries of animals, fish and birds.
While the Doctor was talking with the Pippinella about writing her biography, the members of his household had withdrawn to a corner of the wagon and were carrying on a lively discussion. Gub–Gub, the pig, as well as Dab–Dab, the duck, Jip, the dog, and Too–Too, the owl, were quite indignant that the Doctor should choose a newcomer to the group for this great honour. Whitey, the white mouse, being more timid than the others, just listened and thought about the idea. But Gub–Gub, the most conceited of the lot, said that he was going to speak to the Doctor about it.
So the next evening, when the family had gathered in the wagon to hear the continuation of the canary's story, Gub–Gub cleared his throat nervously and spoke up.
'I don't see why anyone would want to read the biography of a mere canary,' he grumbled. 'My life is much more interesting. Why, the places I've been! Africa, Asia, and the Fiji Islands. Not to mention the food I've eaten. I'm a celebrity for that if for nothing else. Now, what can a canary know about food—eating nothing but dried–up seeds and bread–crumbs? And where could she go—cooped up in a cage most of her life?'
'Food! Food! That's all you think about,' snapped Too–Too. 'I think it's more important to be a good mathematician. Take me, for instance; I know to the penny how much gold there is in the Bank of England!'
'I have a gold collar from a king,' said Jip. 'That's something!'
'I suppose it's nothing that I can make a bed so it's fit for decent folk to sleep in!' snapped Dab–Dab. 'And who, I'd like to know, keeps you all healthy and well fed. I think that's more important!'
Whitey just sat there and didn't say a word; he didn't really think his life was interesting enough for a biography. When the Doctor looked at him with a questioning expression on his face Whitey dropped his eyelids and pretended to be asleep.
'Haven't you anything to say, Whitey?' asked the Doctor.
'No, sir—I mean, yes!' said the white mouse timidly. 'I think the biography of Pippinella will be very nice.'
'Well, let's get on with it, then,' said the Doctor. 'Please—if you're ready—we are, Pippinella.'
The canary then told them how she was born in an aviary—a small one where the man who bred canaries gave her special attention because of her unusual voice; how she came to be such a rare shade of green because her father was a lemon–yellow Harz Mountain canary and her mother a greenfinch of very good family; and how she shared a nest with three brothers and two sisters—until it was discovered that she was that rare thing: a hen bird who sang as beautifully as a cock.
Pippinella explained that it was not true—that hens could not sing as well as cocks. It was only that cocks did not encourage their womenfolk to sing, saying that a woman's job was to care for and to feed the young, and to make a home for her husband and children.
It was because of her beautiful voice that Pippinella finally acquired a master who bought her and carried her off to a new home; an inn where travellers from all over the world stopped on their way to the seaport to eat and sleep the night.
After the canary had described the inn more fully the Doctor interrupted her to ask:
'Pardon me, Pippinella. Could that have been the Inn on the road from London to Liverpool?—I believe it is called The Inn of The Seven Seas.'
'That's the one, Doctor,' answered the little bird. 'Have you been there?'
'Indeed we have,' replied John Dolittle, 'several times.'
Gub–Gub jumped up so suddenly from his chair that he crashed into the table where Pippinella sat telling her story and sent the water out of the canary's drinking dish sloshing over the sides.
'I remember!' he cried. 'That's where the turnips were especially good—done with a parsley sauce and a little dash of nutmeg.'
'If I'm not mistaken,' said Jip. 'I felt a perfectly good knuckle–bone buried there. Cook gave it to me right after dinner and I planned to eat it later. But the Doctor was in such a hurry to move on I hadn't a moment to dig it up before we left.'
'I'll bet you wished many times that you had it, eh, Jip?' said Too–Too. 'But then, you must have had plenty of bones buried back at Puddleby.'
'Not more than three or four,' Jip replied. 'Those were lean days.'
'They would have been leaner if I'd not found that gold sovereign just as we were leaving,' piped up Whitey.
'Gold sovereign?' asked the Doctor. 'You didn't tell me about it. Whatever did you do with it, Whitey?'
Whitey looked confused and kept glancing from Dab–Dab back to the Doctor. He wished he'd kept quiet about the sovereign.
Dab–Dab ruffled her feathers and made a clucking noise.
'He gave it to me. John Dolittle!' she said crossly. 'How do you think we would have eaten at all after that scoundrel, Blossom, departed with all the circus funds? You know our larder was empty, Doctor. Except for about a tea–spoonful of tea and some mouldy tapioca.'
'But the sovereign didn't belong to you,' said the Doctor.
'It did—just as much as to anyone else,' said Whitey. 'It was lying in the dust right smack between the hind feet of one of the coach horses. And he was trampling and kicking up the dirt so that I could hardly keep my eyes on it—good as they are.'
'No one but Whitey—with his microscopic eyes—would ever have seen it,' said Dab–Dab. 'There was no point in running around asking stable–boys and kitchen–maids if it belonged to them. Who could recognize a gold sovereign as his? Anyway, it's spent now—that was almost a year ago.'
'Well, well,' sighed the doctor. 'I suppose it was all right. Shall we get on with the story, Pippinella?'
'I was treated with great respect and admiration by the owner of the inn and his wife and children,' continued the canary. 'And I made many friends there. Everybody stopped to speak to me and listen to my songs—it was very gratifying.
'The coming and going of coaches from all directions, and the busy, cheerful people who worked for my master, inspired me with no end of ideas for new songs. It was a wonderful place for composing!
'On nice days my master would hang my cage on a hook high up beside the entrance to the inn. There I would greet the incoming guests with my very best songs. One little verse I made up and set to music became very popular with everyone who heard it. I called it "Maids, come out, the coach is here," and whenever I heard the sound of approaching horses I'd sing it at the top of my lungs to announce to the stable–boys and porters that another coach–load of travellers was nearing the inn.
'Among the people who came to be my friends was one named Jack, who drove the night coach from the North. For him I composed a merry tune called "The Harness Jingle Song". Old Jack would call out to me, as he rolled his coach into the noisy courtyard, "Hulloa, there Pip! Hulloa!" and I'd answer him by singing another verse of his song.'