Part II Chapter 2 Doctor Dolittle and the Green Canary by Hugh Lofting
Nippit, the Greenfinch
'Nippit and I became closer friends than ever, and I often think that if it had not been for him I would never have survived the life of the open or be here now to tell the tale. His experience not only protected me from my enemies, but his wisdom provided me with food. He took me under his care, as it were, and with great patience he taught me the things a wild bird needs to know.'
To the animals' great surprise, Pippinella, who had always seemed a very practical sort of bird, at this point, sniffed slightly, as thought for the moment overcome with emotion.
'You must excuse me,' she gulped. 'I know it's very silly of me, but whenever I think of Nippit I nearly always get sentimental and wobbly in the voice—I mean when I think about the part I am now going to tell you …I was terribly fond of him—more fond than I have ever been of any one or anything. And he was most frightfully in love with me. One moonlight night we swore to be true to one another till death, to go off and find a place to build a nest and raise a family of young ones. We described to one another what the place should look like. We were terribly particular about the details. It was a real romance.
'Next day we started off. We journeyed a great distance. The spot we had determined on for our home was very hard to find. And finally we came to the seashore. We explored a little bay—the very loveliest thing you could wish to see. Big drooping willows hung down off rocks and dabbled their wands in the blue water. Beautiful wild flowers and coloured mosses carpeted the shore. It was a secluded little cove where people never came. The peace and the beauty of it were just ideal. And there at the bottom of the bay, where a little sparkly mountain stream fell laughing into the sea, we found the spot we had come so far to seek—exact in every detail.'
'Maybe the window–cleaner sprained his ankle,' murmured Gub–Gub, 'or ate something that disagreed with him and had to go to a hospital. But I would like to know why he didn't send some one to take his canary in.'
'For heaven sakes, will you wait?' growled Jip. 'Keep quiet! Wait and see what happened!'
'But I don't like waiting,' said Gub–Gub. 'I never was a good waiter. Why doesn't she come right out with it? She knows what happened to her friend.'
'Gub–Gub,' said the Doctor wearily, 'if you don't keep quiet you will have to leave the wagon.'
'Right away,' Pippinella continued, 'we set to work hunting for materials to build a nest. You know, each kind of bird has fads and fancies about nest building—each one uses materials of his own special kind. The greenfinch's nest is not more extraordinary in this than any others; but some of the stuffs used are not always easily found. In these parts they were exceptionally scarce. So we went off hunting in different directions, agreeing that either should come and let the other know as soon as the stuff we were after was discovered.
'I went a long way down the shore and after about an hour's search I came upon the material we sought. It was a special kind of grass. I marked the spot in my mind and set off back to tell my mate. I had some difficulty in finding him, but eventually I did—and' (again Pippinella's voice grew tearful) 'he was talking to a greenfinch hen. She was very handsome, slightly younger than either Nippit or myself. The instant I saw them talking together something told me the end of our romance had come.
'He introduced me to her—rather awkwardly. And she smirked and smiled like the brazan hussy that she was. It was now too late in the evening to go on with the nestbuilding; and anyway, I had no heart for it. After we had had something to eat and taken a drink in the little sparkling stream we all three roosted on a flowering hawthorn bush.
'I cannot believe that it was all Nippit's fault. But by morning I knew what I must do. Quietly, while my faithless mate and that hypocritical minx still slept, I dropped to a lower branch of the hawthorn bush and made my way down to the edge of the sea.'
The sadness in Pippinella's silvery voice reminded John Dolittle of that first evening when he had brought her home. You will remember how after her covered cage had been put up on a shelf she had sung for him for the first time through the wrapping paper.
Now, as she paused a moment in her story, evidently very close to the verge of tears, the Doctor was glad of an interruption which arrived just at the right moment to cover her embarrassment. It was the chief tent rigger, who wished to consult Manager Dolittle about buying a new tent for the snakes. The old one, he said, was so full of mends and patches that he felt it would be better economy to throw it away and buy a new one—especially in view of the circus's coming visit to London, where they would want everything to be as smart and up to date as possible.
When the discussion was over and the tent rigger had departed Pippinella took a sip of water and presently went on with her story.
'The day was rising in the east. The calm water reflected the mingled grey and pink of the dawn sky and away out on the horizon little flashes of gold here and there showed where the sun would soon come up.
'It was a lovely scene. But I didn't care. I hated everything about this place now; the snug bay, the weeping willows, the murmuring mountain brook—everything.
'Some birds near by started their morning song. A finch flew past and twittered a greeting to me on the wing. But still I sat on there gazing out from the sands towards the wide–stretching sea. It seemed to yawn and roll lazily, rubbing the sleep out of its eyes as the night retired from the face of the waters and the rising sun glowed around its rim. Its mystery, its vastness, called to me, sympathizing with my mood.
'"The sea!" I murmured. "I've never crossed the salt water. I've never looked on foreign lands, as all the other wild birds have. Those jungles my mother told me of, where blue and yellow macaws climb on crimson flowering vines, they must be nice, they would be new. There surely, among fresh scenes and different company, I shall be able to forget. Everything around me here I hate, for it reminds me of my mate who was false, of my love that was spurned."
'You see, it was my first romance, so I felt specially sentimental. "Very well," I said, "I will leave this land and cross the sea."
'I went down closer to the breaking surf and stood upon the firm, smooth, hard–packed sand of the beach. I noticed a small bird, a goldfinch, coming inland. He looked as though he had flown a long way. I hailed him.
'"What country," I asked, "lies beyond this ocean?"
'With a neat curve he landed on the sand beside me, I noticed him eyeing my cross–bred feathers with curiosity.
'"Many lands," he answered. "Where do you want to go?"
'"Anywhere," I answered—"anywhere, so long as I get away from here."
'"That's odd," said he. "Most birds are coming this way now. Spring and summer are the seasons here. I came over with the goldfinches. The main flock arrived last night. But I was delayed and followed on behind. Did you ever cross the ocean before? Do you know the way?"
'"No," I said, bursting into tears. "I know no geography nor navigation. I'm a cage bird. My heart is broken. I want to reach the land where the blue and yellow macaws climb ropes of crimson orchids."
'"Well," said he, "that could be almost anywhere in the tropics. But it's pretty dangerous, you know, ocean travel, if you're not experienced at it."
'"I don't care anything about the danger," I cried. "I'm desperate. I want to go to a new land and begin life all over again. Good–bye!"
'And springing into the air I headed out over the sea just as the full glory of the rising sun flooded the blue waters in dazzling light.'