“No,” it said. “David shall stay too and help. I will ask Miss Grey to excuse him if he is late.”
Very soon the two boys, with Dr Budge looking seriously on, had taken Jack out of his basket and put him, in spite of pecks and struggles, into the wicker cage. When this was hung in the medlar-tree just above the bench, he became more composed, and seemed even proud of his new position, but stood in perfect silence, turning his cold grey eye downwards on the doctor and the boys.
“He doesn’t look as if he meant to call,” remarked David, “but I daresay he’ll wait till we’re gone.”
Although they were all unwilling to leave the jackdaw alone, it did not seem to be of any use to stay there looking at him any longer. The doctor and Ambrose therefore went indoors to their books, and David ran quickly home to his lessons. But it was harder work than usual to attend to Latin verbs and declensions, and Ambrose wondered if Dr Budge’s thoughts were as much with the jackdaw as his own.
The window looking into the garden had been left a little open so that any unusual noise could be plainly heard in the room, but for some time only the squeak of the doctor’s pen broke the silence. Ambrose began to despair. It would be very disappointing to find that the call-bird was a failure, and very sad for the doctor to be without a jackdaw. Should he give him his? He was fond of his jackdaw, but then he had other pets, and the doctor was so lonely. He had only old brown books and curiosities to bear him company.
Just as he was turning this over in his mind, there came a sudden and angry cawing noise from the garden. Ambrose looked up and met the doctor’s eye; without a word they both started up and made for the garden.
There was such a noise that the medlar-tree seemed to be full of jackdaws engaged in angry dispute, but when they got close under it, they found that there were only two. Ambrose’s bird stood in the wicker cage, making himself as tall and upright as he could, with all the feathers on his head proudly fluffed up. He was uttering short self-satisfied croaks, which seemed to add to the rage of the other bird perched on a bough immediately above him. With his wings outspread, his head flattened, and his beak wide open, he seemed beside himself with fury at finding the stranger in his house. Screaming and scolding at the top of his voice, he took no notice of Ambrose, who ran out before the doctor and jumped up on the bench under the tree.
“Isn’t it splendid?” he cried, looking back at his master. “He’s come back you see, and isn’t he cross? Shall I try to get him down?”
In his excitement he spoke just as he would have done to David or Nancy.
“No, no,” said the doctor hastily, his face redder than usual, and putting his hand on Ambrose’s shoulder, “he doesn’t know you, you’d scare him away. Let me come.”