“Now then, what’s the matter?” said the magpie, coming up all in a hurry. “Whose eggs are broken now? Anybody’s little one tumbled out of the nest into Mrs Puss’s mouth, for me to get the blame?”
“Look—look in the cedar,” shouted the birds; and up in the cedar went the magpie with his long tail quivering with excitement, and down he came again with his tail trembling with fright.
“Why didn’t you say who it was in the tree?” said the magpie. “Oh! my stars and garters, how out of breath I am. Going about in such a hurry always puts me in a tremble. Oh no! I’m not afraid, not the least bit in the world, it’s being out of breath.”
“Well, go up and drive the old hook-nosed thing away,” said the blackbird; “he’s no business here, and we are all afraid; ain’t we birds?”
“Yes! yes! scared to death,” chorused all the birds.
“Come, up you go,” said the blackbird; “there’s a good fellow.”
But the magpie stood on one leg and put a long black claw by the side of his beak in a very knowing manner, and then he said, with his head all on one side, “How do I know that he won’t bite?”
“Why, we thought you said that you were not afraid,” said the birds.
“Not the least in the world, gentlemen,” said Mag; “but my wife’s calling me, and I must go, or really I should only be too happy to oblige you. Another time you may depend upon me. Good-bye, gentlemen, good-bye.”
And before the birds had time to speak again, the cowardly magpie gave three or four hops across the lawn, and then spread out his wings, and went off in a hurry—telling a story into the bargain, for his wife might have called for a week, and he could not have heard so far-off. But Maggy was dreadfully afraid, and, like many people in the world, he was ashamed to show it, and so made a very lame-legged excuse, and ran away.