“The swans have much increased in number this season, surely. Those are all of one family, I suppose—those about the island,” observed Mr Grey.
“Yes, sir; they can’t abide neighbours. They won’t suffer a nest within a mile.”
“They fight it out, if they approach too near, eh?” said Enderby.
“Yes, sir; they leave one another for dead. I have lost some of the finest swans under my charge in that way.”
“Do you not part them when they fight?” asked Walcot.
“I would. I always part little boys whom I see fighting in the streets, and tell them they should not quarrel.”
“You would repent meddling with the swans, sir, if you tried. When I knew no better, I meddled once, and I thought I should hardly get away alive. One of the creatures flapped my arm so hard, that I thought more than once it was broken. I would advise you, sir, never to go near swans when they are angry.”
“You will find ample employment for your peace-making talents among the Deerbrook people, Mr Walcot,” said Philip. “They may break your windows, and perhaps your heart; but they will leave you your eyes and your right arm. For my part, I do not know but I had rather do battle with the swans.”
“Better not, sir,” said the boatman. “I would advise you never to go near swans when they are angry.”
“Look!” said Sophia, anxiously. “Is not this one angry? Yes, it is: I am sure it is! Did you ever see anything like its feathers? and it is coming this way, it is just upon us! Oh, Mr Walcot!”