“What can he be up to?” said the father.
“He seems to be up the telegraph-post,” said the mother, “investigating the wires, no doubt. I heard him talking about telegraphy to Madge this morning—retailing what cousin Sam tries to teach him,—and I shouldn’t wonder if he were now endeavouring to make sure that what he told her was correct, for you know he is a thorough investigator.”
“Yes, I know it,” murmured the father, with a grim pursing of his lips; “he investigated the inside of my watch last week, to find out, as he said, what made the noise in its ‘stummick,’ and it has had intermittent fever ever since. Two days ago he investigated my razor,—it is now equal to a cross-cut saw; and as to my drawers and papers, excepting those which I lock up, there is but one word which fully describes the result of his investigations, and that is—chaos.”
There was, in truth, some ground for that father’s emotions, for Master Robin displayed investigative, not to say destructive, capacities far in advance of his years.
“Never mind, George,” said Mrs Wright soothingly, “we must put up with his little ways as best we may, consoling ourselves with the reflection that Robin has genius and perseverance, with which qualities he is sure to make his way in the world.”
“He has at all events made his way up the telegraph-post,” said Mr Wright, his smile expanding and the grimness of it departing; “see! the rascal is actually stretching out his hand to grasp one of the wires. Ha! hallo!”
The composed wife became suddenly discomposed, and gave vent to a scream, for at that moment the small black object which they had been watching with so much interest was seen to fall backward, make a wild grasp at nothing with both hands, and fall promptly to the ground.
His father threw up the window, leaped out, dashed across the four-feet-wide lawn, cleared the winding rivulet, and cut, like a hunted hare, over the smiling landscape towards the telegraph-post, at the foot of which he picked up his unconscious though not much injured son.
“What made you climb the post, Robin?” asked his cousin Madge that evening as she nursed the adventurous boy on her knee—and Madge was a very motherly nurse, although a full year younger than Robin.
“I kimed it to see if I could hear the ’trissity,” replied the injured one.