"When my good uncle Benjamin sent home his presents for the children I am afraid there was less harmony in the family—that is, amongst my brothers and sisters—than one might have expected. The presents were many, the choice was embarrassing, and tastes did not agree. Tom was the bother—Tom always has been the bother, I am sorry to add. Without Tom I think we could have got along pretty well, and arranged our differences by degrees, and with the help of mamma and the governess, and perhaps papa to be called in if wanted very much. But Tom—though he is my own brother, and I love him dearly, particularly when he is good, which occurs on his birthday, and sometimes on half-holidays—was very aggravating. I don't remember when Tom was more aggravating, except when he was getting over the measles, and bit his nurse in the arm. Tom was greatly excited over the presents, and said they were all for him—Uncle Benjamin being his godfather—until papa explained the case, and read aloud uncle's letter to us.
"Let the dear children take it in turns to choose, according to their respective ages," wrote uncle.
Maggie was the eldest, and chose the "love-birds," two pretty little dears like baby paroquets, green balls of wool with red noses—crimson beaks, papa calls them. We were all anxious about the love-birds: they were something alive, and to be petted and made much of. It was discovered, however, that Tom wanted the love-birds; it was his second choice, and he had set his heart upon them. And having set his heart upon them, Tom sat down and howled when Maggie had made her selection. There was no pacifying Tom—there never is, Bella says, and so does Charlie—and Tom stamped and raved and sobbed, and would not have anything else but the love-birds "if he died for it," he said. He was quieter when papa came in, and withdrew his threat of poisoning the birds if they became Maggie's property, and apologized behind the cuff of his jacket to his sister, and with his mouth full of cloth. Tom's apology having been graciously accepted, it remained to be seen if Tom's grief could be in any way appeased; and after some whispering between Maggie and mamma, in which I fancied I heard the words "pantomime next Christmas," it was finally settled that Maggie should be consoled by a box of paints, and Tom should have the birds. I don't think I could have agreed to that myself, although I don't quite know what mamma might have promised me; but I was content with my big doll, and I thought that when Tom was at school we should all be able to see the love-birds and feed them just as well as their owner. But we did not tell Tom this, or he might have sold the birds, or taken them to school in his pocket; for Tom was a very cross-grained brother when he liked, and was rather a trouble to mamma and papa. I was never a trouble—I was a good girl, and they called me "Pet."
Tom did not get tired of his present so soon as we expected. He was the whole day without getting tired, although a little shaken in the evening by an offer of his friend Walker—who came from school with five-and-twenty other friends to see the birds—to "swap" with him for ten white mice and a Jew's-harp. He was very fond of the birds, and he christened them Romeo and Juliet, because they were love-birds too, and we should hear all about them when we were a little older. Well, I hoped they loved each other better than Tom's birds, for presently Tom saw, and we all saw, that considering our Romeo and Juliet were love-birds, their behavior was far from conveying that idea to any one who studied them. They were quarrelsome in the extreme, which pleased Tom, who "liked to see them fight," he said; and as they were always fighting, he got a great deal of pleasure from Uncle Benjamin's present.
No, Romeo and Juliet gave no impression of love and happiness to any of us. Juliet was very spiteful, and even when huddled against Romeo for warmth would suddenly jerk her head round and try to peck his eye out. But Romeo was always on guard, having mistrusted Juliet from the first hours of his introduction to her; he was a bird who had seen the world, and thoroughly understood the character of his mate. Juliet was untrustworthy and malicious, and Romeo always kept his eye on her—the eye which she wanted to peck out especially. At feeding-time their conduct was the worst. We took it in turns to feed the birds, Tom, who loved them very much, having quite forgotten to feed them after the first four-and-twenty hours, and sister Maggie, who was always tender-hearted, took great pains over them, and tried hard to teach them better manners, especially at meal-times. Alone, each bird was as good as gold, but it was seldom that Juliet would allow Romeo to take any food out of a spoon without seizing the advantage of his being off guard to have a savage peck at him somewhere; and I am sorry to say that Romeo was almost as bad, and there were times when so many feathers of Juliet were found at the bottom of the cage, that we were afraid that in some rash moment of revenge he would pluck her like a goose.
This constant quarrelling and fighting, not to mention hours and days of incessant screaming, was a source of much anxiety to Maggie, and Bella, and Charlie, and Tottie, and me. Tom, as I have said before, liked it all very much, which we were sorry to see; but then Tom is a big boy, and fond of fighting. He is going to boarding-school next term, where papa says they will take the nonsense out of him, he hopes. I wonder how they will get it out, for there is a great deal in him, we all think. I have asked Tom, but he doesn't know. We told papa and mamma about the unhappy lives of Romeo and Juliet, and they were very much surprised. They had always understood that love-birds were most engaging and amiable creatures; and what unhappy difference of opinion could have led Juliet to regard Romeo with such complete contempt, or to induce Romeo to despise Juliet and try to hurt her—just as Juliet availed herself of every chance to do some mortal injury to Romeo—was a mystery which even our good, wise parents could not solve.
There came a time when there was great grief to us all. Tom had left the cage door open one day; the window was open, and Romeo, tired of his cage, of Juliet's hen-pecking, and of us, took advantage of Tom's carelessness and flew away to the outer world. We were all very sorry; even Juliet was very sorry, and sat in one corner of the big cage and moped, oh! so dreadfully, for the loss of her poor mate. Which mamma told us was a moral to us little ones to be contented and happy in each other's company; for no one could tell, not even Juliet, how painful it was to miss somebody forever to whom one had been unkind, or said or done harsh things, and what a bitter memory it would leave behind!
We thought so too, and we pitied poor Juliet very much, and were distressed that she lost her appetite, and that even lump-sugar was hardly to her taste. Yes, she was fretting for Romeo. There was no one to love now, or no one to peck; we were not quite certain which regret was uppermost in Juliet's mind. But we were sure that Juliet took Romeo's desertion of her very much to heart. And where was Romeo, who, after all, was our favorite? What had become of him? Had he found another home—another Juliet, perhaps? papa suggested, or was he wandering about the world, and being badly treated by other birds? or coming rapidly to ruin in the society of disreputable sparrows?
We offered a reward for him. Even Tom was distressed at the loss of him. "He was such a plucky little chap," Tom said; and Tom came home full of grief that afternoon, because John Simmonds had told him that somebody else had told him that he, the somebody else, had caught the bird and made a pie of him, to try how he would taste. Which was a wicked story of John Simmonds, for the very next day a gentleman in a corduroy suit splashed with whitewash, and smelling very strongly of paint and putty, called with Romeo in a little bag, and waited in the hall for the reward that had been offered. We all ran out to welcome back the truant, and papa was as glad as any of us, I am sure.
How we kissed and fondled poor Romeo, and what a grand procession of the family it was into the drawing-room to see the old companions reunited, and watch the joy of Juliet at the return of the loved one! I remember the man with the paper cap followed us, as papa had not paid him, in his excitement, and stood looking over our shoulders, as interested as ourselves. Juliet fluttered her wings and uttered what we took for a cry of joyful welcome, and Romeo was sent fluttering into the cage to rejoin his long-lost mate.