When Jetsom returned to his rookery he found that his absence had not been noticed, so occupied was every one with the business of wooing and stick-collecting; and he kept his appointment next day without much misgiving. What fears he had were easily overcome by the thought that there might be a great and happy future in store for him if he could induce his new acquaintance to become his partner, and to help him to carry out in practice the ideas that were floating through their minds. He little knew, poor bird, what was really in store for him. Though he had not been aware of it, one eye had all this time been upon him. Old Gaffer, who was always on the look-out for his chance of revenge, had seen him leave the meadow, and noticed his late return; and when he made quietly off again the next day, Gaffer as quietly followed him. From a tree near the trysting-place he saw Jetsom meet his friend, and knew in a twinkling that his chance had come. He watched them for a while as they walked about the meadow together, deep in philosophic converse; but when they flew up into a tree (luckily it was not Gaffer’s) with some little serious attempt to play with each other, he felt he might go home safely and consider what was the best plan to bring this wilful pair to shame and ruin.
Slipping warily out of his tree he flew slowly homewards, and before he reached the rookery had made up his mind as to what should be done. He mentioned to a few old friends, the ancient dignitaries of the settlement, that he wished to consult them at once on an important matter; and a meeting was accordingly held on a tree hard by. An aged and highly respected bird, with two white feathers in his wing, was voted into the chair, who, taking his perch on a prominent bough, requested Gaffer to open his mind.
“My friends,” said Gaffer, turning his one eye with an evil look round and round upon the assembly, “you will perhaps remember that last spring I was asked advice about a certain egg, and that my advice was not taken. I will ask you whether that egg has been a credit to our rookery?”
A chorus of cawing encouraged him to proceed.
“I will not allude,” said he, “to painful circumstances connected with that egg, and to personal insults which I suffered on account of that egg. I may feel that I hardly received at that time the support which I might have looked for from the older and wiser among us. But let bygones be bygones. I have to tell you that the bird which was the ill-omened result of that egg is about to bring home a wife who is not one of our community. (Great disturbance, lasting several minutes.) I have watched, and I have seen the guilty pair but an hour since, and we may expect them at any moment. This is painful news to have to tell you, but I must sacrifice my own feelings. I wish to know what line of action you would propose that we should take?”
Almost before he had finished speaking, such a hubbub of indignation arose, that the president had the utmost difficulty in restoring order.
“Friends,” said he at length, “let us take a flight to calm our spirits after the terrible news which has been sprung upon us; then we will deliberate on the case.”
Agreed. They all sailed about above the tree for a few minutes, and then descended again, cawing so loud that a passing wayfarer looked up at the tree in astonishment. The president then called on the oldest rook in company to give his opinion.
“Kill her,” he said; “it’s the shortest way and the least trouble. As for him, he’ll soon get over it.”
This proposal was received with a round of cawing, in which Gaffer did not join. When it came to an end the President asked whether any one else had a plan to propose. A worthy old rook flapped her wings and said,