Fanny, having placed the crumbs, was delighted to find how well her plan succeeded, for as soon as Pecksy had picked up one crumb, seeing another before him, he hopped forward and picked that up, and so on, till he had gone round the whole circle.
Fanny had made him go through his performance once or twice, for she had wisely put down very small crumbs indeed, so that his appetite was not satisfied.
Having placed Pecksy at the further end of the table where she had left him a few crumbs to occupy his attention, she had just resumed her seat, when, unperceived by her, Norman stole into the room. A large book lay on a chair near him. On a sudden an evil thought entered his mind. Pecksy was in his power, and he had an opportunity of venting the ill-feeling he had long entertained against Fanny and her little pet.
Taking up the book, he stole round behind a high-backed chair, which was placed against the table. Fanny was so engaged with her bird that she did not see him. Rising up suddenly with the book in his hands, the cruel boy let it fall directly down on the little bird. Perhaps he was scarcely aware of the fatal consequences of his act, perhaps he thought that the falling book would only frighten the bird, which would fly away and save itself. We cannot bear to suppose that, ill-tempered as he was, he could have meditated the destruction of his gentle sister’s little favourite. People often do not consider the sad results of their evil temper and bad conduct.
The book fell directly on poor little Pecksy. Fanny gave a cry of grief and terror.
“Oh, what have you done, Norman!” she exclaimed, as she saw his face just above the chair, with an expression, oh how different to what she could have supposed that of her little brother could wear.
He did not utter a word, but gazed intently at the book. She lifted it up. There lay her dear little Pecksy motionless. She took the bird up in her hands, examining it anxiously, while the tears fell fast from her eyes.
Norman, conscience-stricken for the first time in his life, could not bear to look at her any longer, and rushed out of the room.
“Oh, what have I done! what have I done!” he exclaimed; “it cannot be dead! the book was not so very big—that could not have killed it all in a moment.”