“Naughty, naughty boy!” said a voice which seemed to come from behind, “why did you kill Pecksy?”
Norman looked round. There, at the back of his chair he saw perched a bird which nodded its head up and down, and glared at him with its bright little eyes. He was too much frightened to reply; indeed, he had nothing to say for himself.
“You will not answer, then I must answer for you,” said the voice, which evidently came from the bird, and though it spoke like a human being, yet it had the sound of a bird’s notes, only much louder and shriller than any bird he had ever heard.
“You know that you were angry with little Robby, and jealous of your sweet sister, and that when old Alec gave her our little brother you resolved to kill it on the first opportunity. You thought of doing that cruel deed not only then, but day after day, and you watched for an opportunity. The opportunity came, and when you let the heavy book fall down on the poor little innocent creature, you knew perfectly well that it must kill him, if it did not press him as flat as a pancake. We will not forget what you have done, Master Norman Vallery. When you come into the garden we will not sing to you sweetly, but we will croak at you like so many crows, and call you ‘Naughty, naughty boy!’ When you run away we will follow you, for we can fly faster than you can run, and we will perch on the branches round you, and croak out, ‘Naughty, naughty boy!’ When you run on still farther to get away from us, we will fly on either side of you, and will croak out, ‘Naughty, naughty boy!’”
“Oh, do not, do not, please do not!” murmured Norman, though he spoke so low that he did not think the bird could hear him. “I will try not to be jealous of Fanny, or to be angry with her or anybody else.”
“We do not trust you,” said the bird on the back of his chair.
“We won’t trust you,” echoed the others, perched on the branch. “We shall do as we have said; you will find that we can keep our promise, though you are ready enough to break yours. Who killed cock robin, who killed cock robin, who killed cock robin?” sang the birds in chorus. “That little boy there, with his head on the table!” answered the bird at the back of his chair. “But he did not do it with a bow and arrow, he did it with a big heavy book, and it was not cock robin he killed, but our dear little brother Pecksy, the naughty, naughty boy!”
“Oh, I am so sorry!” groaned Norman. “You are right, I own that you are right, but do not scold me any more.”
“We shall see how you behave yourself. If you are a good boy we may relent, but if not, when you go into the woods, instead of singing sweetly as we do to your sister, and trying our best to give her pleasure, we will keep our promise, and croak in your ears, ‘Naughty, naughty boy!’”