Well,
I could write about that strange bird and make it just as wonderful as
I liked.
We set about our task at once with great enthusiasm, trying for the
first time in our lives to put our thoughts into writing. All went
well for a few days. Then our editor called us together to hear an
important communication he wished to make. First he showed us, but
would not allow us to read or handle, a fair copy of the paper, or of
the portion he had done, just to enable us to appreciate the care he
was taking over it. He then went on to say that he could not give so
much time to the task and pay for stationery as well without a small
weekly contribution from us. This would only be about three-halfpence
or twopence from our pocket-money, and would not be much missed. To
this we all agreed at once except my younger brother, aged about seven
at that time. Then, he was told, he would not be allowed to contribute
to the paper. Very well, he wouldn't contribute to it, he said. In
vain we all tried to coax him out of his stubborn resolve: he would
not part with a copper of his money and would have nothing to do with
_The Tin Box_. Then the Editor's wrath broke out, and he said he had
already written his editorial, but would now, as a concluding article,
write a second one in order to show up the person who had tried to
wreck the paper, in his true colours. He would exhibit him as the
meanest, most contemptible insect that ever crawled on the surface
of the earth.
In the middle of this furious tirade my poor little brother burst out
crying. "Keep your miserable tears till the paper is out," shouted the
other, "as you will have good reason to shed them then. You will be a
marked being, every one will then point the finger of scorn at you and
wonder how he could ever have thought well of such a pitiful little
wretch."
This was more than the little fellow could stand, and he suddenly fled
from the room, still crying; then we all laughed, and the angry editor
laughed too, proud of the effect his words had produced.
Our little brother did not join us at play that afternoon: he was in
hiding somewhere, keeping watch on the movements of his enemy, who was
no doubt engaged already in writing that dreadful article which would
make him a marked being for the rest of his life.
In due time the editor, his task finished, came forth, and mounting
his horse, galloped off; and the little watcher came out, and stealing
into the room where the _Tin Box_ was kept, carried it off to the
carpenter's shop. There with chisel and hammer he broke the lid to
pieces, and taking out all the papers, set to work to tear them up
into the minutest fragments, which were carried out and scattered all
over the place.
When the big brother came home and discovered what had been done he
was in a mighty rage, and went off in search of the avaricious little
rebel who had dared to destroy his work. But the little rebel was not
to be caught; at the right moment he fled from the coming tempest to
his parents and claimed their protection. Then the whole matter had to
be inquired into, and the big boy was told that he was not to thrash
his little brother, that he himself was to blame for everything on
account of the extravagant language he had used, which the poor little
fellow had taken quite seriously. If he actually believed _The Tin
Box_ article was going to have that disastrous effect on him, who
could blame him for destroying it?
That was the end of _The Tin Box_; not a word about starting it
afresh was said, and from that day my elder brother never mentioned
it. But years later I came to think it a great pity that the scheme
had miscarried. I believe, from later experience, that even if it had
lasted but a few weeks it would have given me the habit of recording
my observations, and that is a habit without which the keenest
observation and the most faithful memory are not sufficient for the
field naturalist. Thus, through the destruction of the Tin Box, I
believe I lost a great part of the result of six years of life with
wild nature, since it was not until six years after my little
brother's rebellious act that I discovered the necessity of making a
note of every interesting thing I witnessed.
CHAPTER XIX
BROTHERS
Our third and last schoolmaster - His many accomplishments - His
weakness and final breakdown - My important brother - Four brothers,
unlike in everything except the voice - A strange meeting - Jack the
Killer, his life and character - A terrible fight - My brother seeks
instructions from Jack - The gaucho's way of fighting and Jack's
contrasted - Our sham fight with knives - A wound and the result - My
feeling about Jack and his eyes - Bird-lore - My two elder brothers'
practical joke.
The vanishing of the unholy priest from our ken left us just about
where we had been before his large red face had lifted itself above
our horizon. At all events the illumination had not been great. And
thereafter it was holiday once more for a goodish time until yet a
third tutor came upon the scene: - yet another stranger in a strange
land who had fallen into low (and hot) water and was willing to fill a
vacant time in educating us. Just as in the case of the O'Keefe, he
was thrust upon my good-natured and credulous father by his friends in
the capital, who had this gentleman with them and were anxious to get
him off their hands.
