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The People of Pudding Hill
No. 4.

(By Shiela Russell.) .

Johnny Black In Trouble

One summer's morning, Johnny Black, the blackbird of Pudding Hill, was hard at work practising the notes of what lie felt was going to be his best song of the season. He was sitting on a lower branch of the old gum tree, and above him were perched the four baby Sparrowdenes.

First he sang a few notes, and then running along his branch whistled an answer.

The little Sparrowdenes clapped and asked for more, and Johnny Black, after bowing gravely to them several times, started to sing once again.

Now about this time of the day the Butcher's Boy would arrive with the meat lor the people who lived in the cottage. He was a cowardly little boy who liked teasing animals. Whenever there was a bird nearby he would pick up the first stone he saw and throw it. Luckily for the birds he could not throw straight, and Johnny Black had become so used to his nasty manners, ihat he now took no notice of him.

This morning, as the Butcher's Boy passed he threw his usual stone at the birds upon the gum tree, and struck the branch on which they were sitting. The Sparrowdene babies were badly frightened, but Johnny Black told them not to worry, “For,” said he “that boy could never hit anything.”

To make them forget their fright he flew down to a fence post and began to sing and dance at the same time. The song was a funny one, and Johnny danced such a merry jig that the babies quite forgot their troubles, and were soon laughing gaily. No one saw the Butcher's Boy coming back; no one saw him pick up a heavy stone, and aim it very carefully at the dancing bird.

The stone struck Johnny and knocked him clean off the post, so that he lay stunned in the grass.

“Got you at last,” said the Butcher's Boy and stepping across to the post picked Johnny up and put him in a box which he was carrying under his arm. He took the box a little way down the hill, and left it securely tied up with string, beneath a bush. He had more meat to deliver, and intended to pick it up on his way home.

For a long time the little Sparrowdenes sat horror-stricken, hardly daring to whisper among themselves. At last one of them plucked up courage enough to fly across to the cottage and still trembling, tell his mother what had happened.

Mrs. Sparrowdene immediately flew round to the verandah and woke up Mr. Tom.

“This is serious,” said Mr. Tom, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Poor Johnny. In a box you say, no light, no air, what's the Boy going to do with him ?”

“I don't know,” said Mrs. Sparrowdene, “but we've got to get him out.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” replied Mr. Tom looking solemn, “but how, that's the question.”

“Think of something, quickly,” Mrs. Sparrowdene cried.

“I could scratch him,” said Mr. Tom thoughtfully.

“Scratch who?” Mrs. Sparrowdene growing more and more excited began to flutter up and down the verandah.

“The Boy,” said Mr. Tom, “to make him give Johnny up you know.”

“Don't be silly,” shrieked Mrs, Sparrowdene.

“Well stay still a moment, you muddle me,” said Mr. Tom. “I have it. We'll ask Miss Amelia.”

So they set off to find Miss Amelia—Mr. Tom walking sedately down the path and Mrs. Sparrowdene fluttering round his head and uttering little squeaky cries of impatience.

Eventually they found her in the herbaceous border, trying to fit one of those flowers called Granny Bonnets on her head.

She blushed a little when they came up. “Just trying on a new hat,” she said smiling, and then grew serious as she listened to the news they had to tell. “Dear, oh dear!” she cried when they had finished, “I always was afraid that boy would do something really bad.”

“I think perhaps we had better collect all the animals we can and go down to where the box is.”

So they got the Hedgehogs and Peter Possum, who when he understood what was the matter didn't mind being awakened, and a lizard called Daisy who was a great friend of Miss Amelia, and trooped off down the hill. They did not bother to ask the Field Mice, because they thought they would only be in the way. But the Field Mice came of their own accord, for nobody could keep them out of anything.

Soon they arrived at the place where the box lay with poor Johnny inside it.

Peter Possum walked up and rapped with his knuckles on the lid.

“Are you in there Johnny Black?” he called.

“Ow,” said a muffled voice, “don't do that, it makes my ears tingle.”

“We've come to help you get out,” cried all the animals.

They thought they heard Johnny Black give a cheer, but they weren't quite sure, because he sounded so faint and far away.

Then they all began making suggestions as to how they were to open the box. Peter Possum tried to undo the string, but after a few moments gave it up in disgust.

Horace Hedgehog suggested rolling the box down the hill in the hope that it might strike something and break open, but Johnny Black heard him and cried out a very loud “No!” Daisy, the Lizard, thought they might crack it open with a stone, but after a few blows they had to stop because Johnny Black's ears were tingling so badly.

Then they all sat down and thought very hard, and Mr. Tom began muttering to himself a rhyme he had made up.

“Poor Johnny Black is in a fix, the worst you ever saw,

“We'd get him out in half a tick if someone here could

“What rhymes with saw?” he asked Miss Amelia.

“Saw—saw?” said Miss Amelia. “Saw—raw—flaw—gnaw. That's it,” she cried excitedly, “Gnaw, the Field Mice, they could gnaw through the string easily.”

At first the Field Mice would not try. They said the animals had never been very nice to them, and quite likely the string would hurt their teeth. Miss Amelia, however, made them a little speech, saying that they should always think of other people before their own teeth, and some day they might be in trouble themselves, and then the animals would come and help them.

So presently the Mice set to with a will, and gnawed and gnawed, until in a very short time the string broke. Johnny Black, dusty and ruffled, but otherwise none the worse for his adventure, scrambled out of the box and shaking hands with everybody promised that his very next song would be in praise of the Field Mice.

It was getting late by this time and soon the Butcher's Boy would be coming back for his box. The animals thought it was time they were getting home, but Miss Amelia held up her hand.

“Wait a minute People of Pudding Hill,” she cried, “I think the Butcher's Boy needs a lesson, otherwise he might try and hurt some more of us. I have a plan.”

She signed to them to gather round and talked for a while in a very low voice, and the result was, that instead of going home the animals crept away into the bushes round about. Johnny Black flew off and woke up Joe the Morepork, and the pair of them hid themselves in the branches of a nearby tree.

They had not long to wait before they heard the Butcher's Boy returning. He whistled and kicked his heels along the path, and when he caught sight of the box laughed with horrid glee.

“Ha! Ha! my fine blackbird,” he cried, “you can say good-bye to your tree tops. From now on you shall sing in a cage nailed to my wall.”

He bent down to pick up the box and with a rush of wings, Johnny Black and Joe swooped down upon him, beating him about the head with their wings and pecking at his hands and face.

He turned to run, tripped over a wire which the Hedgehogs had stretched across the path, and fell headlong into a gorse bush. Instantly Mr. Tom pounced upon his back and bit his ear, and all the other animals came out and danced around.

Al last, bellowing with fright, and the pain of the gorse prickles and the pecks and bites and scratches he had received, the Butcher's Boy went stumbling down the hill and vowed that never again would he be unkind to animals.

The little People of Pudding Hill then went home happily to their teas.