CHAPTER XXI.

COPPERTOP AND THE OLD MOTHER-BIRD.

“No! you can’t. You can’t have another WORM!” said a strange voice.

Looking up, or down--Coppertop wasn’t quite sure which--she found to her amazement that she was no longer hanging by one leg to the palm tree, but was sitting in a large nest, made of sticks and clay, and surrounded by a nestful of very ugly chicks, all beaks and eyes! But what surprised her most was the hideous old Mother-bird--very like Mrs. Grudge--perched above them with a long, wriggling worm in her beak.

“Oh, goodness gracious!” she exclaimed. “I DO hope I haven’t been eating WORMS! And, however did I get here? And what am I?”

“What are you?” croaked the old Mother-bird, “a chick, like the rest, of course! Only you’ve the largest mouth of all, and a rampageous appetite for WORMS!”

“Yes,” admitted Coppertop, sorrowfully; “I have got a large mouth and little piggy eyes, and--and--the only nice thing about me is my hair----”

“Hair!” shrieked the old Mother-bird, “HAIR!! Feathers, you mean. Hair, indeed! As though any chick of mine ever had hair!”

“But--am I a chick of _yours_?” cried Coppertop, feeling that some terrible change must have taken place.

“I suppose so,” replied the old Bird; “but I never could count.”

“And am I--am I like the other chicks?”

“Like as two rice!” replied the old Mother-bird, as she dropped a worm into one of the ever-open beaks.

This was all such terrible and confusing news to the poor child, that her brain failed to grasp it at once.

“And what kind of a bird are you?” she asked, for she had never seen one like it before.

“An UN-KIND, if you ask any more foolish questions!” snapped the old Mother-bird.

“Just as if you didn’t know that we are all Scarecrows!” she added.

“Oh, I know I’m a plain little thing!” said Coppertop, tearfully, “but I never thought I was a Scarecrow before.”

“Neither you are, before--this is ‘after’.”

“After what?” cried Coppertop, feeling sure that she must be going mad.

“After to-morrow, of course!” replied the old Mother-bird, with surprised eyebrows.

“Oh, dear!” cried the poor, bewildered child, “what’s after to-morrow?”

“The day stupid! Haven’t you heard the old saying, ‘The day after to-morrow’? The day is always after to-morrow, but he never catches it.”

“Well, I’m after a December day, and I never catch that,” sighed Coppertop.

“Hush!” suddenly cried the old Mother-bird. “There goes the Mikado!”

“The Mikado!” exclaimed Coppertop; “why, he lives in Japan!”

“Well, isn’t this Japan, stupid?” snapped the old Mother-bird.

“Is it? I thought it was India,” said Coppertop, wearily, “nothing seems to be right. I’ve got feathers instead of hair, and I eat worms! I don’t believe I’m me at all! I must be someone else, but if I’m not ‘me,’ who am I?”

“Be quiet!” said the old Mother-bird, sternly; “if the Mikado hears you, he’ll order us to jump into the river--like poor Tom Tit.”

“But how----” persisted Coppertop.

“I’ll explain it all,” cried the voice of kindly Mr. Atom. “Take MY advice, my dear, and don’t argue with the old Bird.”

“When you see a chance,” he continued, “jump out of the nest and fly to the ancient Japanese Lantern over there.”

“Then are we really in Japan?” whispered the child.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Atom. “The old Mother-bird found you hanging from the palm tree in India, and, thinking that you were one of her precious chicks, she flew with you here to Japan. Now you know all about it. Ta-ta.” And he was gone.

Coppertop lost no time in doing as Mr. Atom had told her. Just as soon as the old Scarecrow’s back was turned, she scrambled from the nest and jumped.

As she flew down to the Lantern, she saw that she was really and truly in Japan.

How beautiful it was, to be sure! It seemed to be a land of colour and sunshine. Flowers grew in profusion, and here and there quaint little Japanese houses peeped up, like golden and red-haired children playing at hide-and-seek amongst the blossom of the plum trees. And in the distance she caught a glimpse of snow-capped Fujiyama, the sacred mountain of Japan.

Upon reaching the Lantern, which was made of stone, and very old and large, Coppertop clambered inside, and sat down to have a deep, deep think, for she had much to think about and to consider.

The more she pondered, the more sad she became, for it seemed to her that all her plans had gone astray, and that she was no nearer finding the precious December day for which she had now searched the wide world over. The South Wind had helped her but little, the West Wind she had missed, the East Wind was enraged with them. Now there was only the North Wind left, and she was not at all certain where she could find him.

“I’m simply too miserable for words!” sighed the poor child. “Whatever can I do all alone, without Tibbs, or Kiddiwee, or even Miss Smiler to help me?”

“Wherever are they?” she cried aloud. “I do love them so! And perhaps I shall never see them again!” And the tears rolled down her cheeks at the very thought.