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When this was hung in the medlar-tree just above the bench, he became more composed, and seemed even proud of his new position, but stood in perfect silence, turning his cold grey eye downwards on the doctor and the boys. "He doesn't look as if he meant to call," remarked David, "but I daresay he'll wait till we're gone."
The roses had run wild, and their straggling suckers trailed across the paths; in the box borders flared great red poppies; tall foxgloves drooped above the tangled grasses; and the old vine, untrained and barren of fruit, swayed from the branches of the neglected medlar-tree, shaking a leafy head with slow and sad persistence.
The doctor seemed a little cheered by this suggestion, and with Ambrose's help the cage was soon fixed in a good position in the medlar-tree, where the jackdaw could not fail to see it if he came back. All his favourite delicacies in the shape of food were then placed in it, and by this time it was long past Ambrose's usual hour for going home.
The only possible place was in a large old medlar-tree which stood in the middle of the grass plot, with a wooden bench and table under it. It was nearly bare of leaves now, and a few sparrows were hopping about in its branches. Ambrose turned his eyes to the roof of a barn which ran along one side of the garden. "P'r'aps he's flown over into the farm-yard," he said.
In the garden behind the quaint old house in which he lives is a large medlar-tree, the first I remember seeing. On this same day we bade good-by to Cambridge, and took the two o'clock train to Oxford, where we arrived at half past five. At this first visit we were to be the guests of Professor Max Muller, at his fine residence in Norham Gardens. We met there, at dinner, Mr.
Just as he was turning this over in his mind, there came a sudden and angry cawing noise from the garden. Ambrose looked up and met the doctor's eye; without a word they both started up and made for the garden. There was such a noise that the medlar-tree seemed to be full of jackdaws engaged in angry dispute, but when they got close under it, they found that there were only two.
"His cage has often hung in the medlar-tree in the summer," he said, "when I've been sitting out here." "Let's hang it there now," said Ambrose, "and p'r'aps if he gets hungry he'll come back to where he's been fed."
A medlar the fewer on the three-legged medlar-tree! I say, Dom Nicolas, it'll be cold to-night on the St. Denis Road?" he asked. Dom Nicolas winked both his big eyes, and seemed to choke upon his Adam's apple. Montfaucon, the great grisly Paris gibbet, stood hard by the St. Denis Road, and the pleasantry touched him on the raw.
It was an eerie, uncomfortable talent of the poet's, much detested by the Picardy monk. "Can't you hear it rattle in the gibbet?" said Villon. "They are all dancing the devil's jig on nothing, up there. You may dance, my gallants; you'll be none the warmer. Whew, what a gust! Down went somebody just now! A medlar the fewer on the three-legged medlar-tree!
In the garden behind the quaint old house in which he lives is a large medlar-tree, the first I remember seeing. On this same day we bade good-by to Cambridge, and took the two o'clock train to Oxford, where we arrived at half past five. At this first visit we were to be the guests of Professor Max Mueller, at his fine residence in Norham Gardens. We met there, at dinner, Mr.
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