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Updated: June 8, 2025
Oh dear! oh dear! I wish I could bring it to life again! Can it really be dead?" As these expressions were uttered in a very low voice, they did not reach Fanny's ears. For some minutes she did not move. He could not longer endure to watch her silent grief. "Fanny," he said, in a gentle voice, very unusual for him, "is little Pecksy really dead?
"I must give it a name, dear granny," she said; "can you help me? Do you recollect the pretty story you used to read to me when I was a very little girl, about the three robins Dickey, and Flapsey, and Pecksy. I have been thinking of calling it by one of those names, but I could not make up my mind." "Which name do you like the best, my dear?" asked Mrs Leslie. "I think Pecksy.
"I fear that at present he would do so, but then, he is very little," said Fanny, "and perhaps if he learns those lines they may teach him to be kinder than he now is to dumb animals; still, I am sure he would not have the heart to hurt little Pecksy." Poor Fanny judged of Norman by herself, notwithstanding the way he had so constantly behaved.
She stood gazing at the spot, after she had deposited the wreath for a minute or two. "There, we can do no more," she said, with a sigh, as she took Norman's hand. "We will go home now, and, O Norman, if you will try to be a good boy, and love me and everybody else, I shall not mind so much having lost dear little Pecksy."
Pecksy was a good, obedient, little bird, and I am sure my dear little bird is as good as a bird can be." "Then I think I would call it Pecksy, dear," answered Mrs Leslie; and Fanny decided on so naming her little favourite.
It was by her granny's advice somewhat out of the way. "See, Norman," she observed, "it is better here than in a part of the garden we have often to pass, because we need not come here except perhaps by-and-by when we shall have ceased to think so much about poor little Pecksy." The trees grew thickly around the spot, but there was an open space of two or three feet.
Fanny, having placed the crumbs, was delighted to find how well her plan succeeded, for as soon as Pecksy had picked up one crumb, seeing another before him, he hopped forward and picked that up, and so on, till he had gone round the whole circle.
Instead of singing merrily, however, like little Pecksy, their voices had a croaking angry sound. By degrees the voices changed from the notes of birds into those of human beings. "Naughty, naughty boy!" said a voice which seemed to come from behind, "why did you kill Pecksy?" Norman looked round.
He entered the house, and went into the library. There sat Fanny in the arm-chair, hiding her weeping eyes with one hand, while in the other, which rested on the table, lay poor little Pecksy. Norman, stealing up close to her, gazed at the bird. It lay on its back with its delicate little legs in the air, its feathers were ruffled, and a drop of blood was on its beak.
"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.
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