Green Forest Stories Thornton W. Burgess (best romance novels of all time .txt) 📖

hissed fiercely. They drew nearer. Farmer Brown’s boy kept a watchful eye on them. They looked so big and fierce that he was almost tempted to give up and leave them in peace. But he just had to find out if there was anything in that nest, so he kept on. As he drew near it, Mrs. Hooty swooped very near to him, and the snap of her bill made an ugly sound. He held his stick ready to strike and kept on.

The nest was simply a great platform of sticks. When Farmer Brown’s boy reached it, he found that he could not get where he could look into it, so he reached over and felt inside. Almost at once his fingers touched something that made him tingle all over. It was an egg, a great big egg! There was no doubt about it. It was just as hard for him to believe as it had been for Blacky the Crow to believe, when he first saw those eggs. Farmer Brown’s boy’s fingers closed over that egg and took it out of the nest. Mrs. Hooty swooped very close, and Farmer Brown’s boy nearly dropped the egg as he struck at her with his stick. Then Mrs. Hooty and Hooty seemed to lose courage and withdrew to a tree near by, where they snapped their bills and hissed.

Then Farmer Brown’s boy looked at the prize in his hand. It was a big, dirty-white egg. His eyes shone. What a splendid prize to add to his collection of birds’ eggs! It was the first egg of the Great Horned Owl, the largest of all Owls, that he ever had seen.

Once more he felt in the nest and found there was another egg there. “I’ll take both of them,” said he. “It’s the first nest of Hooty’s that I’ve ever found, and perhaps I’ll never find another. Gee, I’m glad I came over here to find out what those Crows were making such a fuss about. I wonder if I can get these down without breaking them.”

Just at that very minute he remembered something. He remembered that he had stopped collecting eggs. He remembered that he had resolved never to take another bird’s egg.

“But this is different,” whispered the tempter. “This isn’t like taking the eggs of the little song birds.”

XII A Treetop Battle

As black is black and white is white,
So wrong is wrong and right is right.

There isn’t any half way about it. A thing is wrong or it is right, and that is all there is to it. But most people have hard work to see this when they want very much to do a thing that the still small voice way down inside tells them isn’t right. They try to compromise. To compromise is to do neither one thing nor the other but a little of both. But you can’t do that with right and wrong. It is a queer thing, but a half right never is as good as a whole right, while a half wrong often, very often, is as bad as a whole wrong.

Farmer Brown’s boy, up in the tree by the nest of Hooty the Owl in the lonesome corner of the Green Forest, was fighting a battle. No, he wasn’t fighting with Hooty or Mrs. Hooty. He was fighting a battle right inside himself. It was a battle between right and wrong. Once upon a time he had taken great delight in collecting the eggs of birds, in trying to see how many kinds he could get. Then as he had come to know the little forest and meadow people better, he had seen that taking the eggs of birds is very, very wrong, and he had stopped stealing them. He had declared that never again would he steal an egg from a bird.

But never before had he found a nest of Hooty the Owl. Those two big eggs would add ever so much to his collection. “Take ’em,” said a little voice inside. “Hooty is a robber. You will be doing a kindness to the other birds by taking them.”

“Don’t do it,” said another little voice. “Hooty may be a robber, but he has a place in the Green Forest, or Old Mother Nature never would have put him here. It is just as much stealing to take his eggs as to take the eggs of any other bird. He has just as much right to them as Jenny Wren has to hers.”

“Take one and leave one,” said the first voice.

“That will be just as much stealing as if you took both,” said the second voice. “Besides, you will be breaking your own word. You said that you never would take another egg.”

“I didn’t promise anybody but myself,” declared Farmer Brown’s boy right out loud. At the sound of his voice, Hooty and Mrs. Hooty, sitting in the next tree, snapped their bills and hissed louder than ever.

“A promise to yourself ought to be just as good as a promise to anyone else. I don’t wonder Hooty hisses at you,” said the good little voice.

“Think how fine those eggs will look in your collection and how proud you will be to show them to the other fellows who never have found a nest of Hooty’s,” said the first little voice.

“And think how mean and small and cheap you’ll feel every time you look at them,” added the good little voice. “You’ll get a lot more fun if you leave them to hatch out and then watch the little Owls grow up and learn all about their ways. Just think what a stout, brave fellow Hooty is to start housekeeping at this time of year, and how wonderful it is that Mrs. Hooty can keep these eggs warm and when they have hatched take care of the baby Owls before others have even begun to build their nests. Besides, wrong is wrong and right is right, always.”

Slowly Farmer Brown’s boy reached over the edge