TALES OF THE UNTAMED. 
MARGOT (continued). 
Adapted from the French by Douglas Enghsh. 
\ 
BUT, as the enveloping hand squeezed past the oi>eu- 
iug, the grip of it relaxed. Her wings slipped 
clear: she made full use of them, dug beak deep 
down into the palm, and, with one supreme effort, 
wriggled free, and winged towards the sky. 
A stunning crashing jar cut short, her flight. With 
wounded breast, with splintered beak, she fell, wings spread 
across tlie sink. 
The crockery danced and rattled, glasses spun round and 
shattered on tiie' floor — and she was once more prisoner. The 
hand had pounced on her afresh and gripped her like a vico. 
Windows were things undreamt of in her world. The 
outer sky had beckoned her. An unseen barrier, permeable 
by sight, was past her understanding. 
The Man was irritated. He gripped as though to 
strangle her, and Margot strove against him. 
She writhed and twisted in his hands, she sought to 
use her beak again. 
Her puny force was chilled and quenched by fear — fear 
of the scissors brandished by the Woman. 
They poini,.,. :heir fierce blades at her. They opened 
out and closed again, their edges grinning, rasping. 
Would this cold, pitiless beak of steel be plunged into 
her flesh ? 
She was flung backwards, pinned by hands confederate; 
and scream of agony proclaimed the wrenching of her tail- 
quills from their sockets. 
So steering power was torn from her. 
The wings were crippled next. Nipped right and left 
they numbed in pain, and right and left, clicked scissor-snip, 
and pit-a-pat of feathers, lightly falling. 
A stifled gurgle burst from her dumb lungs. She glucked 
like blooded fowl. She waited for the finishing stroke, the 
plunging of the steel into her throat; the last, the sujjreme 
torture. 
But suddenly the hands were lifted from her. She sat 
dumb on the table's edge, her every nerve ajar with pain, 
her every muscle smarting. And round her laughter spent 
itself, and mockery, and railling. 
Man and Man's friends had grouped to pay her homage. 
The sky at least was there, the beckoning sky. 
She spread her wings and leapt towards the window. 
The leap was limit of her course. 
Like stone she fell and raised a mocking laugh again. 
Yet she did not despair. 
She flapped her crippled stumps of wings, and time and 
time and time again essayed the lilting glide which leads to 
flight. 
The grace of it was gone. She toppled, stumbled piti- 
ably. Feet, body, neck were out of gear, and mocking 
laughter waited on her always. 
She understood at last; she knew that her whole world 
was changed, that an abyss impassable had sundered her 
from freedom; that flight was now denied her, that she wa.i 
prisoner for life. 
She shrunk behind the cage — its door was closed — she 
circled it, she crouched against the side of it. She ducked 
her head beneath her crippled wing, and till that day had 
passed she neither ate, nor drank, nor moved. 
Man, Woman, Child took curious note of her, like 
visitors round a sick-bed. They whispered, argued, threat- 
ened. She paid no heed. Despair had laid a hand on her, 
a chilly, numbing hand. A momentary rustle of her feathers, 
a momentary flicker of her eyes, were the sole signs of life 
in her maimed body. 
But she was young. Her thoughts were fugitive. They 
skimmed her brain and left small trace behind them. She 
woke from sleep to find her troubles softened. 
The pain was gone, and, in its place, two mastering in- 
stincts held her, the need for food, the need for sheltered 
roosting-place. 
She ate the scraps and morsels that lay near her; she 
drank fresh water from her pannikin, and, with her strength 
renewed, commenced her search. 
From bench to bench, from room to room she tripped. 
Her innate curiosity now ordered all her goings. 
She questioned every stick and stone she met. She pried 
in corners, sounded holes. With head aslant she eyed each 
c^eft and crevice; took measure of the chinks between the 
boards ; appraised with care meticulous, the chance-found 
treasures of the littered floors. 
Were these close scrutinies casual or ordered by soma 
my.stic sense of profit ? 
From time to time, no doubt, she chanced on food, but 
glistening things allured her most. She worshipped the.se 
as idols, caressed them, lingered by them, in morbid, spell- 
bound ecstasy. 
Most finds she quickly tired of. She prized them for 
their novelty, their opportune presentment, their momentary 
use. 
She chose the serving-counter for headquarters. 
Beneath it dropped tit-bits of food; behind it was the 
dresser. And this was lit with gleam of polished metal, 
knife-blades with steely sheen on them, dish-covers, spoons, 
and forks. 
She quickly learnt Man's feeding times. She mustered 
her best manners then, and with coquettish beaks and nods, 
sought and compelled attention. 
She quickly learnt Man's call-note — the syllables of her 
name — and linked it in her mind with food. 
She fixed its distance instantly, and with giant heps 
and fluttery wings made bee-line to its source. 
And she had other company than Man: the dog whose 
presence she took little heed of; the cat whom she distrusted. 
The cat's advances frightened her. She feared the twitching 
of his ears, his lashing tail, his sleepy-stretching claws, the 
down-drawn corners of his whiskered muzzle. Yet there 
was truce between them, truce after strenuous contest, where 
each had learnt the other's qualities — and weapons. 
The days trailed by monotonous. 
Under two deadening influences, the frousty, healed 
atmosphere, the incessant glut of food, her senses dulled. 
The outer world had almost passed from her, though 
every dawn she flapped her stumps of wings, as though soma 
sleeping instinct woke in her and called her to the sky. 
She learnt the quiet corners of the kitchen — behind the 
stove, beneath the baking-range. 
She knew safe spots from which to .scold the cat, or tease 
the dog without fear of reprisal. The latter sport was 
friendly. The dog had smelt her dubiously at first; had 
thrust a curious muzzle, at her plumage, and, by some mystio 
test, been satisfied. 
The strange wild captive thing was of the household. 
It was uneatable. It could not harm him. Then why not 
let it live? A game-bird might have tempted him (for want 
of hare or rabbit), but blackbirds, magpies, jackdaws, crows, 
were no fit food for dog of quality. 
So, when from stress of boredom or excitement, Margot 
was stirred to mischief, she crept behind the dog and tweaked 
his tail. He swung a drowsy head at her, and with round, 
serious eyes and upcurled lip, growled disapproval. 
As his head turned she nipped again, and so the game 
went on. 
He never lost his temper. He bore her teasing gladly, 
like the children's. 
But it was different with the cat. The cat sneaked food- 
scraps which were hers by right, and, scorning her indignant 
outcry, ate them. 
Strangers she stiU was nervous of. She feared their 
hands, feared handling altogether; for, every week at first, 
then every fortnight, the ordeal of the scissors was renewed. 
The menace of their crunching blades drove her dis- 
traught to cover. 
She dived beneath the furniture, crouched in dark holes 
and corners. She even squeezed through wire-work of a 
mattress, which meant unmaking of the bed and littering of 
the bedroom. 
And then she fooled the clutching hands, and slipped 
downstairs, and for full fifteen minutes mocked pursuit.' 
At length, worn out, she let the Girl lay hands on her. 
The Girl had shown her kindness, but piteous upturned 
eyes were unavailing. The Girl betrayed her to the Man. 
Once more she had to face the pain, the indignity of 
clipping. 
Winter, disputing every inch of ground, at last retreated 
beaten. The sun burst through the sullen clouds and flung 
his lusty beams about the house. 
(2*0 be continued.) 
Printed by the ViCToniA House Puintino Co.. Ltd., Tudor Street, Whitefriars, London, E.C, 
