 |
|
|
| But that afternoon, Miss Eustacia Montmorency had left the window open again, and so the bluebird was able to flutter down to the sill and have a chat with his friend Tennyson again. �Why so sad, friend?� Tennyson looked up, sniffling. �Oh, it�s just� you wouldn�t want to live the pampered life of a dormouse like me! It�s so boring, for one thing.� �Boring?� said the bluebird. �I can�t imagine sitting in that gilt cage and eating filberts all day would ever bore me.� �But see, there you�re wrong!� cried Tennyson. �The filberts are always the same! There is never any variation whatsoever. I? Only get to sit on this cushion all day. Variety is the spice of life! And I, sadly� (Tennyson�s dainty paw here brushed away a tiny tear) �have none.� �It doesn�t seem like such a terrible life to me,� mused the bluebird. �Of course you wouldn�t think so! You get to fly wherever you want, and soar up through the clouds all day.� �Yes, but where do I sleep at night? I have a nest made of twigs and straw, not a cushion like you.� �Really?� Tennyson pondered this for a moment. �I hadn�t thought of it that way before.� �For breakfast, I have garden worms, and for luncheon I have millet seed. I won�t even tell you what I have for dinner, but let�s just say that the gardener doesn�t have to worry about so many pests anymore.� �Ugh,� said Tennyson, shuddering rather indelicately, because it is rude to disparage someone else�s habits, whether they themselves are proud of them or not. But the bluebird only laughed there on the windowsill. �Oh, the worms are very juicy, and the seeds are very nice, but I knew how you would see it. But if it weren�t for me, who would keep the garden neat and tidy? I have to be able to fly�and to hunt�in able to do my duties. You see, dearest dormouse, the workings of the world depend on each of us doing our part.� �Ah, it�s all very well to talk of duties when I don�t have any myself.� �Of course you do!� said the bluebird. �If you were not waiting for her here in your gilded cage, who would keep little Eustacia Montmorency company when she comes home from Miss Minchin�s Fine Academy for Fine Ladies?� �That�s true!� cried Tennyson, his face brightening. �And who would I talk to in the afternoons when Miss Montmorency leaves the windowsill open?� he added, winking. Tennyson blushed. �So you see, you have much to be thankful for, and you should embrace your own role in life,� said the bluebird, spreading his wings to indicate how wide and wonderful he felt life to be. �Cousin,� said Tennyson firmly, �you have done me a great service today. To each his own place in the world. What a wonderful new outlook on life you have given me!� The bluebird nodded wisely. �You see?� he said. �What a difference it makes to count our blessings and refrain from coveting what others have!� |
| ~~ 8 ~~ |
 |