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David and the Phoenix

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3: In Which It Is Decided    that David Should Have    an Education, and an    Experiment Is Made Next day it took less than an hour to reach the ledge, and David was sure that he could shorten the time even more when he was familiar with the goat trail. The Phoenix was not in sight when he arrived, and for an instant David was stricken with fright. Had the bird gone in spite of its promise? But no—he heard a reassuring noise. It came from the thicket, and it sounded very much like a snore. David smiled to himself and shouted, "Hello, Phoenix!" There was a thrashing sound in the thicket, and the Phoenix appeared, looking very rumpled and yawning behind its wing. "Greetings, my boy!" it cried. "A splendid morning!" Then the Phoenix caught sight of the paper bag in David's hand, and swallowed in a suggestive way. David thrust the bag of cookies behind his back. "Now, Phoenix," he said firmly, "you have to promise me you won't go away to South America. You said last night that it could be arranged, so let's arrange it right now. Until we do, not one." The Phoenix drew itself up indignantly. "My very dear fellow," it said, "you wound me. You cut me to the quick. I will not be bribed. I—" It stopped and swallowed again. "Oh, well," it continued, more mildly, "one does not fight fate, does one? I suppose under these circumstances, I must accept." "It's settled, then!" David cried joyfully. So they sat down on the grass together, and for a long time nothing was heard but sounds of munching. "My boy," said the Phoenix at last, brushing the crumbs from its chest, "I take a modest pride in my way with words, but nothing in the language can do these—ah—baked poems justice. Words fail me." "I'm glad you like them," David said politely. "And now, my boy," continued the Phoenix, as it settled back comfortably, "I have been thinking. Yesterday you showed an intelligent interest in my problems and asked intelligent questions. You did not scoff, as others might have done. You have very rare qualities." David flushed, and mumbled denials. "Do not be so modest, my boy! I speak the truth. It came to me that such a mind as yours, having these qualities, should be further cultivated and refined. And I should be avoiding my clear-cut duty if I did not take this task in hand myself. Of course, I suppose some attempt to educate you has already been made, has it not?" "Well, I go to school, if that's what you mean. Not now, though, because it's summer vacation." "And what do they teach you there?" "Oh, reading and writing and arithmetic, and things like that." "Aha!" said the Phoenix triumphantly. "Just as I suspected—a classical education. Understand me—I have nothing against a classical education as such. I realize that mathematics, Greek, and Latin are excellent for the discipline of the mind. But in the broad view, a classical education is not a true education. Life is real, life is earnest. One must face it with a practical education. The problems of Life, my dear fellow!—classical education completely ignores them! For example, how do you tell a true Unicorn from a false one?" "I—I don't know." "I thought not. Where do you find the Philosopher's Stone?" "I don't know." "Well, then, I shall ask a simple one. What is the first rule of defense when attacked by a Chimera?" David squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm afraid I don't know that, either," he said in a small voice. "There you are!" cried the Phoenix. "You do not have a true, practical education—you are not ready for Life. I, my boy, am going to take your education in hand." "Oh," said David. "Do you mean—are you going to give me—lessons?" Through his mind flashed a picture of the Phoenix (with spectacles on its beak and a ruler in its wing) writing out sentences on a blackboard. The thought gave him a sinking feeling. After all, it was summer—and summer was supposed to be vacation time. "And what an education it will be!" the Phoenix went on, ignoring his question. "Absolutely without equal! The full benefit of my vast knowledge, plus a number of trips to—" "Oh, traveling!" said David, suddenly feeling much better. "That's different. Oh, Phoenix, that'll be wonderful! Where will we go?" "Everywhere, my boy!" said the Phoenix, with an airy wave of its wing. "To all corners of the earth. We shall visit my friends and acquaintances." "Oh, do you have—" "Of course, my boy! I am nothing if not a good mixer. My acquaintances (to mention but a few) include Fauns, Dragons, Unicorns, Trolls, Gryffins, Gryffons, Gryffens—" "Excuse me," David interrupted. "What were those last three, please?" "Gryffins," explained the Phoenix, "are the small, reddish, friendly ones. Gryffons are the quick-tempered proud ones. Gryffens—ah, well, the most anyone can say for them is that they are harmless. They are very stupid." "I see," said David doubtfully. "What do they look like?" "Each looks like the others, my boy, except that some are bigger and some are smaller. But to continue: Sea Monsters, Leprechauns, Rocs, Gnomes, Elves, Basilisks, Nymphs—ah—and many others. All are of the Better Sort, since, as I have many times truly observed, one is known by the company one keeps. And your education will cost you nothing. Of course it would be agreeable if you could supply me with cookies from time to time." "As many as you want, Phoenix. Will we go to Africa?" "Naturally, my boy. Your education will include—" "And Egypt? And China? And Arabia?" "Yes. Your education will—" "Oh, Phoenix, Phoenix!" David jumped up and began to caper, while the Phoenix beamed. But suddenly he stopped. "How are we going to travel, Phoenix?" "I have wings, my boy." "Yes, but I don't." "Do not be so dense, my dear fellow. I shall carry you on my back, of course." "Oh," said David weakly, "on your—on your back. Are you sure that—isn't there some other—I mean, can you do it?" The Phoenix drew itself up to its full height. "I am hurt—yes, deeply hurt—by your lack of faith. My magnificent build should make it evident that I am an exceedingly powerful flyer. In the heyday of my youth I could fly around the world in five hours. But come along. I shall give you proof positive." David reluctantly followed the Phoenix to a spot on the edge of the shelf where there was a gap in the bushes. He glanced over the brink. The sheer face of the scarp fell away beneath them, plunging down to the tiny trees and rocks below. He stepped back quickly with a shudder. "Let's—let's do it tomorrow," he quavered. "Nonsense," said the Phoenix firmly. "No time like the present. Now, then, up on my back." "H-h-how am I going to sit?" "On my back. Quite so—now, your arms around my neck—your legs behind my wings, please—there we are. Ready?" "No," said David faintly. "Splendid! The proof is to be demonstrated, the—to be brief, we are off!" The great wings were outstretched. David gulped, clutched the Phoenix's neck tightly, and shut his eyes. He felt a hopping sensation, then a long, sickening downward swoop that seemed to leave his stomach far behind. A tremendous rush of air snatched at his shirt. He opened his eyes and choked with fright. The ground below was rushing up to meet them, swaying and revolving. Something was terribly wrong. The Phoenix was breathing in hoarse gasps; its wings were pounding the air frantically. Now they had turned back. The scarp loomed before them, solid and blank. Above them—high above them—was the ledge. It looked as though they would not get back to it. Up ... up ... up.... They crawled through the air. The wings flapped wildly, faster and faster. They were gaining—slipping back—gaining again. The Phoenix sobbed as it stretched its neck in the last effort. Fifty feet ... twenty feet ... ten.... With a tremendous surge of its wings, the Phoenix managed to get one claw over the edge and to seize the branch of a bush in its beak. David's legs slipped from the bird's back. He dangled over the abyss from the outstretched neck, and prayed. The bush saved them. They scrabbled up over the edge, tottered there for an instant, and dropped on the grass. For a long time they lay gasping and trembling. At last the Phoenix weakly raised its head. "Puff—well, my boy—puff puff—whew!—very narrow squeak. I—puff—" <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_044.jpg" width-obs="600" height-obs="632" alt="" /></div> David could not answer. The earth reeled under him and would not stop no matter how tightly he clutched the grass. "Puff—I repeat, I am—puff—an exceedingly powerful flyer. There are few birds—none, I daresay—who—puff—could have done even this much. The truth of the matter is that you are a lot—puff—heavier than you look. I hope you are not being overfed at home?" "I—I don't know," said David, wondering whether or not he was going to be sick. "Well, my course is clear," said the Phoenix firmly. "I must practice. Setting-up exercises, roadwork, and what not. Rigorous diet. Lots of sleep. Regular hours. Courage, my dear fellow! We shall do it yet!" <hr style='width: 45%;' /> And so for the following week the Phoenix practiced. Every morning David climbed up to the ledge, bringing sandwiches for himself, cookies for the Phoenix, and a wet towel. Then, while he kept count, the Phoenix did setting-up exercises. After this, the bird would jog trot up and down the ledge and practice jumping. Then there would be a fifteen-minute rest and refreshment period. And when that was over, the Phoenix would launch itself into the air. This was the part David liked best. It was a magnificent sight. The Phoenix dashed back and forth at top speed, wheeled in circles, shot straight up like a rocket—plunged, hovered, looped—rolled, soared, fluttered. Now and then it would swoop back to the ledge beside David and wipe the sweat from its brow. "I trust you see signs of progress, my boy?" David would wrap the wet towel around the Phoenix's neck. "You're doing better and better, Phoenix. I especially like that part where you twist over on your back and loop and plunge, all at the same time." "I do perform that rather well, don't I? It is not easy. But just the thing for acquiring (ouch!) muscle tone. Are there any more cookies? Ah, there are. Delicious! As I was saying, let this be a lesson to you, my boy. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." The Phoenix would take wing again. And David would settle back against a rock and watch. Sometimes he thought of the education he was to get. Sometimes he thought how nice it would be if he could fly. And sometimes he did not think at all, but just sat with his eyes half shut, feeling the sunlight on his face and listening to the rustle of the wind in the thicket. At the end of the week the Phoenix, after a brilliant display of acrobatics, landed on the ledge, clasped its wings behind its back, and looked solemnly at David. "Well, my boy," it said, "I believe your education can begin forthwith. Are you ready?" <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/image_047.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="436" alt="" /></div>                       <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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