*
* [See article Martin Fereol, in St. Paul's Magazine vol. iv.
generally.]
Hardly was he an hour in his new abode ere the sparrows and robins
began to visit him. Even strange birds of passage flying in at his
hospitable window, would espy him unscared, and sometimes partake
of the food he had always at hand to offer them. He relied, indeed,
for the pleasures of social intercourse with the animal world, on
stray visits alone; he had no pets--dog nor cat nor bird; for
his wandering and danger haunted life did not allow such companionship.
He insisted on occupying his new quarters at once. In vain Phemy
and her uncle showed reason against it. He did not want a bed; he
much preferred a heap of spies, that is, wood shavings. Indeed,
he would not have a bed; and whatever he did want he would get
for himself. Having by word and gesture made this much plain, he
suddenly darted up the ladder, threw down the trapdoor, and, lo!
like a hermit crab, he had taken possession. Wisely they left him
alone.
For a full fortnight he allowed neither to enter the little
chamber. As often as they called him, he answered cheerfully, but
never showed himself except when Phemy brought him food, which,
at his urgent request, was only once in the twenty four hours--
after nightfall, the last thing before she went to bed; then he
would slide down the ladder, take what she had brought him, and hurry
up again. Phemy was perplexed, and at last a good deal distressed,
for he had always been glad of her company before.
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