|| A Tale from Netherlands ||
In a dense forest near a lake, stood a small hut called the “Rook”. Two orphans, Ruky and Cora lived in the cottage with their uncle and their hunting dog Nep. Cora—or “Cor,” as Ruky called her—was nearly sixteen years old, but Ruky, her brother is only four years old.
She was, therefore, almost mother and sister in one. The uncle was away most of the time. The little fellow was her companion night and day. Ruky loved everything, especially his sister. Nep adored Ruky. The great big hound could hunt any bird or small animal, but Ruky could pull his ears or tail, climb on his back or snatch his bone.
Together they ate and slept, and—when Cora was not at work in the cottage—together they rambled in the wood, or floated in their little leaf boats upon the lake.
Ruky had bright, dark eyes, thick glossy black hair and rosy cheeks. His quick, bird-like jerks of his head, his habit of pecking at his food often made his sister laugh and think of him like a little crow.
Young as he was, the little fellow had learned to climb a low-branching tree near the cottage, though he could not always get down alone. Sometimes when, perched in the thick foliage, he would scream, “Cor! Cor! Come, help me down!” his sister would answer, as she ran out laughing, “Yes, little Crow! I’m coming.”
Cora loved him most of the time. But other times, when she became angry or frustrated, she would get angry and grumble and complain.
Of course, it was not her fault. She should be meeting more people of her age and going out with friends instead of being stuck in the forest taking care of a 4 year old. Whenever she got angry and scolded Ruky, he would sulk, keep away and refuse to meet her eye. Whenever he got hungry, he would steal food without her looking and go back and sulk.
One day when the uncle was away, little Ruky was being more mischievous than usual and Cora was getting disturbed from her housework. “Cor, Cor”, he would call urgently as if something was happening and when Cora dropped her work and came out of the cottage running he would say that he didn’t call her.
Cora was soon exhausted. She told Ruky, “Do I have no work except fall for your antics. You will have a beating when uncle comes back. And you are sleeping early today!”
Nep growled. He did not like anyone threatening his four year old human. Cora took her brother inside the cottage and shut the door, leaving Nep outside.
With hasty jerks she changed him into pajamas while Ruky cried, “Cor, it hurts! I will take off my shoes by my own”.
“NO YOU WON’T”, Cora screamed when Ruky kept insisting. At this, Ruky started crying and in between sobs he said, ” I won’t have dinner”
Cora thought that was a punishment he deserved and let him sleep without dinner. He went to sleep sobbing, without his goodbye kiss. After an hour, seeing that the uncle was not coming home, Cora went to sleep to.
Ruky tried to call her, “Cor, cor” and tried to hug her but she said, “Stop pecking and let me go to sleep. I wish you were a crow. I would have some peace!” Ruky turned to other side, stopped sobbing and wondered what this “peace” meant and why he had to be a crow for that.
Cora was happy at the sudden calm and was just settling into deep sleep when she heard a flutter. She looked around to see who the intruder was and saw dark bird fly in circles above her and dart through the window.
Next she looked next to her and was horrified when she saw that Ruky was missing. His empty place was still warm; perhaps he had slid softly from the bed. With trembling haste she lighted the candle, and peered into every corner. The boy was not to be found!
Then those fearful words rang in her ears: “I wish you were a crow. I would have some peace!”
Cora rushed outside and screamed, “Ruky! Ruky!”
“Caw, caw!” answered a harsh voice from the low-branching tree, the tree Ruky used to climb.
With outstretched arms, she cried out again, “Oh, Ruky, if it is you, come back to poor Cor!”
“Caw, caw!” mocked hundreds of voices. With a thunder-like noise and big shadow rose into the sky. It was an huge flock of crows, hundreds of them. She could distinguish them plainly in the starlight, circling higher and higher, then lower and lower, until, with their harsh “Caw, caw!” they flew far off into the night.
“Oh, Ruky, answer me!” she cried. But it was no use. The crows have flown away. She came back to the cottage and cried herself to sleep.
Next day, she scattered grain all around his favorite tree. Before long, to her great joy, a flock of crows came by. They were soon were busily picking it up with their short, feathered bills. One even came near the mound where she sat. Unable to restrain herself longer, she fell upon her knees with an imploring cry: “Oh, Ruky! is this you? Please come back”
Instantly the entire flock set up an angry “caw,” and, surrounding the crow, who was hopping closer and closer to Cora, and they all flew off. Every day, come rain or shine, Cora would spread some grains hoping that her Ruky crow would stay back. Everyday the crows used to come, eat and fly back.
Days passed, it was now winter. Neither the uncle came back nor Ruky stayed. She grew increasingly worried about him, about the cold and the hunters. She promised and prayed again and again that she would not be so angry.
One day as she was gathering firewood in knee deep snow, she saw a small back crow, storm-beaten and numb from the cold. She did not know if it was Ruky, but she had to save the bird anyway. Carrying him home, she sat next to the fire. The crow was not stirring. She stroked his feathers and blew into his beak. That warmed the crow a little bit. He opened his eyes and even ate a few grains.
She laid the bird next to her in bed and sobbed, “It may be Ruky! It is all I ask,” she sobbed. “I dare not ask for more.”
Suddenly she felt a peculiar stirring. Something soft and warm wound itself tenderly about her neck, and she heard a sweet voice saying: “Don’t cry, Cor,—I’ll be good.”
It was indeed Ruky! She looked at the clock, it has just been two hours. She had been asleep and crying. Ruky wiped her tears with his small hands. She said, “I love, my little bird”
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