Chapter 6

A Scarecrow Meets a Ghost

Jean was lying out under the cherry trees in the orchard. The cherries were getting ripe, and the blackbirds were greedily feasting on the juicy fruit.

The cook had sent Jean to the orchard to throw stones at the blackbirds and drive them out of the trees. But Jean was not interested in throwing stones at the blackbirds. He was only interested in watching them.

The birds were very black, but he noticed how their feathers changed when the sun shone on them. Then they seemed suddenly to turn to fiery colors—violet, blue, copper, and green. Their eyes were round and yellow. Now and then one stared down at the quiet boy, as if wondering what sort of a scarecrow he was.

“Ouch!” cried Jean, putting his hands over his ears. “You sound like a whole field of rusty wheelbarrows!”

He knew blackbirds could not sing very well, but this did not seem to bother them. They tried just the same. Their voices sounded wheezy and cracked, like broken whistles. When such a large chorus of them sang at once, the noise was almost deafening.

Soon the carriage rolled up from the barn, and his stepmother and sister came out of the house and got in. They were dressed in beautiful muslin dresses and were carrying their best parasols.

“Don’t let the blackbirds fly away with your nose, Jean!” called Rose, waving her hand at him. She had grown into a very dainty, ladylike little girl, and sometimes she was a little ashamed of her brother’s looks.

Jean was happy when he saw the carriage disappear. His father was away. Now his mother and sister were away, and nobody was around to ask him where he was going.

Dear Maman would have been sure to say, “But, darling, what if you should fall from that great old tower!”

His little sister might even have cried, for she always wanted to hurry fast by the old windmill tower.

“I am not afraid of any ghost that cries, ‘Hoo-hoo’ at children,” thought Jean bravely. “I would just like to see a ghost! I’d draw a picture of it!”

With no more thought for the blackbirds, he raced out of the orchard and down the lane toward the old mill tower.

He didn’t stop and look for birds’ nests along the way, or see if he could find another tortoise to add to his collection. Today he was going to meet the ghost.

Behind him in the cherry orchard the blackbirds fluttered and ate and gabbled in their rusty voices. They were very happy to have the cherry trees to themselves. Jean was the kind of scarecrow they liked.

“I’m not a bit afraid,” said Jean to himself, as he came to the old windmill. He didn’t believe in ghosts any more than he did in witches or fairies.

Still, his heart was pounding fast and hard as he came to the lonely old mill. He put his hand over it and felt the quick beat, beat, beat.

“Like the heart of that little field hare which we caught in the meadow last week!” he teased himself. Then he took a long breath and held his head high.

“I am the son of Captain Jean Audubon,” he said. “He is one of the bravest men in the world and has fought pirates, sailors, and soldiers. I am the son of a brave man!”

He looked all around him, but there was no one in sight, not even a farmer in the field. Only a busy chickadee, industriously hunting for cankerworm moths and their eggs, stopped pecking for an instant and stared at the boy in a friendly, curious way.

Jean listened. He wondered if the ghost was looking at him from the ramshackle tower. He did not hear any sound from the mill. Only the silvery tinkling notes of the hard-working little chickadee and the sad musical call of a cuckoo in the field broke the summer stillness.

He pushed open the door and jumped as a frightful screech sounded on his ears. Then he laughed. It was only the rusty hinges of the old door, screaming for oil. He stepped inside.

The light in the mill was very dim. Old, old dust from a forgotten grinding lay about the floor. Mice scurried swiftly away on their tiny feet. Bits of corncobs and chaff lay about.

“Nothing here!” said the boy cheerily. His voice sounded quite strange to him.

A crooked stairway led upstairs. He went slowly up the steps, looking about as he went. Long black cobwebs were draped like ghostly veils along the stairway, and a plump spider, swinging back and forth on a long silver thread, almost landed on his inquisitive nose.

“I have seen many bigger spiders than you!” said Jean. But his voice was quite soft. Somehow, a loud voice sounded out of place in this silent, ghostly, dusty mill.

There was nothing more dangerous upstairs, either. “Nothing here but dust and cobwebs,” he reassured himself.

His heart was beating very fast. There was a ladder leading up to the tower. It was an old tumbledown ladder and it led to a dark little trap door, far above him.

He went up the ladder. Some of the rungs were missing. He almost fell when one broke under his foot. He went slower as he came near the top.

At last he put his head through. “Hello!” he said. There was no answer. “Hello there, Mr. Ghost!” he said in a louder voice. Still nothing answered. He stepped into the old tower.

He looked around. There was no ghost up here. There were only more dust and cobwebs and scampering mice.

Suddenly a board broke beneath his foot. He caught at something to keep from falling. It moved under his hand. A wailing, groaning noise came to his ears, and the clanking sound of a chain. But before he was really scared, Jean saw that he had caught hold of the old chain which turned the mill wheel. It had made the noise.

He looked around. There was still no ghost. But he felt out of breath, and he sat down for a minute to rest.

Then he heard it. Had the villagers been right? There was the Noise, very plain and very close. “Hoohoo!”

Jean looked all around. He did not see a thing and that made it worse. “Maybe I had better be going!” he thought. After all, the cook had told him to keep the blackbirds away from the cherries, and he did like cherry pie.

He turned around quickly. And there, almost at his nose, he saw the strangest creature. It was hiding in the darkness of the tower eaves, and it looked at him silently.

“A cat!” whispered Jean. It had big yellow eyes, pointed ears, and an unfriendly face. But its nose was not at all like the nose of old Fifi, the kitchen cat. Its nose was—yes, it was long and hooked!

“And it has feathers!” thought the boy, very puzzled, as he stood back and gazed. The feathers were brown and yellowish. They were very much like Fifi’s fur, but they were feathers all the same.

“I wonder how many feet you have?” thought Jean, burning with curiosity. He put out a hand to touch the creature.

It hissed at him fiercely and struck his hand. A long red scratch spread across the top of his hand. Jean hardly noticed the stinging pain.

“You hiss like a cat. You stare like a cat. You have ears like a cat and feathers like a bird, and your beak is like a parrot’s beak. Are you a cat or a bird?” (Figure 6.1)

Figure 6.1: “I’ve seen a cat with feathers.”

The creature hissed again, and then it suddenly unfolded a pair of wings and flew into another corner. Jean continued to watch. Then he saw the weird thing catch a mouse—exactly like a cat would.

“You are too much for me!” cried the boy. He scrambled quickly down the rickety ladder, down the crooked stairway, and out through the creaking door.

He had seen the ghost, but what was it? “What a strange creature!” Jean exclaimed. “I’ve seen a cat with feathers.”