The Snow Goose by Paul Gallico. Part 2.
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One November afternoon, three years after Philip came to the Great Marsh, a girl came to the door of the lighthouse with something in her arms. She was twelve years old, thin and untidy. She had fair hair and blue eyes.
She was afraid to knock at the door. People told strange stories about the man who lived in the lighthouse. But her reason for being here was more important than her fear. In one of the stories about him, the villagers said, ‘This hunchback man at the lighthouse can make hurt or sick birds better.’
The girl knocked at the door and waited. Slowly, the door opened. When she saw Philip, with his thick hair and beard, she nearly ran away. But then he spoke. He had a kind voice.
‘What do you want, little girl?’ he asked gently.
She pushed out her arms towards him. In them was a large, white bird. The bird did not move. There was blood on its feathers and more blood on the front of her dress. She gave the bird to him.
‘I found it,’ she said, quietly.
‘Did you?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s hurt.’
‘I can see that,’ he said.
‘Is it still alive?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Yes, I think so,’ he said, looking at it. ‘Come in, child, come in.’
Philip went inside, carrying the bird. The girl still felt afraid but she followed him. She wanted to see inside the lighthouse. He put the bird carefully on to the table. The room was warm; a fire was burning. There were many pictures on the wall, and the room was full of a strange but pleasant smell.
The bird moved, and Philip gently opened one of its large white wings. It was black at the end.
He turned to the girl. Where did you find it?’ he asked.
‘There’s a place in the marsh where the men shoot birds,’ she said. ‘What sort of bird is it?’
‘It’s a snow goose from Canada,’ he told her. Then he said to himself, in surprise: ‘But why is it here?’
‘Can you make it better?’ asked the girl.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Philip. ‘We’ll try. You can help.’
Philip put the things that he needed on the table. His gentle hands began to work on the bird, and the child watched with wide-open eyes.
‘She was shot, poor thing,’ he said.
‘Oh!’ she said.
‘One of her legs is broken, and the end of the wing,’ he said. ‘But not badly. We must cover the part of the wing that is hurt. Then, in the spring, the feathers will grow and she’ll be able to fly again.’
As he worked, he told her a wonderful story.
‘She’s only a young snow goose, you know – about a year old. She comes from Canada. That’s a big country far, far away across the ocean. In Canada the winters are very, very cold, so each year the snow geese fly south to warmer countries. But this time, as this snow goose was flying south, she flew into a great storm.
‘It was a wild, wild storm, and the wind picked her up and carried her with it for many days and nights. She had strong wings, but they could not help her. At last the storm ended and she was able to fly south again.
‘But now she was flying over England – a strange place to her, with strange birds. She was lost and tired, so she landed here in the friendly green marsh. And when she came down to rest, did we greet her like a visiting princess? No! A man with a gun tried to shoot her!’
He put a thin piece of wood on the broken leg to hold it straight. While he was mending the bird’s leg, he told her about the birds in his enclosure.
‘The geese in the enclosure flew all the way from Iceland and Spitzbergen,’ he told her. ‘They arrive in October. They make the sky dark because there are so many of them. The sound of their wings is like a strong wind.’
He finished mending the leg. Then they went outside and put the snow goose with the other birds. As he placed her gently in the enclosure, Philip said, ‘In a few days she’ll be much better. We’ll call her the Lost Princess.’
The girl looked pleased. Then she noticed that some of the birds were unable to fly.
‘What’s the matter with those birds?’ she asked. She pointed at two birds who were trying to fly.
‘I’ve cut the ends of their wings,’ he said, ‘so they can’t fly. They have to stay here.’
‘Does it hurt them?’ she asked.
‘No, no, little girl,’ he said, laughing gently. ‘The feathers will grow again next spring.’
‘So why do you cut their wings?’ she asked.
‘Because these birds will show the others that there’s food here. It’s a safe place for them to stay,’ he answered her. ‘In the spring, they’ll fly back to their homes in the north.’
While she listened to him, she forgot the strange stories about him. But suddenly she remembered them and ran to the path towards the village.
Philip called after her. ‘What’s your name?’
She stopped running and turned to answer him.
‘It’s Fritha,’ she called back.
‘Where do you live?’ he asked.
‘With the fishing people in the village,’ she replied.
‘Will you come back in a day or two? You can see how the Princess is,’ he said.
She did not answer immediately, but at last he heard her say, ‘Yes.’
Then she ran along the path.