Peter left a few black feathers in Baudron's possession, and
escaping, flew over to the table by the window, where he hopped
about with the greatest coolness, muttering, "William the
Conqueror, ten sixty-six"--words which he had gathered from our
history lessons in the school. Baudrons was after him in a moment.
And now followed a terrible encounter. Instead of flying away the
bird deliberately met the cat and stabbed at him valiantly with his
long, heavy beak. They fell over on the floor together, and as they
struggled, amid much noise of growling and chattering and flapping
of wings, I flung my cap at them, trying to effect a separation.
Alas! before I could help the dominie's pet, the cat had the
uppermost of him, and ran off into the schoolmaster's private room
with the jackdaw held firmly in his teeth.
I followed, and tried to make the animal loosen his grip of poor
Peter. He growled and spat as I approached him, and, fearing for
the jackdaw's life, I hammered with my fist upon the door of the
schoolmaster's press bed and called out: "Mr. Drever! Mr. Drever!"
The dominie opened the bed door and sprang out to the rescue, his
red woollen nightcap upon his head. But his help was of little use.
We managed to get the cat away from his prey; but the bird was
fatally injured, blood was dripping from his neck as the good man
took him up in his hands caressingly.
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