to come up after him. And even if they did, he could surely climb
away from them along a thin limb that would not take the weight of two people.
The tree was a fairly easy one to climb, with several low branches to give him
a start up. He began climbing. The huge white wings dangling from his arms kept
getting in the way, but it didn't matter. What mattered now to Peter was that
every inch upward was another inch away from his tormentors below. He had never
been a great one for tree-climbing and he wasn't especially good at it, but
nothing in the world was going to stop him from getting to the top of this one.
And once he was there, he thought it unlikely they would even be able to see
him because of the leaves.
"Higher!" shouted Ernie's voice. "Keep goin '!"
Peter kept going, and eventually he arrived at a point where it was impossible
to go higher. His feet were now standing on a branch that was about as thick as
a person's wrist, and this particular branch reached far out over the lake and
then curved gracefully downward. All the branches above him were very thin and
whippy, but the one he was holding on to with his hands was quite strong enough
for the purpose. He stood there, resting after the climb. He looked down for
the first time. He was very high up, at least fifty feet. But he couldn't see
the two boys. They were no longer standing at the base of the tree. Was it
possible they had gone away at last?
"All right, Mister Swan!" came the dreaded voice of Ernie. "Now
listen carefully!"
The two of them had walked some distance away from the tree to a point where
they had a clear view of the small boy at the top. Looking down at them now,
Peter realized how very sparse and slender the leaves of a willow tree were.
They gave him almost no cover at all.
"Listen carefully. Mister Swan!" the voice was shouting. "Start
walking out along that branch you're standin ' on! Keep goin ' till
you're right over the nice muddy water! Then you take off!"
Peter didn't move. He was fifty feet above them now and they weren't ever going
to reach him again. From down below, there was a long silence. It lasted maybe
half a minute. He kept his eyes on the two distant figures in the field. They
were standing quite still, looking up at him.
"All right then, Mister Swan!" came Ernie's voice again. "I'm gonna count to ten, right? And if you ain't spread them wings and flown away by then, I'm gonna shoot you down instead with this little gun! And
that'll make two swans I've knocked off today instead of one! So here we go,
Mister Swan! One !. . . Two !. . . Three !. . . Four !. . . Five !. . . Six !. . . "
Peter remained still. Nothing would make him move from now on.
"Seven. . . Eight !. . . Nine !.
. . Ten!"
Peter saw the gun coming up to the shoulder. It was pointing straight at him.
Then he heard the crack of the rifle
and the zip of the bullet as it
whistled past his head. It was a frightening thing. But he still didn't move.
He could see Ernie loading the gun with another bullet.
"Last chance!" yelled Ernie. "The next one's gonna get you!"
Peter stayed put. He waited. He watched the boy who was standing among the
buttercups in the meadow far below with the other boy beside him. The gun came
up once again to the shoulder.
This time he heard the crack at the
same instant the bullet hit him in the thigh. There was no pain, but the force
of it was devastating. It was as though someone had whacked him on the leg with
a sledgehammer, and it knocked both feet off the branch he was standing on. He
scrabbled with his hands to hang on. The small branch he was holding on to bent
over and split.
Some people, when they have taken too much and have been driven beyond the
point of endurance, simply crumble and give up. There are others, though they
are not many, who will for some reason always be unconquerable. You meet them
in time of war and also in time of peace. They have an indomitable spirit and
nothing, neither pain nor
away from them along a thin limb that would not take the weight of two people.
The tree was a fairly easy one to climb, with several low branches to give him
a start up. He began climbing. The huge white wings dangling from his arms kept
getting in the way, but it didn't matter. What mattered now to Peter was that
every inch upward was another inch away from his tormentors below. He had never
been a great one for tree-climbing and he wasn't especially good at it, but
nothing in the world was going to stop him from getting to the top of this one.
And once he was there, he thought it unlikely they would even be able to see
him because of the leaves.
"Higher!" shouted Ernie's voice. "Keep goin '!"
Peter kept going, and eventually he arrived at a point where it was impossible
to go higher. His feet were now standing on a branch that was about as thick as
a person's wrist, and this particular branch reached far out over the lake and
then curved gracefully downward. All the branches above him were very thin and
whippy, but the one he was holding on to with his hands was quite strong enough
for the purpose. He stood there, resting after the climb. He looked down for
the first time. He was very high up, at least fifty feet. But he couldn't see
the two boys. They were no longer standing at the base of the tree. Was it
possible they had gone away at last?
"All right, Mister Swan!" came the dreaded voice of Ernie. "Now
listen carefully!"
The two of them had walked some distance away from the tree to a point where
they had a clear view of the small boy at the top. Looking down at them now,
Peter realized how very sparse and slender the leaves of a willow tree were.
They gave him almost no cover at all.
"Listen carefully. Mister Swan!" the voice was shouting. "Start
walking out along that branch you're standin ' on! Keep goin ' till
you're right over the nice muddy water! Then you take off!"
Peter didn't move. He was fifty feet above them now and they weren't ever going
to reach him again. From down below, there was a long silence. It lasted maybe
half a minute. He kept his eyes on the two distant figures in the field. They
were standing quite still, looking up at him.
"All right then, Mister Swan!" came Ernie's voice again. "I'm gonna count to ten, right? And if you ain't spread them wings and flown away by then, I'm gonna shoot you down instead with this little gun! And
that'll make two swans I've knocked off today instead of one! So here we go,
Mister Swan! One !. . . Two !. . . Three !. . . Four !. . . Five !. . . Six !. . . "
Peter remained still. Nothing would make him move from now on.
"Seven. . . Eight !. . . Nine !.
. . Ten!"
Peter saw the gun coming up to the shoulder. It was pointing straight at him.
Then he heard the crack of the rifle
and the zip of the bullet as it
whistled past his head. It was a frightening thing. But he still didn't move.
He could see Ernie loading the gun with another bullet.
"Last chance!" yelled Ernie. "The next one's gonna get you!"
Peter stayed put. He waited. He watched the boy who was standing among the
buttercups in the meadow far below with the other boy beside him. The gun came
up once again to the shoulder.
This time he heard the crack at the
same instant the bullet hit him in the thigh. There was no pain, but the force
of it was devastating. It was as though someone had whacked him on the leg with
a sledgehammer, and it knocked both feet off the branch he was standing on. He
scrabbled with his hands to hang on. The small branch he was holding on to bent
over and split.
Some people, when they have taken too much and have been driven beyond the
point of endurance, simply crumble and give up. There are others, though they
are not many, who will for some reason always be unconquerable. You meet them
in time of war and also in time of peace. They have an indomitable spirit and
nothing, neither pain nor
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