Storm Boy Read Online Free PDF

angrily. Then he took Mr Percival gently from Storm Boy and examined him—wiped his chest and straightened the shattered feathers of his wing. Mr Percival snackered his beak weakly and panted rapidly.
    ‘Will he…will Mr Percival…be all right?’ Storm Boy could hardly get the words out.
    Hide-Away handed the wounded bird back to him silently and looked out through the doorway towards the far track where the shooters had disappeared. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
    All day long Storm Boy held Mr Percival in his arms. In front of the rough iron stove where long ago he had first nursed the little bruised pelican into life, he now sat motionless and silent. Fingerbone tried to cheer him up, and Hide-Away offered him breakfast and dinner, but Storm Boy shook his head and sat on, numb and silent. Now and then he smoothed the feathers where they were matted and stuck together, or straightened the useless wing. But in his heart he knew what was happening. Mr Percival’s breathing was shallow and quick, his body and neck were drooping, and for long stretches at a time his eyes were shut. Then, suddenly, they would snap open again, clear and bright, and he would snacker his beak softly in a kind of sad, weak smile, before dozing off again.
    ‘Mr Percival,’ Storm Boy whispered, ‘you’re the best, best friend I ever had.’
    Teatime came, the sun dipped down, and long shadows began to move up from the hollows. For a while the tops of the high sandhills glowed golden in the evening light, but then they faded too and it was dark. Hide-Away didn’t light the lantern. Instead, the three of them stayed on in front of the little fireplace—Hide-Away, Storm Boy, and Mr Percival—while darkness filled the humpy and the stars came out as clear and pure as ice.
    And at nine o’clock Mr Percival died.
    Only then did Hide-Away move. He got up softly, and, gently, very gently, took Mr Percival from Storm Boy. And Storm Boy gave him up. Then at last he flung himself down on his bunk and sobbed softly to himself, hour after hour, until Hide-Away came over and put a hand on his shoulder.
    ‘It’s right that you should cry for Mr Percival for a while,’ he said, kindly and firmly, ‘but don’t keep on brooding, Storm Boy.’
    ‘B—But why did they shoot Mr…Mr Percival? He wasn—wasn’t hurting anyone; jus—just warning the ducks like always.’
    ‘In the world,’ Hide-Away said sadly, ‘there will always be men who are cruel, just as there will always be men who are lazy or stupid or wise or kind. Today you’ve seen what cruel and stupid men can do.’
    He pulled a blanket over Storm Boy and said quietly, ‘Now try to get some sleep.’
    But Storm Boy didn’t sleep. All night he lay clutching his cold wet pillow.
     
    In the morning Hide-Away spoke to Storm Boy.
    ‘The sailors will arrange to have Mr Percival put in the museum,’ he said, ‘with a notice saying how he saved their lives—and how he lost his. Would you like that?’
    Storm Boy shook his head. ‘Mr Percival wouldn’t have liked that,’ he said; ‘not to be shut up in a glass case for people to stare at. Never!’
    And he took the spade and climbed to the top of the big sandhill by the Lookout Post.
    ‘Mr Percival would want to be buried here,’ he said, ‘by the foot of the Lookout. This is his place for ever.’ And he began to dig.
    Hide-Away nodded. Then he took a shovel and went up to dig too.
    And so they buried Mr Percival deep beside the Lookout Post on top of the golden sandhill, with the beach below, and the shining sand and the salt smack of the sea there day and night—and all around was the wide sky, and the tang of the open air, and the wild lonely wind in the scrub. When they’d finished, Storm Boy stood for a long time looking silently all around him. Then he turned to Hide-Away.
    ‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’m ready to go now if you like.’
    ‘Go? Where to?’
    ‘To school! Like the sailors said.’
    ‘Oh!