town.

They paused no longer at the Dovecot than was needed to hustle Daddy
Darwin on to the seat beside Master Shaw, and for Jack to fill his
pockets with peas, and take his place beside the constable. He had
certain ideas of his own on the matter, which were not confused by the
jogtrot of the light cart, which did give a final jumble to poor Daddy
Darwin's faculties.

No wonder they were jumbled! The terrors of the night past, the shock of
the morning, the completeness of the loss, the piteous sight in the
pigeon-house, remorseful shame, and then--after all these years, during
which he had not gone half a mile from his own hearthstone--to be set up
for all the world to see, on the front seat of a market-cart, back to
back with the parish constable, and jogged off as if miles were nothing,
and crowded streets were nothing, and the Beaulieu Gardens were nothing;
Master Shaw talking away as easily as if they were sitting in two
armchairs, and making no more of "stepping into" a lawyer's office, and
"going on" to the Town Hall, than if he were talking of stepping up to
his own bedchamber or going out into the garden!

That day passed like a dream, and Daddy Darwin remembered what happened
in it as one remembers visions of the night.

He had a vision (a very unpleasing vision) of the proprietor of the
Beaulieu Gardens, a big greasy man, with sinister eyes very close
together, and a hook nose, and a heavy watch chain, and a bullying
voice. He browbeat the constable very soon, and even bullied Master Shaw
into silence. No help was to be had from him in his loud indignation at
being supposed to traffic with thieves.

When he turned the tables by talking of slander, loss of time, and
compensation, Daddy Darwin smelt money, and tremblingly whispered to
Master Shaw to apologize and get out of it. "They're gone for good," he
almost sobbed: "Gone for good, like all t' rest! And I'll not be long
after 'em."

But even as he spoke he heard a sound which made him lift up his head.
It was Jack's call at feeding-time to the pigeons at the Dovecot. And
quick following on this most musical and most familiar sound there came
another. The old man put both his lean hands behind his ears to be sure
that he heard it aright--the sound of wings--the wings of a dove!

The other men heard it and ran in. Whilst they were wrangling, Jack had
slipped past them, and had made his way into a weird enclosure in front
of the pigeon-house. And ther