h a sudden yearning gesture:

"Oh!" she whispered, "if I were only--just a picture, like you."

CHAPTER XXXI

_Which, being the last, is, very properly, the longest in the book_

In those benighted days when men went abroad cased in steel, and, upon
very slight provocation, were wont to smite each other with axes, and
clubs, to buffet and skewer each other with spears, lances, swords, and
divers other barbarous engines, yet, in that dark, and doughty age,
ignorant though they were of all those smug maxims, and excellent
moralities with which we are so happily blessed,--even in that
unhallowed day, when the solemn tread of the policeman's foot was all
unknown,--they had evolved for themselves a code of rules whereby to
govern their life, and conduct. Amongst these, it was tacitly agreed
upon, and understood, that a spoken promise was a pledge, and held to be
a very sacred thing, and he who broke faith, committed all the cardinal
sins. Indeed their laws were very few, and simple, easily understood,
and well calculated to govern man's conduct to his fellow. In this day
of ours, ablaze with learning, and culture,--veneered with a fine
civilization, our laws are complex beyond all knowing and expression;
man regulates his conduct--to them,--and is as virtuous, and honest as
the law compels him to be.

This is the age of Money, and, therefore, an irreverent age; it is also
the age of Respectability (with a very large R),--and the
policeman's bludgeon.

But in Arcadia--because it is an old-world place where life follows an
even, simple course, where money is as scarce as roguery, the old law
still holds; a promise once given, is a sacred obligation, and not to be
set aside.

Even the Black-bird, who lived in the inquisitive apple tree,
understood, and was aware of this, it had been born in him, and had
grown with his feathers. Therefore,--though, to be sure, he had spoken
no promise, signed no bond, nor affixed his mark to any agreement, still
he had, nevertheless, borne in mind a certain request preferred to him
when the day was very young. Thus, with a constancy of purpose worthy of
all imitation, he had given all his mind, and thought, to the
composition of a song with a new theme. He had applied himself to it
most industriously all day long, and now, as the sun began to set, he
had at last corked it all out,--every note, every quaver, and trill;
and, perched upon a look-out branch, he kept his bold, bright eye