ng. One day
when the fisherman's children were more annoying than they had ever
been before, they said to the twins:

"We are the true-born children of Christians, but you, with all your
neatness and superiority, are but castaways, without any other father
or mother than the river, and belong to the toads and frogs!"

Upon receiving this insult the poor brother and sister were so filled
with shame and distress that they determined to go right away from
home and travel in search of their real parents At the early dawn next
day they got up and went forth without any one knowing it, and began
their journey, travelling they knew not whither.

Half the day passed by, and they had not perceived as yet any abode,
nor seen a single living being. They were hungry, thirsty, and tired,
when on turning round a hillside, they discovered a little house and,
on reaching it, they found it empty and its inhabitants absent.

Thoroughly disheartened, they seated themselves on a bench in the
doorway to rest. After a little while they noticed a number of
swallows collected together under the eaves of the roof, and as these
birds are such chatter-boxes, they began to prattle with one another.
Having learned the language of birds, the children knew what the
swallows said.

"Holloa! my lady friend," said one of the birds, who had a somewhat
rustic air about it, to another that was of a very elegant and
distinguished mien, "my eyes are glad to see you once more! I thought
you had forgotten your country friends. How do you live in the
palace?"

"I possess the nest of my ancestors," replied the other, "and as yet
they have not disinherited me, although, like yours, it is a century
old. But tell me before all," continued she with admirable finesse,
"how you and all your family are."

"Well, thank heaven, for although I have had my little Mariguita laid
up with an inflammation of the eyes that was within an ace of leaving
her blind, when I obtained our old remedy, the _pito-real_, it cured
her as if by magic."

"But what news have you to relate to me, friend Beatrice? Does the
nightingale still sing well? Does the lark soar as high as of yore?
Does the linnet still prune itself?"

"Sister," responded the swallow, "I have nothing but downright
scandals to tell you of. Our flock, which formerly was so innocent and
temperate, is utterly lost, and has quite taken to the manners of
mankind. It is heartbreaking!"

"What! Simple customs and