with it, and he heard
himself forthwith accosted. "Father, I wish you'd tell me; I was out in
the woods just now, and a bird was singing----"

"Very wonderful, I'm sure. A bird usually sings in a garret, or a
cellar, of course."

"Don't you laugh at me, father; you know about birds, and I don't; and I
really do want you to tell me why one should sing, and the others not,
at this time of year?"

"Tell you that? _I_ can't. They're made so." But the general did not
speak as gruffly as usual, and emboldened, she proceeded.

"Well, but what bird is it that sings--sings just as if it were summer?"

"A robin, of course, you ignorant little thing. Given a bit of sunshine,
a robin will sing all the year round."

"Oh," said Leo, profoundly attentive, "all the year round, will he? Why,
I wonder?"

"If you come to 'whys' you may 'why' for ever. Why does a swallow build
on a housetop and a lark in a meadow? Why does a stork stand on one
leg----"

"Oh, and I saw a heron to-day," cried she vivaciously. "Now where did
that heron come from?"

"From Lord St. Emeraud's heronry. They often fly over here in the
winter."

"What for, father?"

"Bless my soul, Leo, how can I tell you what for? What's all this sudden
interest in natural history about? Get a book and read it up,"--and he
was turning away, but this was just what he was not to do.

"Can't you sit down and talk to me a little?" quoth Leo, plaintively; "I
don't care for those kind of books much. And you could tell me a lot I
want to know; about seabirds, for instance. I never can understand how
some can swim and some can't. And then there are the birds that go away
in the autumn----"

"Stop--stop!"

"And there are the other kinds of birds----"

"Of course there are. What's all this hullabaloo about birds for?" He
was half disposed to be pugnacious, but even a fighting-cock could
hardly have quarrelled with Leonore in this vein. She was so unconscious
of giving offence, so friendly and sociable, had such a little smiling
way of her own, that even General Boldero was won upon, and, indeed, had
never looked so little disagreeable in his life.

Here was a chatterbox certainly, and he had all the dislike of a
suspicious, stupid man for chatterboxes. He despised them--with an
inkling that they despised him. When he did talk, he wished to lead the
talk,--and such was the feeling he inspired in the neighbourhood, that
he was gladly allowed to do so. No one cared to pu