elf an instrument of
justice."

"All the same, I should call it uncommonly hard luck to be born a
sparrow--within your jurisdiction," he said.

"It is not an affair of luck," said she. "One is born a sparrow--within
my jurisdiction--for one's sins in a former state.--No, you little
dovelings"--she turned to a pair of finches on the greensward near her,
who were lingering, and gazing up into her face with hungry, expectant
eyes--"I have no more. I have given you my all." And she stretched out
her open hands, palms downwards, to convince them.

"The sparrows got nothing; and the goldfinches, who got 'your all,'
grumble because you gave so little," said Peter, sadly. "That is what
comes of interfering with the laws of Nature." And then, as the two
birds flew away, "See the dark, doubtful, reproachful glances with which
they cover you."

"You think they are ungrateful?" she said. "No--listen."

She held up a finger.

For, at that moment, on the branch of an acacia, just over her head, a
goldfinch began to sing--his thin, sweet, crystalline trill of song.

"Do you call that grumbling?" she asked.

"It implies a grumble," said Peter, "like the 'thank you' of a
servant dissatisfied with his tip. It's the very least he can do. It's
perfunctory--I 'm not sure it is n't even ironical."

"Perfunctory! Ironical!" cried the Duchessa. "Look at him! He's warbling
his delicious little soul out."

They both paused to look and listen.

The bird's gold-red bosom palpitated. He marked his modulations by
sudden emphatic movements of the head. His eyes were fixed intently
before him, as if he could actually see and follow the shining thread of
his song, as it wound away through the air. His performance had all the
effect of a spontaneous rhapsody. When it was terminated, he looked
down at his auditors, eager, inquisitive, as who should say, "I hope you
liked it?"--and then, with a nod clearly meant as a farewell, flew out
of sight.

The Duchessa smiled again at Peter, with intention.

"You must really try to take a cheerier view of things," she said.

And next instant she too was off, walking slowly, lightly, up the green
lawns, between the trees, towards the castle, her gown fluttering in the
breeze, now dazzling white as she came into the sun, now pearly grey as
she passed into the shade.

"What a woman it is," said Peter to himself, looking after her. "What
vigour, what verve, what sex! What a woman!"

And, indeed, th