if I had done right some
time and had forgotten how. When I killed your bird I did not know I
was doing wrong, just because I was always doing wrong, and the wrong
had soaked all through me.'

'What wrong were you doing all day, Curdie? It is better to come to
the point, you know,' said the old lady, and her voice was gentler even
than before.

'I was doing the wrong of never wanting or trying to be better. And now
I see that I have been letting things go as they would for a long time.
Whatever came into my head I did, and whatever didn't come into my head
I didn't do. I never sent anything away, and never looked out for
anything to come. I haven't been attending to my mother--or my father
either. And now I think of it, I know I have often seen them looking
troubled, and I have never asked them what was the matter. And now I
see, too, that I did not ask because I suspected it had something to do
with me and my behaviour, and didn't want to hear the truth. And I
know I have been grumbling at my work, and doing a hundred other things
that are wrong.'

'You have got it, Curdie,' said the old lady, in a voice that sounded
almost as if she had been crying. 'When people don't care to be better
they must be doing everything wrong. I am so glad you shot my bird!'

'Ma'am!' exclaimed Curdie. 'How can you be?'

'Because it has brought you to see what sort you were when you did it,
and what sort you will grow to be again, only worse, if you don't mind.
Now that you are sorry, my poor bird will be better. Look up, my dovey.'

The pigeon gave a flutter, and spread out one of its red-spotted wings
across the old woman's bosom.

'I will mend the little angel,' she said, 'and in a week or two it will
be flying again. So you may ease your heart about the pigeon.'

'Oh, thank you! Thank you!' cried Curdie. 'I don't know how to thank
you.'

'Then I will tell you. There is only one way I care for. Do better,
and grow better, and be better. And never kill anything without a good
reason for it.'

'Ma'am, I will go and fetch my bow and arrows, and you shall burn them
yourself.'

'I have no fire that would burn your bow and arrows, Curdie.'

'Then I promise you to burn them all under my mother's porridge pot
tomorrow morning.'

'No, no, Curdie. Keep them, and practice with them every day, and grow
a good shot. There are plenty of bad things that want killing, and a
day will come when they will prove useful.