he did so she rose lightly from the floor and
skimmed out of the window into the garden. Zaica had become a pretty
little bird, just as she had dreamed. Oh, how happy she was! She heard a
Lark singing far up in the sky. Opening her mouth, she warbled and
trilled as well as he, until he dropped down quickly to the earth,
thinking it must be his mate who sang so sweetly. She spied a Chicken
strayed too far from the mother Hen; and chuckling to herself
mischievously she imitated the warning cry of a Hawk, till the Chick ran
squawking back to the shelter of his mother's wing. She heard a hound
baying afar off, and with little trouble echoed the sound so perfectly
that a groom came running out of the stable, whistling for the dog which
he feared was straying from the kennel. Zaica found that as in her dream
she could imitate all the sounds which she heard; and she was so pleased
that she sang and sang and sang, hopping from tree to tree, teasing the
other birds with her mockery, and puzzling them, too.

As for poor Tourtourelle, when she waked it was very late. She yawned
and rubbed her eyes languidly, for she was still sleepy. Then looking
across to Zaica's bed she saw that it was empty. Her heart gave a great
thump, for she longed and longed to be a bird, but now she feared that
she was too late. In her white gown she ran out into the garden looking
for Zaica. But first she saw an old man leading his cow to the pasture.
And to the cow he said, "Coo-roo, coo-roo!" coaxing her to hasten.

"Coo-roo, coo-roo!" cried Tourtourelle, imitating him, she knew not why.
And as she said it she wondered at the strange feeling which came over
her. For her body felt very light and it seemed as if she could fly. She
looked down and saw that she was no longer covered with a little white
gown but with soft feathers of ashy gray, while wings sprouted from her
shoulders.

"Oh, I have become a bird!" she tried to say, but all she uttered
was--"Coo-roo, coo-roo!" For Tourtourelle was become a beautiful
Turtle-Dove, and that is all a Turtle-Dove can say.

"Coo-roo, coo-roo!" mocked a voice from the tree. And cocking her little
reddish eye Tourtourelle saw a brilliant Jay hopping in the branches,
imitating a Dove. Then it was the song of a Wren that she heard, then a
Lark, then a Thrush, then a Sparrow-Hawk,--all these sounds coming from
the one little throat of the happy bird on that bough. Tourtourelle
tried to do likewise, but all she could