n a moment of haste I believe that I may have done so," said the old
bird; "but I have thought it over, and I cannot conceive how my wood
can get on without me. How should all those foolish, timid birds look
after themselves without me, their king, to direct them? No! there I
was hatched, and there I must stay till I end my days. And I shall
feel proud if you will join me, and stay with me, and honour my wood
with your presence on--ahem!--an interesting occasion."

"Indeed?" said the Stag.

"Yes," said the old Pheasant; "I had the misfortune to lose my wife
when the wood was shot some weeks ago. She had not the courage to come
here with me,"--(this, I am sorry to say, was not quite true, for he
had run away alone to take care of himself without thinking of going
to fetch her)--"and I am contemplating a new alliance--not directly,
you understand--but in a couple of months I hope to have the pleasure
of presenting you to my bride."

The Stag was much tempted to ask how he could marry a Chinese; and the
Hind hesitated for a moment, for, as you will find out some day, every
mother is deeply interested in a wedding. But she and the Stag did not
like to be disturbed, and they could not trust the Cock-Pheasant's
assurance after all that had happened; besides, she had arrangements
of her own to make for the spring. So they congratulated him and bade
him good-bye; nor did they ever see him again. And if you ask me what
became of him, I think that he must have died in a good old age,
unless, indeed, he was that very big bird with the very long spurs
that was shot by Uncle Archie last year. For he was such a bird as we
never see nowadays, and, as he said himself, the last of his race.

So the winter wore away peacefully in the valley, and the spring came
again. The Stag shed his horns earlier than in the previous year, and
began to grow a finer pair than any that he had yet worn. And a little
later the Hind brought him a little Calf, so that there were now three
of them in the valley, and a very happy family they were. So there
they stayed till quite late in the summer, and indeed they might never
have moved, if they had not met the Salmon again one day when they
went down to the river. He was swimming upward slowly and gracefully,
his silver coat brighter than ever, and his whole form broader and
deeper and handsomer in every way. He jumped clean out of the water
when he saw them, and the Stag welcomed him back and asked him w