ring into a high-backed chair which
stood at it, tried to make out the meaning of the lines at the bottom of
the page with the aid of the pictures.

He had been more agitated during the day than usual, and he felt very
weary. Gradually his head dropped down on his arms, which were resting
on the table, and he fell fast asleep. Still he thought that he was
broad awake. To his surprise he saw before him the bird-cage, which he
was sure Fanny had taken up to granny's room, for he had seen her go in
with it; but there it stood on the table directly before him. Presently
he heard a chirping sound, just as the linnet used to sing, and looking
up, there, growing out of nothing, was the branch of a tree, and several
little birds exactly like Pecksy perched upon it, while many more were
flying through the sky towards him, and evidently coming down to join
the others. Instead of singing merrily, however, like little Pecksy,
their voices had a croaking angry sound. By degrees the voices changed
from the notes of birds into those of human beings.

"Naughty, naughty boy!" said a voice which seemed to come from behind,
"why did you kill Pecksy?"

Norman looked round. There, at the back of his chair he saw perched a
bird which nodded its head up and down, and glared at him with its
bright little eyes. He was too much frightened to reply; indeed, he had
nothing to say for himself.

"You will not answer, then I must answer for you," said the voice, which
evidently came from the bird, and though it spoke like a human being,
yet it had the sound of a bird's notes, only much louder and shriller
than any bird he had ever heard.

"You know that you were angry with little Robby, and jealous of your
sweet sister, and that when old Alec gave her our little brother you
resolved to kill it on the first opportunity. You thought of doing that
cruel deed not only then, but day after day, and you watched for an
opportunity. The opportunity came, and when you let the heavy book fall
down on the poor little innocent creature, you knew perfectly well that
it must kill him, if it did not press him as flat as a pancake. We will
not forget what you have done, Master Norman Vallery. When you come
into the garden we will not sing to you sweetly, but we will croak at
you like so many crows, and call you `Naughty, naughty boy!' When you
run away we will follow you, for we can fly faster than you can run, and
we will perch on the branches roun