appeared to be there, and all of the most beautiful
colours imaginable.

'But who is she?' queried the King.

'Why, my good Aunt Galladia, of course, but it's too long a story to
tell standing up, so let us sit down by the roadside, and you shall hear
all about it.'

Every one now seated themselves on the grass by the side of the road and
over a comforting cup of tea, speedily brewed by Boadicea, the long man
began his story:--

'My good aunt's full name was Galladia Glowmutton, and she was the only
daughter of that gallant general, Sir Francis Melville Glowmutton, who
distinguished himself so greatly in the defence of his country.

'It was my good fortune to spend my earliest days in this good
creature's company, she, noble soul that she was, having undertaken to
look after me when my poor father and mother disappeared in a sand-storm
many years before.

'The greater part of her life this good woman had devoted to brightening
the declining years of her well-loved father, whose arduous life, poor
man, had left him in his old age, truth to tell, rather a tiresome, and
sometimes a difficult, subject to get on with. However, thanks to her
devotion and patience, he led a tolerably happy life. In the course of
time the old warrior died and left the sorrowing lady well provided
for,--that is, over and beyond necessaries, with sufficient money to
keep up appearances, and even enough for her simple pleasures and
hobbies.

'For some months my good aunt could not fill the blank in her life left
by the loss of her father. So much kindness, however, could not be kept
back for long, and was bound in the course of time to find its object.
Always with a love for every feathered creature, she at last set about
gathering around her as complete a collection of them as she could
obtain. Soon she had in her aviaries the most marvellous assembly of
birds ever brought together even at the Zoo. There were specimens of the
Paraguay gull, Borneo parrots, Australian gheck ghees, the laughing
grete, Malay anchovy wren that only feeds upon anchovies (and very
amusing indeed it is, too, to watch them spearing the little fish with
their beaks and then trying to shake them off again), and the
golden-crested mussel hawk, that swoops down from an incredible height
and, snatching its prey from the rocks, again disappears in the sky.
Without wearying you with a long list, nearly every known bird was
represented in my aunt's collection, from the