ion on the roof. Vera awoke, but
then all was silent again. A fearful silence hung over the house,
interrupted only by the heavy breathing of her devoted soldier husband.

She remained awake until morning and was glad when she heard the
servants stir. Then thinking that a little music might be restful, she
dressed herself lightly and went down to the drawing room, opened the
piano and finally opened the shutter. There beneath her on the ground
lay Peter, with his face up--dead. His round child-like eyes stared
heavenward as his birds sat about in mournful groups of twos and fours.

The unfortunate Vera again rushed into the kitchen and sent for the
police before she ran, terrified by the sight she had just beheld, to
awaken her husband. In about an hour, although it seemed longer, the
poor folk of the village arrived and carried the body from the yard. Fat
Luba insisted upon halting the procession long enough so that she could
kiss the white forehead of the little dead master of the sky. A ring of
pigeons swirled around the procession as it marched down the hill.

Vera nursed up a little fever for herself and was put to bed, while
Luba, the cook, stood in the market-place and with tears in her eyes
told everybody that the Captain killed her little Major of the
Birds--"and now nobody will look after them, and they will make dirt
everywhere. And people will have to move away. And he is such a bad man
to take the crumbs away from little doves. And if he has any children, I
wish them the best of everything for they surely will be unfortunate."

Marking the spot where Peter fell were two new-born birds crushed beside
the stone house on the hill. Through the air swung a grand flight
describing an oval in the sky. At each end of the oval the pigeons beat
their wings as they rounded the curve. With mournful thuds they beat, as
they circled over the old farmer's house and again over the solid stone
house on the hill.

All day they flapped a tattoo with their wings and beat their sorrowful
dead sounds into lovely Vera's ears. In the evening the Captain sent for
the doctor.

All night long the uncontrollable feathery tribes encircled the town
with their monotonous beating and swishing of wings.

The next day Vera grew worse, as Luba in the market place kept insisting
that the Captain killed her Little Master of the Birds; until a
committee of three working-men took it upon themselves to investigate.
They started for the hil