He will never forgive us. After all, what harm does the boy do? He did
not intend to frighten me, I am sure, put it away, my dear--God will
never forgive us if you don't."
Who could resist a pleading tear from lovely Vera? Surely not the
Captain.
"You are right, my dear. He can do us no harm," he finally allowed.
At night there was a noise and commotion 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.
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