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.
Pages:
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462