lukewarm servants of the monarch!"

I wondered how the slaves regarded the woman who was independent and
wouldn't worship the god.

My mother twittered softly at my question, and I knew she was smiling
to herself. "Why," said she, "they call that kind of a woman a
crank--whatever that is."

It was very evident that this god Fashion was a cruel tyrant, and it
was clearly through his influence that we were killed, and I so told my
mother. She looked very sorrowful as she replied:

"Yes, the women do not hate us. They do not dislike to hear our pretty
songs; they have no revenge to gratify; but the god orders them to have
us killed, and they do it. He tells them that to wear our poor
mutilated dead bodies will add to their appearance, and so we are
sacrificed on the altar of their vanity and silly pride. As members of
humane societies women have denounced the docking of horses' tails as
cruel, but from what I know of woman's indifference to the sufferings
of the innocent birds, I venture to assert that were Fashion to say
that she should trim her cloak with horse tails there would not be left
an undocked horse in the country."

I knew my mother was very excited or she would never have been so
vehement.

"Just hear how those birds twitter," remarked one of the ladies,
looking up into our tree. "One would think they were holding an
indignation meeting over something."