"Dead!" echoed Dido, with a fresh burst of sobs, and her tears fell in
the porridge, which Argutis, indeed, in his distress of mind had
forgotten to salt.

While this conversation was going on the gemcutter was feeding his birds.
Can this man, who stands there like any girl, tempting his favorites to
feed, with fond words and whistling, and the offer of attractive
dainties, be the stormy blusterer of last night? There is not a coaxing
name that he does not lavish on them, while he fills their cups with
fresh seed and water; and how carefully he moves his big hand as he
strews the little cages with clean sand! He would not for worlds scare
the poor little prisoners who cheer his lonely hours, and who have long
since ceased to fear him. A turtle-dove takes peas, and a hedge-sparrow
picks ants' eggs from his lips; a white-throat perches on his left hand
to snatch a caterpillar from his right. The huge man was in his garden
soon after sunrise gathering the dewy leaves for his feathered pets. But
he talks and plays longest with the starling which his lost wife gave
him. She had bought it in secret from the Bedouin who for many years had
brought shells for sale from the Red Sea, to surprise her husband with
the gift. The clever bird had first learned to call her name, Olympias;
and then, without any teaching, had picked up his master's favorite
lament, "My strength, my strength!"

Heron regarded this bird as a friend who understood him, and, like him,
remembered the never-to-be-forsaken dead. For three years had the gem
cutter been a widower, and he still thought more constantly and fondly of
his lost wife than of the children she had left him. Heron scratched the
bird's knowing little head, saying in a tone which betrayed his pity both
for himself and his pet "Yes, old fellow, you would rather have a soft