whispered, scorning his economics. "Please make yourself
invisible, and be quiet."

Then, taking a handful of seed, and leaning forward, softly, softly she
began to intone--

"Tu-ite, tu-ite,
Uccelli, fringuelli,
Passeri, verdonelli,
Venite, venite!"

and so, da capo, over and over again.

And the birds, hesitating, gaining confidence, holding back, hopping
on, came nearer, nearer. A few, the boldest, entered the arbour . . .
they all entered . . . they hesitated, hung back, hopped on. Now they
were at her feet; now three were in her lap; others were on the table.
On the table, in her lap, at her feet, she scattered seed. Then she
took a second handful, and softly, softly, to a sort of lullaby tune,

"Perlino, Perlino,
Perlino Piumino,
Where is Perlino?
Come, Perlino,"

she sang, her open hand extended.

A greenfinch new up to the table, flew down to her knee, flew up to her
shoulder, flew down to her hand, and, perching on her thumb, began to
feed.

And she went on with her soft, soft intoning.

"This is Perlino,
So green, oh, so green, oh.
He is the bravest heart,
The sweetest singer, of them all.
I 'm obliged to impart my information
In the form of a chant;
For if I were to speak it out, prose-wise,
They would be frightened, they would fly away.
But I hope you admire
My fine contempt for rhyme and rhythm.
Is this not the ninth wonder of the world?
Would you or could you have believed,
If you had n't seen it?
That these wild birds,
Not the sparrows only,
But the shy, shy finches,
Could become so tame, so fearless?
Oh, it took time--and patience.
One had to come every day,
At the same hour,
And sit very still,
And softly, softly,
Monotonously, monotonously,
Croon, croon, croon,
As I am crooning now.
At first one cast one's seed
At a distance--
Then nearer, nearer,
Till at last--
Well, you see the result."

Her eyes laughed, but she was very careful not to move. Anthony,
blotted against the leafy wall behind him, sat as still as a statue.
Her eyes laughed. "Oh, such eyes!" thought he. Her red lips, smiling,
took delicious curves. And the hand on which Perlino perched, with its
slender fingers, its soft modelling, its warm whiteness, was like a
thing carved of rose-marble and made alive.

"And Perlino," she resumed her chant--

"Perlino Piumino
Is the bravest of them all.
And now that he has m