seven doves, and, when I
took the little basket from the bill of the first and prettiest one, it
told me a story. Do you want to hear it?"

"Yes, yes; but be quick, or we shall be interrupted."

Then Barine leaned farther back among the cushions, lowered her long
lashes, and began: "Once upon a time there was a woman who had a garden
in the most aristocratic quarter of the city--here near the Paneum, if
you please. In the autumn, when the fruit was ripening, she left the
gate open, though all her neighbours did the opposite. To keep away
unbidden lovers of her nice figs and dates, she fastened on the gate a
tablet bearing the inscription: 'All may enter and enjoy the sight of
the garden; but the dogs will bite any one who breaks a flower, treads
upon the grass, or steals the fruit.'

"The woman had nothing but a lap-dog, and that did not always obey her.
But the tablet fulfilled its purpose; for at first none came except
her neighbours in the aristocratic quarter. They read the threat, and
probably without it would have respected the property of the woman who
so kindly opened the door to them. Thus matters went on for a time,
until first a beggar came, and then a Phoenician sailor, and a thievish
Egyptian from the Rhakotis--neither of whom could read. So the tablet
told them nothing; and as, moreover, they distinguished less carefully
between mine and thine, one trampled the turf and another snatched from
the boughs a flower or fruit. More and more of the rabble came, and you
can imagine what followed. No one punished them for the crime, for they
did not fear the barking of the lap-dog, and this gave even those who
could read, courage not to heed the warning. So the woman's pretty
garden soon lost its peculiar charm; and the fruit, too, was stolen.
When the rain at last washed the inscription from the tablet, and saucy
boys scrawled on it, there was no harm done; for the garden no longer
offered any attractions, and no one who looked into it cared to enter.
Then the owner closed her gate like the neighbours, and the next year
she again enjoyed the green grass and the bright hues of the flowers.
She ate her fruit herself, and the lap-dog no longer disturbed her by
its barking."

"That is," said her mother, "if everybody was as courteous and as well
bred as Gorgias, Lysias, and the others, we would gladly continue to
receive them. But since there are rude fellows like Antyllus--"

"You have understood the story corr