From the branch this persistent and pleasing bird shortly removed itself
to the window-sill of one of the bedrooms, and into this room, when
breakfast was over, the children trooped. The dove was pecking eagerly
at the window-pane. "Let's open the window for it," said one of the
girls, "and see what happens." Very gently, then, the window was opened,
and what immediately happened was that, without the least sign of alarm,
nay rather with the air of one repeating a customary action, the dove
walked in, took a short flight, and settled on the toilet-table. There
it caught sight of its soft grey reflection in the looking-glass and at
once began to parade up and down before it, swelling itself out and
bobbing its head in evident admiration of the beautiful being so
fortunately offered to its view. Soon it attempted to approach this
vision, but was surprised to find itself foiled by the cold impermeable
surface of the glass. Puzzled, but not, I think, definitely hopeless--it
performs the same antics in one or other of the bedrooms every day--it
left the toilet-table, circled round the room and perched confidingly on
the shoulder of one of the little girls who were admiring it, and began
once more to coo in a very ecstasy of enjoyment.

Later on, food was provided for it, which it pecked up without the least
shyness. Since then it has established itself on a very firm clawing, if
I may use the term, as a necessary inmate of the house. Fluttering
through the passages it follows the maids from room to room in the
morning and shows the most lively interest in their work while beds are
being made or tables dusted. It has the most perfect trustfulness, not
merely allowing itself to be handled, but coming to perch on a wrist or
shoulder as if it had belonged there from, time immemorial. It really is
a pretty thing to have about the house, an embodiment of gentleness and
kindness, and, so far as a mere human being can judge, of an almost
dog-like gratitude and affection. I have seen a bullfinch swell up in a
passionate agitation of love when from its cage it beheld its dear
mistress enter the room, but it had never occurred to me before this to
attribute such a feeling to a dove. I ought, I suppose, to have known
better, as I now do. At this very moment it is cooing away like mad at
its declaration of undying love from its favourite haunt on the
mantelpiece of one of the bedrooms.

But it has another utterance which it employs at r