The Great Peacock 



table? I venture to feel sure of it; and I am 

 right. Here he comes, even sooner than I 

 expected. 



On the stroke of noon, as we were sitting 

 down to table, little Paul who is late owing 

 to his eager interest in what is likely to hap- 

 pen, suddenly runs up to us, his cheeks aglow. 

 In his fingers flutters a pretty Moth, a Moth 

 caught that moment hovering in front of my 

 study. Paul shows me his prize; his eyes ask 

 an unspoken question. 



"Hullo!" I say. "This is the very pilgrim 

 we were expecting. Let's fold up our nap- 

 kins and go and see what's happening. We 

 can dine later." 



Dinner is forgotten in the presence of the 

 wonders that are taking place. With incon- 

 ceivable punctuality, the plume-wearers hasten 

 to answer the captive's magic call. They ar- 

 rive one by one, with a tortuous flight. All 

 of them come from the north. This detail 

 has its significance. As a matter of fact, du- 

 ring the past week we have experienced a 

 fierce return of winter. The north wind has 

 been blowing a gale, killing the imprudent 

 almond-blossoms. It was one of those fero- 

 cious storms which, as a rule, usher in the 



