CHAPTER II.

ROSE HIDING THE DOVE.

WHILE Rose was engaged with the tiny old woman and her talking birds, an unusual bustle had been going on at home, and it might truly be said, "the whole house was being turned out of window." Miss Tatchet's health did not allow of any great exertion, but she kept fidgetting backwards and forwards from the parlour to the kitchen, and the kitchen to the parlour, and ringing the bell every other minute to ascertain how Barbara was getting on, or to remind her of something she had not forgotten. In fact, she threw herself into such an agitation, that before the morning was half over, she was obliged to retire to the drawing-room, where she lay down upon the sofa, "quite worn out."

Now this apartment, which was only used on high-days and holidays, had just been put in apple-pie order. A pretty vase of flowers, arranged by Margaret, stood in the centre of the table; the furniture was uncovered, that the gay damask chairs might appear in all their glory; and the carpet shone

out so fresh and new, it seemed a sacrilege to set a foot upon it. Fatigued as Miss Tatchet was, she could not help observing that the effect was highly satisfactory, and as there was nothing either to find fault with, or to mend, she covered her face with her handkerchief, and resigned herself to repose. But no sooner had she closed her eyes, than the door opened, and in came Frank followed by Rose and Margaret.

"O Aunt, do look!" cried they, "Rose has found such a beautiful bird! It is a dove, all black, and it says coo, coo, so prettily."

"I wish you children would keep out of the room, while I am lying down," said Miss Tatchet, whose aversion to birds was quite proverbial; "I never can have a moment's quiet."

"But Aunt, do just look at its eyes how sharp and bright they are! and it winks so cunningly," cried Rose, holding it out for her aunt to see.

"It is an ugly little creature," said Miss Tatchet, ungraciously, "and birds are such noisy things; I think you had a great deal better let it go."

"O, but Aunt, I have had so much trouble to catch it;" said Rose, imploringly; "you cannot think how long I was trying to coax it down from the tree."

"Well, if you keep it up stairs out of my sight, I don't so much mind," returned Miss Tatchet, "it would fidget me beyond anything, to see it hopping about in the parlour."

"We must have a cage, or Ponto will make quick work

of it," cried Frank; "there is a capital one in the lumberroom, that might have been made on purpose."

"It will be your own fault if Ponto does, Frank," said Miss Tatchet, "I have forbidden you, over and over again, to let that dog loose. And pray don't get yourself all over dirt, just when your uncle is coming."

"He is not coming to-day, but to-morrow, Aunt;" said Rose, drawing herself up, and feeling quite proud of her knowledge.

"And how do you know, when he is coming?" asked Miss Tatchet, raising her head.

"A little bird told it me," replied Rose, with a complacent smile.

"What nonsense!" returned Miss Tatchet, lying down again and closing her eyes, "run along, all of you, and tell Barbara to get my lunch ready, or the coach will be in before I have had time to eat it."

Rose felt very much offended that so little importance was attached to her information, and as she followed her sister up stairs, a cloud of disappointment gathered on her brow. She stood and looked on with an abstracted air, while Margaret contrived a nest for the dove, in the corner of the window board, where the sun shone in the brightest. "How can I make her understand the old woman's secret?" thought she, for until this moment, neither of the two little girls had a sorrow or a joy unshared by the other; "and of what use will the dove be, unless it may talk?"

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"O Rose, see how it pecks at the lump of sugar

I

have given it," said Margaret, joyfully; "I hope it will never be so ungrateful as to fly away! don't you?”

"That would be a pity indeed!" returned Rose in a tone of unusual gravity.

"But you need not look so serious," interrupted Margaret; "it seems as if it would make itself very happy and contented;" and she smoothed down its feathers, and stroked its pretty little head.

"Margaret," began Rose, drawing a long breath, as though something important were on her mind, "Margaret, do you know there is a more wonderful thing about that dove, than merely its feathers being black?"

"Its feathers are not so very extraordinary," replied Margaret; "I remember we were reading but yesterday of the black doves of Dodona that could talk."

"Yes, and my dove can talk too!" said Rose quickly, and feeling relieved of a great secret.

"You are joking now, Rose!" said Margaret; "only parrots can talk, and very noisy and disagreeable they are. I am glad you did not find a parrot, for what would Aunt Tatchet have done then?"

"I am sure I don't know," replied Rose, coming close up to her sister and lowering her voice; "but O Margaret, I met this morning the oddest old woman I have ever seen, she was not higher than that!"

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Why she must have been a dwarf!" said Margaret, who still thought that Rose was making believe.

"O no, she was not a dwarf, but she knew my name,

and all about me, and Aunt Tatchet, and Captain Wilton too; only think of that, Margaret!"

"And did she tell you that Captain Wilton was not coming to-day?" asked Margaret, in a tone of surprise.

"O no, but she told me a secret more wonderful than that; she says that birds can talk, and tell us everything that is going to happen!"

"What a wicked old woman she must have been!" said Margaret; "I would not have listened to a word she had to say; it is quite impossible for anybody to know what is going to happen."

"Birds do though, I am certain," said Rose; "for directly she was gone, I found this dove; I asked it whether my Uncle was coming to day, and it said not to-day but to-morrow;" and Rose nodded mysteriously.

"I never heard of such a thing in my life!" said Margaret, retreating from the dove, and turning pale with terror.

"Well, you need not be frightened," said Rose, "but just ask it a question yourself, and see whether it will not answer you."

"Oh no, I would not be so wicked for the world!" cried Margaret.

"I don't think it would be wicked at all," interrupted Rose; "nothing would be more delightful than to know what was going to happen."

Margaret shook her head. "Rose," said she earnestly, "do be advised, and let this wicked dove fly away."

"A likely matter indeed, when I have had so much