And now I think of it, I know I
have often seen them looking troubled, and I have never asked them
what was the matter. And now I see, too, that I did not ask
because I suspected it had something to do with me and my
behaviour, and didn't want to hear the truth. And I know I have
been grumbling at my work, and doing a hundred other things that
are wrong.'
'You have got it, Curdie,' said the old lady, in a voice that
sounded almost as if she had been crying. 'When people don't care
to be better they must be doing everything wrong. I am so glad you
shot my bird!'
'Ma'am!' exclaimed Curdie. 'How can you be?'
'Because it has brought you to see what sort you were when you did
it, and what sort you will grow to be again, only worse, if you
don't mind. Now that you are sorry, my poor bird will be better.
Look up, my dovey.'
The pigeon gave a flutter, and spread out one of its red-spotted
wings across the old woman's bosom.
'I will mend the little angel,' she said, 'and in a week or two it
will be flying again. So you may ease your heart about the
pigeon.'
'Oh, thank you! Thank you!' cried Curdie. 'I don't know how to
thank you.'
'Then I will tell you. There is only one way I care for. Do
better, and grow better, and be better. And never kill anything
without a good reason for it.'
'Ma'am, I will go and fetch my bow and arrows, and you shall burn
them yourself.
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