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As
I
sat
there
watching
that
old
play
David
plucked
my
sleeve
to
ask
what
I
was
looking
at
so
deedily
;
and
when
I
told
him
he
ran
eagerly
to
the
window
,
but
he
reached
it
just
too
late
to
see
the
lady
who
was
to
become
his
mother
.
What
I
told
him
of
her
doings
,
however
,
interested
him
greatly
;
and
he
intimated
rather
shyly
that
he
was
acquainted
with
the
man
who
said
,
"
Haw-haw-haw
.
"
On
the
other
hand
,
he
irritated
me
by
betraying
an
idiotic
interest
in
the
two
children
,
whom
he
seemed
to
regard
as
the
hero
and
heroine
of
the
story
.
What
were
their
names
?
How
old
were
they
?
Had
they
both
hoops
?
Were
they
iron
hoops
,
or
just
wooden
hoops
?
Who
gave
them
their
hoops
?
"
You
do
n't
seem
to
understand
,
my
boy
,
"
I
said
tartly
,
"
that
had
I
not
dropped
that
letter
,
there
would
never
have
been
a
little
boy
called
David
A
--
--
.
"
But
instead
of
being
appalled
by
this
he
asked
,
sparkling
,
whether
I
meant
that
he
would
still
be
a
bird
flying
about
in
the
Kensington
Gardens
.
David
knows
that
all
children
in
our
part
of
London
were
once
birds
in
the
Kensington
Gardens
;
and
that
the
reason
there
are
bars
on
nursery
windows
and
a
tall
fender
by
the
fire
is
because
very
little
people
sometimes
forget
that
they
have
no
longer
wings
,
and
try
to
fly
away
through
the
window
or
up
the
chimney
.
Children
in
the
bird
stage
are
difficult
to
catch
.
David
knows
that
many
people
have
none
,
and
his
delight
on
a
summer
afternoon
is
to
go
with
me
to
some
spot
in
the
Gardens
where
these
unfortunates
may
be
seen
trying
to
catch
one
with
small
pieces
of
cake
.
That
the
birds
know
what
would
happen
if
they
were
caught
,
and
are
even
a
little
undecided
about
which
is
the
better
life
,
is
obvious
to
every
student
of
them
.
Thus
,
if
you
leave
your
empty
perambulator
under
the
trees
and
watch
from
a
distance
,
you
will
see
the
birds
boarding
it
and
hopping
about
from
pillow
to
blanket
in
a
twitter
of
excitement
;
they
are
trying
to
find
out
how
babyhood
would
suit
them
.
Quite
the
prettiest
sight
in
the
Gardens
is
when
the
babies
stray
from
the
tree
where
the
nurse
is
sitting
and
are
seen
feeding
the
birds
,
not
a
grownup
near
them
.
It
is
first
a
bit
to
me
and
then
a
bit
to
you
,
and
all
the
time
such
a
jabbering
and
laughing
from
both
sides
of
the
railing
.
They
are
comparing
notes
and
inquiring
for
old
friends
,
and
so
on
;
but
what
they
say
I
can
not
determine
,
for
when
I
approach
they
all
fly
away
.
The
first
time
I
ever
saw
David
was
on
the
sward
behind
the
Baby
's
Walk
.
He
was
a
missel-thrush
,
attracted
thither
that
hot
day
by
a
hose
which
lay
on
the
ground
sending
forth
a
gay
trickle
of
water
,
and
David
was
on
his
back
in
the
water
,
kicking
up
his
legs
.
He
used
to
enjoy
being
told
of
this
,
having
forgotten
all
about
it
,
and
gradually
it
all
came
back
to
him
,
with
a
number
of
other
incidents
that
had
escaped
my
memory
,
though
I
remember
that
he
was
eventually
caught
by
the
leg
with
a
long
string
and
a
cunning
arrangement
of
twigs
near
the
Round
Pond
.
He
never
tires
of
this
story
,
but
I
notice
that
it
is
now
he
who
tells
it
to
me
rather
than
I
to
him
,
and
when
we
come
to
the
string
he
rubs
his
little
leg
as
if
it
still
smarted
.
So
when
David
saw
his
chance
of
being
a
missel-thrush
again
he
called
out
to
me
quickly
:
"
Do
n't
drop
the
letter
!
"
and
there
were
tree-tops
in
his
eyes
.
