groups, place yourselves in groups. Little grey coats; little grey coats, Coo-oo, coo-oo.”
So they went on, and it will be the same a thousand years hence. The sparrows feasted bravely, and listened attentively; they even stood in ranks like the pigeons, but it did not suit them. So having satisfied their hunger, they left the pigeons passing their own opinions upon them to each other, and then slipped through the garden railings. The door of a room in the house leading into the garden stood open, and one of them feeling brave after his good dinner, hopped upon the threshold, crying, “Tweet; I can venture so far.”
“Tweet,” said another; “‘I can venture that and a great deal more,” and into the room he hopped.
The first followed, and seeing no one there, the third became courageous, and flew right across the room, saying, “Venture everything, or do not venture at all. This is a wonderful place, a man’s nest I suppose, and, look!—what can this be?”
Just in front of the sparrows stood the ruins of the burnt cottage; roses were blooming over it, and their reflection appeared in the water beneath, and the black, charred beams rested against the tottering chimney. How could it be? How came the cottage and the roses in a room in the nobleman’s house? And then the sparrows tried to fly over the roses and the chimney, but they only struck themselves against a flat wall. It was a picture,—a large beautiful picture, which the artist had painted from the little sketch he had taken.
“Tweet,” said the sparrows, “it is really nothing after all; it only looks like reality. Tweet, I suppose that is the beautiful. Can you understand it? I cannot.”
Then some persons entered the room, and the sparrows flew away. Years and years passed; the pigeons had often “coo-oo-d,” we must not say quarrelled, though perhaps they did, naughty things. The sparrows had sufferred from cold in the winter, and lived gloriously in summer. They were all betrothed, or married, or whatever you like to call it. They had little ones, and of course each considered his own brood the wisest and the prettiest. One flew in this direction, and another in that, and when they met, they recognised each other by saying “tweet,” and three times drawing back the left foot. The eldest remained single, she had no nest, nor young ones; her great wish was to see a large town, so she flew to Copenhagen. Near to the castle that stood by the channel could be seen a large house, which was richly decorated with various colours. Down the channel sailed many ships, laden with apples and earthenware. The windows were broader below than at the top, and when the sparrows peeped through, they saw a room that looked to them like a tulip, with beautiful colours of every shade. Within the tulip were white figures of human beings, made of marble, some few of plaster, but this is the same thing to a sparrow. Upon the roof stood a metal chariot and horses; and the goddess of victory, also of metal, was seated in the chariot driving the horses. It was Thorwalsden’s Museum. “How it shines and glitters,” said the maiden sparrow, “this
