I'll see you to-morrow, if God wills." She was about to go, but Georg stopped her, saying: "You are mistaken, my good lady.

I shot that bird to-day, I'll confess now, Frau Barbara; my corvus is a wretched crow." "I thought so," cried the widow.

"Such an abomination!" Yet she thrust her finger into the bird's breast, saying: "But there's meat on the creature." "A crow!" cried Wilhelm's mother, clasping her hands.

"True, dogs and cats are already hanging on many a spit and have wandered into many a pan.

There is the pigeon." Barbara unwrapped the bird as carefully, as if it might crumble under her fingers, gazing tenderly at it as she weighed it carefully in her hand; but the musician's mother said: "It's the fourth one Wilhelm has killed, and he said it would have been a good flier.