Silverwing paid no attention to what was passing in the cottage round her, though I may as well remind the reader of what passed in the last chapter,—how Tom had scarcely got down from the chair before his mother came in and ordered him to go off for the doctor, as Mrs. Bright’s baby was very ill indeed; how Tom hesitated, and said that he would go by the fields, and then was sent off direct by his mother in much displeasure. To all this, as I said, Silverwing paid no attention; her little world was contained in the mug, and all her interest was aroused by her fellow-prisoner. Poor Violetta, with her fine purple wings, was the prey of the collector of insects! He had not cared to explore her curious home, to learn her customs and ways, or admire her instinct; he only wished to have the dead body of an insect that he thought curious, and had no scruple about destroying it to gratify this wish.
Violetta was not so patient as poor Silverwing had been. She dashed herself against the mug in passionate distress; she would listen to no words of comfort! Then she vainly tried to exercise her wonderful powers of gnawing. From a wooden box she perhaps might have worked her way to freedom, but the hard slippery crockery resisted her utmost efforts; her poor little teeth could not even make an impression! Exhausted at last, she remained quite still, and Silverwing, forgetful of her own distress, began to attempt to soothe her companion.
Thus they remained till the evening without food, almost without hope. Mrs. Wingfield had gone to attempt to comfort her neighbour, nearly wild at the loss of her Johnny; and now Minnie and Tom both entered the cottage together. Their conversation had no interest for the bees, in their mug; but as it is possible that it may have some for my reader, I shall proceed to give some account of it in the following chapter.
CHAPTER X.
A CONFESSION.
“OH, Tom,” said Minnie, “is not this a terrible misfortune that has happened to poor Mrs. Bright?”