But luckily Eustace did not hear her. Still addressing his neophytes, he said:
"And you will remember the things I have taught you?"
"Yes, yes! We've resolved that when we grow up we'll be just the sort of birds you'd have us. And I've made up my mind never to have but one wife, and I'm going to win her with my spurs in the open tournament, like a true knight."
One after another, the young fowls told Eustace of the ideals he had implanted in them,—how they would respect henhood, remember the stranger within the crates, hold their crops up resolutely, and never stoop to anything unworthy, even if it looked edible.
Hearing these assurances, Eustace was very happy. An expression of blessed calm o'erspread his bill.
"Now I can go in peace," he murmured. And, after a little: "My eyes are becoming dimmer. I can hardly see your faces.—But now I am beginning to have a glimpse of that Land Beyond. Oh, it is wonderful!"
"He is having a vision!" they whispered.
"I see streets of opalescent mud, and lovely gardens teeming with delectable insects, and crystal fountains full of goldfish, and puddles everywhere. I see little radiant-feathered chickibim.
"And there is Gertrude! She is wearing a golden top-knot, and her quacking is above the music of a thousand nightingales.—She is calling to me!... Yes, Gertrude, I am paddling over the river to you!"
Eustace tried to rise, made an ecstatic movement with one web, then fell back lifeless.