She lifted the object half way out of its box, stared at it with bulging eyes as she murmured something like “Fire God.” Then, crowding the thing back as if it were alive and about to jump at her, she crammed paper down upon it and hastily glanced about her to see if any stranger might have observed her action. Seeing no one, she heaved a sigh of relief.
“Look!” Merry’s tone was joyous. “A bird! A bird carved from marble!”
“It’s a falcon.” Jeanne studied it critically. “A marble falcon. And how well it is done! You know falcons are like eagles and hawks, only they may be tamed and taught to hunt for you. There are many of them in Europe and England. The gypsies are very fond of them. Gypsies are not allowed to hunt in the forest preserves. But their birds. Oh, la, la! That is another matter.
“But what a pity!” she exclaimed. “His beak is broken!”
“Sure!” laughed Merry. “What do you expect for three greasy quarters? If he were whole, he’d be worth a whole double golden eagle.
“Perhaps the beak is here.” She began feeling about in the excelsior wrappings. “Yes, yes, here it is! How very fortunate! Now we shall see him all together again. Tad will fix that.
“We will not sell him, for all that,” she continued solemnly. “He shall be my very own. See! He is looking toward the clouds. He has a broken beak, yet he can look skyward. He shall be my inspiration. When all seems dark; when our money is spent and no one comes to our poor little shop to buy, then I shall look at my marble falcon and say:
“‘You are brave. Your beak is broken; yet you look toward the clouds.’”
“How wonderful!” Jeanne murmured. “Would that I, too, possessed a marble falcon with a broken beak.”
“But what did you find?” Merry put out a hand for Jeanne’s package.