Rachel.—Hark! What is that harsh noise?
Laura.—It is the cry of that foolish peacock from the balcony of the garden yonder. He wants us to admire him.
Rachel.—How he struts about, and arches his neck, and shows his fine feathers, bright with all the colors of the rainbow!
Laura.—I would not change my canary-bird for him.
Rachel.—And I would not change my music for your new silk dress, Laura.
Laura.—Why do you say that? But, first, who is that man standing there by the garden-gate?
Rachel.—That is Mr. Blunt, the clergyman who is to preach for us to-day.
Laura.—He looks at me, and now he looks at the peacock, and now at me again, and now, with a smile, at the peacock, and now—O Rachel! this is too bad. I know what he is thinking of.
Rachel.—Let us hurry on to church. The bell has begun to toll.
Laura.—Ah, Rachel, he says to me, as plainly as looks can say, that I am as vain as yonder peacock.