the young one who had remained behind in the nest made himself as broad as he could，for he was the proprietor. But this GREatness did not last long. In the night the red flamesburst through the window and seized the roof， the dry straw blazed up high， and the wholehouse， together with the young sparrow， was burned. The two others， who wanted tomarry， thus saved their lives by a stroke of luck.
When the sun rose again and everything looked as refreshed as if it had had a quiet sleep，there only remained of the farmhouse a few black charred beams leaning against the chimney，which was now its own master. Thick smoke still rose from the ruins， but the rose-bush stoodyonder， fresh， blooming， and untouched， every flower and every twig being reflected inthe clear water.
“How beautifully the roses bloom before the ruined house，” exclaimed a passer-by. “Apleasanter picture cannot be imagined. I must have that.” And the man took out of hisportfolio a little book with white leaves： he was a painter， and with his pencil he drew thesmoking house， the charred beams and the overhanging chimney， which bent more andmore; in the foreground he put the large， blooming rose-bush， which presented acharming view. For its sake alone the whole picture had been drawn.
Later in the day the two sparrows who had beenborn there came by. “Where is the house?” theyasked. “Where is the nest? Peep! All is burned andour strong brother too. That's what he has now forkeeping the nest. The roses got off very well; therethey still stand with their red cheeks. They certainlydo not mourn at their neighbours' misfortunes. Idon't want to talk to them， and it looks miserablehere—that's my opinion.” And away they went.
On a beautiful sunny autumn day—one couldalmost have believed it was still the middle ofsummer—there hopped about in the dry clean-swept courtyard before the principal entrance ofthe Hall a number of black， white， and gaily-coloured pigeons， all shining in the sunlight. Thepigeon-mothers said to their young ones： “Stand in groups， stand in groups! for that looksmuch better.”
“What kind of creatures are those little GREy ones that run about behind us?” asked an oldpigeon， with red and green in her eyes. “Little grey ones! Little grey ones!” she cried.
“they are sparrows， and good creatures. We have always had the reputation of beingpious， so we will allow them to pick up the corn with us; they don't interrupt our talk， andthey scrape so prettily when they bow.”
Indeed they were continually making three foot-scrapings with the left foot and also said“Peep!” By this means they recognised each other， for they were the sparrows from the neston the burned house.
“Here is excellent fare!” said the sparrow. The pigeons strutted round one another，puffed out their chests mightily， and had their own private views and opinions.
“Do you see that pouter pigeon?” said one to the other. “Do you see how she swallows thepeas? She eats too many， and the best ones too. Curoo! Curoo! How she lifts her crest，the ugly， spiteful creature! Curoo! Curoo!” And the eyes of all sparkled with malice. “Standin groups! Stand in groups! Little GREy ones， little grey ones! Curoo， curoo， curoo!”
So their chatter ran on， and so it will run on for thousands of years. The sparrows atelustily; they listened attentively， and even stood in the ranks with the others， but it did notsuit them at all. They were full， and so they left the pigeons， exchanging opinions aboutthem， slipped in under the garden palings， and when they found the door leading into thehouse open， one of them， who was more than full， and therefore felt brave， hopped on tothe threshold. “Peep!” said he; “I may venture that.”
“Peep!” said the other; “so may I， and something more too!” and he hopped into theroom. No one was there; the third sparrow， seeing this， flew still farther into the room，exclaiming， “All or nothing! It is a curious man's nest all the same; and what have they putup here? What is it?”
Close to the sparrows the roses were blooming; they were reflected in the water， andthe charred beams leaned against the overhanging chimney. “Do tell me what this is. Howcomes this in a room at the Hall?” And all three sparrows wanted to fly over the roses and thechimney， but flew against a flat wall. It was all a picture， a GREat splendid picture， which theartist had painted from a sketch.
“Peep!” said the sparrows， “it's nothing. It only looks like something. Peep! that is 'thebeautiful.' Do you understand it? I don't.”
And they flew away， for some people came into the room.
Days and years went by. the pigeons had often cooed， not to say growled—the spitefulcreatures; the sparrows had been frozen in winter and had lived merrily in summer： they wereall betrothed， or married， or whatever you like to call it. They had little ones， and of courseeach one thought his own the handsomest and cleverest; one flew this way， another that，and when they met they recognised each other by their “Peep!” and the three scrapes with theleft foot. The eldest had remained an old maid and had no nest nor young ones. It was her petidea to see a GREat city， so she flew to Copenhagen.