"What is this, Rinolfo?" I demanded. "Why do you plague her?"
"She broke up my snares," he answered sullenly, and let the birds go free."
"What snares? What birds?" quoth I.
"He is a cruel beast," she shrilled. "And he will lie to you, Madonnino."
"If he does I'll break the bones of his body," I promised in a tone
entirely new to me. And then to him--"The truth now, poltroon!" I
admonished him.
At last I got the story out of them: how Rinolfo had scattered grain in a
little clearing in the garden, and all about it had set twigs that were
heavily smeared with viscum; that he set this trap almost daily, and daily
took a great number of birds whose necks he wrung and had them cooked for
him with rice by his silly mother; that it was a sin in any case to take
little birds by such cowardly means, but that since amongst these birds
there were larks and thrushes and plump blackbirds and other sweet
musicians of the air, whose innocent lives were spent in singing the
praises of God, his sin became a hideous sacrilege.
Finally I learnt that coming that morning upon half a score of poor
fluttering terrified birds held fast in Rinolfo's viscous snares, the
little girl had given them their liberty and had set about breaking up the
springes. At this occupation he had caught her, and there is no doubt that
he would have taken a rude vengeance but for the sanctuary which she had
found in me.
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