h, isn't it a pity the peacock doesn't know that he can't sing? Why
doesn't he stop that fearful screeching?"

Little Katie put her hands over her ears to keep out the sound.

"You know the peacock was once an animal that hasn't a very sweet
voice," said Jack.

"No, I don't know, but Charlie Green's pet donkey makes a better noise
than this bird. There, I am glad he has stopped."

"Shall I tell you a story?" asked Jack.

"Once upon a time a donkey felt that he was much abused just because his
coat was rough and his face and shape were so homely; so he begged of
Jupiter to make him into something beautiful. In a short time he was
changed into a peacock and, looking down upon his fine feathers, began
to sing. But, oh, the trouble he was in then! He had forgotten to have
his voice changed, too, and it was the same old donkey voice that he had
always had."

"That's a funny story, Jack. It seems to me that mother told us that a
long time ago."

"Then I know another story of how the eyes came into the peacock's
feathers."

"You are a queer boy, Jack. Those eyes were always there."

"Oh, no, they were not, Kate. You watch the young peacock chickens,
and I'll prove my story, or part of it, anyway. Don't you remember
that at first they are a dull brown, and then, when they are about a
year old, they begin to show a little green? They are three years old
before the eyes begin to show in the feathers. You are a queer girl to
forget that."

"Well, tell your story, and I will see if it is a good one." So
Jack began:

"Argus was a watchman. His great eyes were like green balls, but with
fifty little eyes in each. Yes, he had a hundred eyes, and never more
than two went to sleep at once. He could see even better in the night
than in the daytime, so he was a fine watchman.