On a morning of the first days of spring, before the leaves of the trees had flourished and grown lush, two little house sparrows met by prior appointment high in the air. Said the cock sparrow, fluttering his wings in the sunlight:

"My dear, now that you have promised to be my wife, shall we look for a little thorny thicket to build our nest in?"

But the hen sparrow tossed her beak in the air in pride and disdain and answered: "I refuse to live in any thorny thicket; I want to dwell in the topmost branches of the willow tree."

Said the sparrow: "But the willow tree is very close to the water, and so our home will be damp. Still, if you hold to your opinion, I have no objection to our building our nest in the tree's topmost branches."

And so they flew to the willow tree standing at the edge of the brook.

Here the hen sparrow's face lit up with joy and she said: "What a lovely place! Here, my darling, we shall build our nest. And up there, in the tree's highest branches, we shall sit on the clear, sunny days and lay five beautiful eggs, and delight in watching nature. We shall have the most beautiful children in the world, and we shall be able to watch the clouds as they swim in the blue vault. And we shall enjoy bliss and happiness forever and ever."

At that moment a black cow that had been grazing in the field came to the brook to drink of its water. She gazed at them with her

big, drowsy eyes and said: "If I were in your place I would give up this tree, for it has grown exceed-ingly old. I no sooner scratch my back against it than it shakes and sways violently. See how it leans over the brook; a day will come when it gives way and falls in."

The cock sparrow ruffled the feathers of his neck and shouted at the cow: "Be off, you old fool, or I'll peck your nose. And in any case, leave off rubbing yourself against our tree."

In last month's issue, on the children's page, we published the story "Salt," by the great man of letters Sheikh Khalil Takieddine.

We do not know how the author's name dropped out of the story, when it was indicated in the issue's Table of Contents.

We who esteem the Sheikh and man of letters cannot, even as we apologize to him for this error, do otherwise than reassure him that we, before all other people in this country, respect the right of literary production, and that the family of this magazine could never deliberately neglect a name as great as that of Sheikh Khalil Takieddine.

The cow lowered her head and, after drinking from the brook, went her way.

At that moment a blind mouse

put his nose out of his hole near the trunk of the tree and called to the sparrow:

"I heard what you said, my friend. My advice to you is not to build your nest here. This tree may look sturdy and tall to you, but its roots are frail, and the first strong wind can tear it up."

The two sparrows looked at him with arrogance and pride and said: "Sparrows such as we have no need of the advice of a wretched blind creature like you. We have eyes that see what is hidden from others. Go back to your hole, to your shelter among the roots and the filth."

The mouse answered: "That may be my shelter, but I know its inward secrets; and what my eyes cannot see in this shelter, your eyes cannot see either. But I feel with my nose and understand with my mind."

The two sparrows, however, paid him no heed. They built their nest in the tree, of straw and wool and feathers and mud, and laid their eggs in it.

Then one night a raging wind blew that shook the tree to its very stem and snapped it. It groaned its last groan and fell into the water, its roots stretched toward the sky, its leafy branches drowned among the mud. And the river swept away the five eggs that had been the apple of the two sparrows' eyes.

And when the black cow came to the brook to drink, she heard the two sparrows weeping the bitterest of tears...