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"The birds! The birds!
 * He knocked the stuffing
 * Out of the stuffed birds!"

We watched the slow progress of the lamplighter along the street. Like a god, he marched solemnly, leaving new stars in his wake.

As he raised his wand and touched the lamp before our house, a new figure appeared beneath its rays, hurrying darkly towards us. It entered the gate and came in a stealthy way to where we sat. We recognized the cobbler.

"Little masters," he whispered. "She's flitted."

"Good widdance," said The Seraph, briskly. "She was too comical to be a nice wife."

"Ah, no," replied the cobbler. "She's weak in her head and bound to come to something hurtful. I'll not seek my bed this night until I've found her. I thought mayhap you'd ha' seen her pass!"

"No," replied Angel. "We didn't. But perhaps the lamplighter did."

With one accord, we hurried after the retreating figure. Hearing our footsteps, he turned and faced us beneath a newly lit lamp. Its serene radiance fell on his solemn blue-eyed face, surrounded by red whiskers.

"What's the turmoil?" he asked. "Did I forget a lamp?"

"Have ye seen a strange-appearing woman?"