'Sometimes I raise my hopes, too much and too often - it must be said - for my own good. Well, I am a naive person, that is a certainty. Or is it?'Helen was sitting in her favourite armchair: one covered in soft dark red velvet. She was drinking one of the innumerable cups of tea which she inevitably had on depressing days. Rain was beating against the window panes and the heavy clouds coloured the sky with grey light. This Helen didn't mind though, she had romantic thoughts on rainy weather.
Outside the window stood two Robins in the garden's bird pond. And although they were enjoying each other's company, their feathers were now completely drenched.
'How tedious clouds can be dear Talbot, don't you think?' said one robin to the other. This one looked rather more neglected than his friend, having not kept his plumage tidy for several days.
'True, my garment is quite a mess. But really, clouds are perfectly fine when not so furious dear Edgar. But unfortunately they seem to be rather easily offended and suddenly get exceedingly unpleasant for the wrong reason. That is when, without notice, they will tip down buckets full of tears.' replied the other Robin. Now, Talbot was smaller in size, but how he loved to give himself high looks!
'But Talbot, dear, what got them so upset this time?' said Edgar perplexed. 'I am pretty sure the Mountains haven't uttered a word and that the Red Rose Beds haven't whispered a thought on the subject'
'Dear Edgar, have you not heard? That young and frivolous Roger never stops complaining about the state of the clouds. His manners are so terribly unsuitable I can hardly bear it.' replied Talbot with great indignation.
'I must say I don't know anyone by the name of Roger dear Talbot. Does he live somewhere distant like Holland?' inquired Edgar.
'I'm afraid I couldn't possibly tell, Edgar, dear. You see, I have only just invented the presumed culprit Roger.'
'Well, that solves a great deal of mysteries!' Edgar said quite content.
During this time, the two Robins had caught Helen's interest. She admired their bright orange feathers, hung around their round necks, as they shined with rain water. Their conversation, however, was incomprehensible to her, so she imagined it instead. Helen's best guess (and most plausible one in her opinion), was that they had had intellectual conversation on french cheese, emphasizing on the importance of Roquefort and how Camembert was their personal favourite. Fortunately enough for Helen, her pretty looks excused the misjudgements of her imagination.
Outside the window stood two Robins in the garden's bird pond. And although they were enjoying each other's company, their feathers were now completely drenched.
'How tedious clouds can be dear Talbot, don't you think?' said one robin to the other. This one looked rather more neglected than his friend, having not kept his plumage tidy for several days.
'True, my garment is quite a mess. But really, clouds are perfectly fine when not so furious dear Edgar. But unfortunately they seem to be rather easily offended and suddenly get exceedingly unpleasant for the wrong reason. That is when, without notice, they will tip down buckets full of tears.' replied the other Robin. Now, Talbot was smaller in size, but how he loved to give himself high looks!
'But Talbot, dear, what got them so upset this time?' said Edgar perplexed. 'I am pretty sure the Mountains haven't uttered a word and that the Red Rose Beds haven't whispered a thought on the subject'
'Dear Edgar, have you not heard? That young and frivolous Roger never stops complaining about the state of the clouds. His manners are so terribly unsuitable I can hardly bear it.' replied Talbot with great indignation.
'I must say I don't know anyone by the name of Roger dear Talbot. Does he live somewhere distant like Holland?' inquired Edgar.
'I'm afraid I couldn't possibly tell, Edgar, dear. You see, I have only just invented the presumed culprit Roger.'
'Well, that solves a great deal of mysteries!' Edgar said quite content.
During this time, the two Robins had caught Helen's interest. She admired their bright orange feathers, hung around their round necks, as they shined with rain water. Their conversation, however, was incomprehensible to her, so she imagined it instead. Helen's best guess (and most plausible one in her opinion), was that they had had intellectual conversation on french cheese, emphasizing on the importance of Roquefort and how Camembert was their personal favourite. Fortunately enough for Helen, her pretty looks excused the misjudgements of her imagination.
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