he comes, scrape not the gilt from the wires of his pretty cage.”
Another threatening shake of the finger, and the padre crossed the low, spiked hedge and waddled away through the sun.
When he came into sight a moment later round the dun wall of the mission, he carried a canary at his shoulder. “E-oo, e-oo,” he cooed, pattering forward. “Loretta wishes thy company. Sst! sst! She is bad after thee, Tony! But be wary, little one, be wary.”
The advice was wholly ignored. For, spying the parrot, Tony was instantly transformed from a silent, dumpy ball of yellow to a slim, dapper songster with a’ swelling throat.
Loretta greeted him with uproarious laughter, and a jargon of Span-
