he was not fulfilling his threat. Instead, he was viewing his captive angrily, yet in considerable indecision.
Loretta, on the other hand, was at no loss for a course of action. Between cries for the canary, demands for a handshake, and reiterated “Good-days,” she was vigorously trying her beak upon the padre’s fist.
But now a new factor upon the scene. Round the mission wall, waddling fast and propelling himself by his swinging arms, appeared Padre Alonzo. “Is’t the cats?” he asked as he came on; “oh, la! la! is’t the cats?”
Padre Anzar half turned, scowling. For answer, he only pointed to the severed fuchsias.
