“I told thee not to buy a bird that was raised in a garrison town.”
“To-o-ny! To-o-ny!” pleaded the parrot. “A-aw, To-o-ny!”
“Yes,” he went on solemnly, addressing her, “and thou art of the devil, and hast as many tricks. Twice I forgave thee–once for shouting ‘Fire!’ on St. John’s Day, as the censer passed; again, for pulling the feathers out of Sefior Esteban’s choice hen. But thou wilt not escape now. Now thou‘lt go to the kitchen and be shut in with Gabrielda’s black mouser. There thou shalt shed some quills.”
With this dire threat, he departed along the path, Loretta still hanging head down at his knee.
Scarcely a moment later a com-
