caught them up. “Move her as thou wilt,” he said grumpily, “and the farther the better. Tony is proper for us, pretty and songful. But that parrot,”–he shook his tools as if they were Loretta–“how altogether useless and ugly and noisy and blasphemous and good-for-naught!”
With this he departed into the shrubbery.
Sounds were still coming from the kitchen–Gabrielda’s cracked voice, Loretta’s cries, the sullen yowling of a cat. Nodding sadly, Padre Alonzo waddled to the perch, vacant and formed like a cross. This he lifted and bore to a place along the wall opposite the great crucifix, where climbed no flowers. Then, smiling gently,
