one showing his good works to the Lord. The wretched Miss Fosdick turned quickly and gave an appreciative smile in the direction of her benefactor and then fell once more to staring out of the window into the purpling valley, looking confused and tortured and miserable.
To Winnery, watching her, the thought occurred again that she was like a plump pigeon used by the preposterous woman in white as an object upon which to practice some obscure and sadistic torment.
Mrs. Weatherby shifted her position a little, causing the imitation chair to creak beneath her weight. At the same moment the parrot burst with a terrifying suddenness into a series of shrill screams and squawks.
"He wants to go to bed," said Mrs. Weatherby, turning to Miss Fosdick. "Will you take him away, dear? He should have gone long ago."
Miss Fosdick rose with an awkward self-conscious gesture of brushing imaginary crumbs from her lap, and murmuring, "Yes, Aunt Henrietta," took the unpleasant bird from its perch and carried it, still screeching horribly, off into the shadows of the great echoing hall where the darkness appeared to quiet its nerves.
As she went out the door, Mrs. Weatherby murmured, "She is a good girl and a great comfort to me. She has lived with me now ever since she was eighteen, when Mr. Weatherby died and I went to California. She has never cared to marry. Indeed, I think she has never found a man worthy of her."
With the disappearance of Miss Fosdick, Mr.
