"Beg parding, Miss," jerking off his ragged straw hat, "but I thought as
how you might be havin' trouble with a tramp," glaring savagely at Miss
Prue; "thought I heered a strange voice."
"Oh, it's nothing, Sam, nothing but a bird," laughed Molly.
"A burrd!" he cried, with an amazed look. "A burrd a-talkin' the likes
o' thot? May all the saints defend us!"
While the laughing group stood by, Molly introduced the fowl, with
proper explanations, at which Polly, probably thinking it necessary to
vindicate her powers, broke out with,--
"Hold yer jaw! Get out! Shiver my timbers! What the"--
"You disgraceful old thing!" cried Miss Prue, snatching up the cage and
rushing indoors, where she set it down with a thump on the hall-table;
and, dragging off her black silk wrap, proceeded to muffle the profane
creature in its shiny folds; then, turning to Sara with a distressed
look, she implored,--
"_Will_ you tell me what makes her so wicked? I've tried my best to
teach her nice little moral axioms from Ben Franklin and Socrates, and
bits of poetry from Tupper, but whenever she wants to show off, she goes
back to that dreadful old sailor-talk she learned on shipboard, nobody
knows how many years ago; it's discouraging!"
"It is, indeed!" laughed Sara, while Molly furtively lifted a corner of
the wrap, in hopes to start Polly off again.
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