Aunt Blin's ideal Bartholomew was no more. She might give the creature cheese, but she could not give him "confidence."
Bel and the bird illustrated something finer, higher, sweeter to her now. Before, there had only been Bartholomew; he had had to stand for everything; there was a good deal, to be sure, in that.
But Bel was so astonished at the sudden change,—it was so funny in its meek manifestation,—that she forgot her wrath, and laughed outright.
"Why, Auntie!" she cried. "Your beautiful Bartholomew, who understood, and let alone!"
Aunt Blin shook her head.
"I don't know. I thought so. But—I've no—con-fidence in him! You'd better hang the cage up high. And I'll go out for the muffins."
Bel heard her saying it over again, as she went down the stairs.
"No, I've no—con-fidence in him!"