I think it was at the same thought Father Owen was laughing as I drew near. He stood in his little garden, a fine, venerable figure, with snow-white hair, worn rather long on his neck. He was about the medium height, thin to emaciation, with wonderfully bright eyes and the smile of a child. He turned at my approach. I introduced myself.
"You will know me best, Father," I observed, "as the lady from America."
"The lady from America?" he said. "I'm glad to meet you. Of course I've seen you in church and at the holy table. This is a real pleasure, though. Come into my little house now, and let me hear something of your wonderful country beyond the sea."
I followed, charmed with his courtesy.
"I was listening to that rogue of a robin," he said, as he led me in; "and I think he knew very well he had an auditor. Birds, I suppose, have their vanity, like the rest of us."
"The same thought occurred to me, Father," I answered. "He did swell out his little throat so, and sent his eye wandering about in search of applause."
"There's a deal of human nature in birds," said the priest, laughing at the quaint conceit; "and in the lower animals as well—every cat and dog among them."
We chatted on from one subject to another, till at last I introduced that which had brought me.
"Father," I began, "I want to talk to you specially about Winifred, the orphan of the castle."