It was over in a moment, when Tomasso fled, over path and grass, and into a dusky recess between the trunks of fir and pine. There he lay down, sulking and grumbling and licking his paws. But Loretta stayed where she was a little, holding her head sidewise in the attitude of a listener.
“Lora,” she murmured presently, her voice inquiring, “Lora, Lora.”
Then, slowly and clumsily, she made her way to the base of the perch, and with beak and talons climbed it.
V
It was past the noon angelus when Padre Alonzo came waddling along the path, and he found the garden still—still, and filled with the sun-drawn incense of trees and flowers.
“Sst! sst! Tony will be too warm, I fear,” he was saying aloud as he neared the cage. “The little one shall go to a cooler spot.” And with this conclusion, he halted beside the perch of the parrot and lifted the chirping canary down to his knee.
“Buenos días,” he said to Loretta, pausing a moment; “a good day, truly, but over-hot, so that my cassock makes of me a living olla, for I am beaded with water drops from top to toe.”