Loretta, on the other hand, was at no loss for a course of action. Between cries for the canary, demands for a handshake, and reiterated “Good-days,” she was vigorously trying her beak upon the padre’s fist.
But now a new factor upon the scene. Round the mission wall, waddling fast and propelling himself by his swinging arms, appeared Padre Alonzo. “Is’t the cats?” he asked as he came on; “oh, la! la! is’t the cats?”
Padre Anzar half turned, scowling. For answer, he only pointed to the severed fuchsias.
The other looked, covering any regret with simulated astonishment. “These were dropping of themselves yesterday,” he began between breaths. “They—they fell fast in the night—eh?” He came beside the other now, partly to support the suspended Loretta in his hands. “I saw them—truly.”
“Bah!” And Padre Anzar gave Loretta such a shake that she tumbled, squawking and sputtering, from the other’s hands, and again hung, heels above head, like a chicken caught for the block.
“She did but what the wind hadst done,” faltered Padre Alonzo. “Sst! sst!” (This to the parrot.) “Such language from a lady!”
“Ah-ha!” grunted Padre Anzar, “I told thee not to buy a bird that was raised in a garrison town.”
“To-o-ny! To-o-ny!” pleaded the parrot. “A-aw, To-o-ny!”
“Yes,” he went on solemnly, addressing her, “and thou art of the devil, and hast as many tricks. Twice I forgave thee—once for shouting ‘Fire!’ on St. John’s Day, as the censer passed; again, for pulling the feathers out of Señor Esteban’s choice hen. But thou wilt not escape now. Now thou’lt go to the kitchen and be shut in with Gabrielda’s black mouser. There thou shalt shed some quills.”