Caruso watched him narrowly, and the instant he was well away swooped the dainty before Blue could discern what it was.
The boy caught a twinkling glance thrown him from over the spectacles, and he answered it with inquiring eyes.
“Meal worms,” said the Scotchman. “Naething they like better. What d’ye feed him?”
“Oh, ’most anything!” was the indefinite answer.
Mr. Gillespie shook his head. “Na, na, that winna do!” He picked up a small box on the table, and, emptying the bird’s food cup, replaced its contents with a little from the package.
That it was satisfactory to Caruso was apparent from the zest with which he ate it.
“Best thing for mockin’ birdies,” asserted the Scotchman, handing Blue the box. “Ye buy it at th’ shop.”
The boy read the price in dismay, “Fifty Cents.” They could never afford such costly food.
“Th’ wee wing wi’ sune be a’ right, I’m thinkin’,” Mr. Gillespie was saying. “Ye maun leave th’ birdie wi’ me, an’ when we’re gude freends I can find oot th’ tribble.”
So Blue, feeling that his errand was accomplished, bade the little man good-bye, promising to come up again by the middle of the next week.