Wide awake now, I caught him to me, cuddled him close and then asked wildly,
"Oh-h, Peter!—what's that?"
Not far from my window a raucous voice was saying, "Bring me my coffee! Coffee! Norah! Hurry up!"
"Perhaps it's Uncle Bill!" said Peter, open-mouthed.
"Of course it isn't, Peter," I said quite crossly, and climbed out of bed.
From my window, in the full, dazzling sunlight, I could see where the kitchen made an L, and the screened kitchen porch from which that terrifying voice emanated.
"Hurry!" it was saying. "Gol dern! Coffee! Coffee!"
"Why, Peter," I cried, "it's a macaw! A beauty! I've never seen one before—only pictures! Hurry and get dressed and let's go out and say good-morning to him!"
Sarah, apparently at home, and certainly composed, but rather too communicative as to the habits of "heathen," appeared, to help me dress and to hustle Peter into his own room. But before I was ready, a knock came at the door, and on its heels, Norah, bearing fragrant coffee and hot, brown rolls.
"Good morning, and it's never up ye are!" she said in astonishment, setting the tray down on a little table which she spread with a white cloth.