Yes, every one was astonished, but poor McDonald, the third mate, was frightened; and when, after receiving a few caresses, Alba jumped on to the table and began pattering around and saying, “Poor Alba wants his breakfast; Alba wants a sop of food,” McDonald could stand it no longer: he left the table and hurried on deck.
“It’s no canny,” he said to the steward; “it’s no canny, and if I could steal a boat I’d leave the ship and brave the stormy ocean.”
“Lord Alwyn—I mean sir,” said the mate, “a hundred years ago you’d have been burned for a witch.”
“Or a wizard,” remarked the doctor, laughing. “But I am not astonished. The captain has already told me the story of his snow-bird. The wonderful power of sight, scent, and probably hearing in gulls is scarcely yet known to naturalists; and the same may be said about nearly all sea-birds. They either have an instinct that we possess not, or the faculties they possess, in common with other animals, are most marvellously developed. (Note 2.) Just look at that lovely bird now, and listen to its marvellous prattle.”
Pattering round the table went Alba, in a very excited condition, only every now and then flying off to Claude’s breast as if he could hardly believe in his own happiness. He jumbled up his sentences, too, as most talking birds do when excited.
“Alba wants—Alba wants—Alba wants Fingal’s Claude—Fingal’s—Fingal—Claude—Alba wants his breakfast.”
“That’s better, Alba,” said Dr Barrett, lifting the cover from a dish of fish.
Next moment Alba was in the third heaven.
“You’ve made that bird your friend for life, doctor,” said Claude.
Fingal, the deerhound, got up from under the table and laid his great head on his master’s knee.