Weathereye glanced towards Miss Scragley once again, and his voice was a trifle husky when he spoke.
“Miss Scragley,” he said, “old people like you and me are apt to be faddy. We will both do something for these poor children, but, bless them, there’s a bond of union betwixt their little hearts that we dare not sever. The bairns must not be parted.”
Book One—Chapter Six.
Chee-Tow, the Red Chief of the Slit-Nosed Indians.
During the time the memorable visit lasted no one took much notice of Ransey Tansey’s pets. Yet each one of the three of them was interested, and each showed his interest in his own peculiar way.
The Admiral had flown gracefully down from the gibbet-tree, and alighted on the ground not more than a dozen yards from the group.
“Craik—a-raik—a—r-r-r—a—cray—ay!” he said to himself, which being interpreted seemed to signify, “What do they want here, anyhow? That’s about the same gang I saw in the woods. Curr-r-r! Well, they haven’t guns anyhow, like the beastly biped called a keeper, who tried to shoot my hind-legs off because I was a strange bird. I was only tasting some partridge’s eggs, nothing else. Shouldn’t I have liked just to have gouged out his ugly eyes, thrown ’em one by one into the air, caught ’em coming down, and swallowed ’em like eggs.”
All the time the talking was going on the Admiral stood twisting his body about, sometimes crouching low to the ground, his neck stretched straight out towards them, the head on one side and listening, the next moment erect as a bear pole, and seeming to look surprised and angry at what he heard them saying.