“O Mrs. Magpie, pray don’t speak to my husband; he will think I’ve been complaining.”
“No, no, he won’t! Let me alone. I understand just how to say the thing. I’ve advised hundreds of young husbands in my day, and I never give offence.”
“But I tell you, Mrs. Magpie, I don’t want any interference between my husband and me, and I will not have it,” says Mrs. Oriole, with her little round eyes flashing with indignation.
“Don’t put yourself in a passion, my dear; the more you talk, the more sure I am that your nervous system is running down, or you wouldn’t forget good manners in this way. You’d better take my advice, for I understand just what to do,”—and away sails Mother Magpie; and presently young Oriole comes home, all in a flutter.
“I say, my dear, if you will persist in gossiping over our private family matters with that old Mother Magpie—”
“My dear, I don’t gossip; she comes and bores me to death with talking, and then goes off and mistakes what she has been saying for what I said.”
“But you must cut her.”
“I try to, all I can; but she won’t be cut.”
“It’s enough to make a bird swear,” said Tommy Oriole.