Winona patted the hand of Miss Whipple, an able hand suggesting that of Spike in its texture and solidity.
"That's ever so nice of you, but I know all about myself. Spike's eyes are gone, but that bird is going, too."
"Why not let me take the poor old thing?" said Juliana. "It can say 'pretty girl' to me and laugh its head off if it wants." She hung a moment on this, searching Winona's face with clear eyes. "I have no blind husband," she finished.
"You're a dear," said Winona.
"I'm so glad for you," said Juliana.
"I must guard him in so many ways," confided Winona. "He's happy now—he's forgotten for the moment. But sometimes it comes back on him terribly—what he is, you know. I've seen him over there lose control—want to kill himself. He says he can't help such times. It will seem to him that someone has shut him in a dark room and he must break down its walls—break out into the light. He would try to break the walls down—like a caged beast. It wasn't pretty. And I'm his eyes and all his life, and no old bird is ever going to set him thinking I'm not perfectly beautiful. That's the plain truth. I may lie about it myself to him pretty soon. I might as well. He only thinks I'm being flirty when I deny it. Oh, I know I've changed! Sometimes it seems to me now as if I used to be—well, almost prudish."
"My dear, he knows better than you do, much better, how beautiful you are. But you're right about the bird. I'll take him gladly." She reflected a moment. "There's a fine place for the cage in my room—on my hope chest."
"You dear!" said Winona. "Of course I couldn't have killed it."
Downstairs ten minutes later Winona, the light of filial devotion in her eyes, was explaining to her father that she was giving the parrot away because she had noticed that it annoyed him.
The judge beamed gratitude.