"Why, it's right thoughtful of you, Winona. It does annoy me, kind of. That miserable Dave Cowan's taught it some new rigmarole—no meaning to it, but bothersome when you want to be quiet."
Even in the days of her white innocence Winona Penniman had not been above doing a thing for one reason while advancing another less personal. She had always been a strange girl.
Juliana took leave of Spike.
"You have a lovely wife," she told him. "It isn't going to be too hard for you, this life."
"Watch us!" said Winona. "I'll make his life more beautiful than I am." Her hand fluttered to his shoulder.
"Oh, me? I'll be all right," said Spike.
"And thank you for this wonderful bird," said Juliana.
She lifted the cage from its table and went slowly toward the gate. The parrot divined that dirty work was afoot, but it had led a peaceful life and its repertoire comprised no call of alarm.
"Pretty girl, pretty girl, pretty girl!" it shrieked. Then followed its harshest laugh of scorn.
Juliana did not quicken her pace to the car; she finished the little journey in all dignity, and placed her burden in the tonneau.