Augusta said nothing more, but nodded in a very knowing way to Nancy. Immediately after dinner she rushed up to the child, slipped her hand through her arm, and pulled her aside.
“Well, Nancy,” she said, “it will be all up with you if you are not careful.”
“What do you—what do you mean, Augusta?”
“Listen. I don’t think Miss Roy is going to tell. She really is kind, and I don’t fancy she will tell; and if she doesn’t, the Captain, who has now charge of the orderly-book, will know nothing about it.”
“Oh Augusta, you are so mysterious! What are you talking about?”
“I am surprised at you,” said Augusta. “I hate cruelty myself.”
“And you think that I am cruel!” said Nancy. “What next?”
“I don’t trouble myself to think about what I know,” said Augusta. “A girl who had any love for dumb creatures would not starve her pet bird.”
“My canary! I starve my canary! What do you mean?”
“Ask Miss Roy. She went into your bedroom and found poor old Sunbeam anything but sun-shiny—all ruffled up and dull and drooping. The reason was not far to seek. There was no water in his trough and no seed in his drawer. Now then, Miss Nancy, what do you say to that?”