"Why, that's Mis' Tree's parrot, Mis' Weight," she said. "That's Jocko. You must know him as well as I do, and better, livin' opposite neighbor to her."
"I should think I did know him, for a limb of Satan!" said the visitor. "But I never looked for him here. Is he sick? I wish to gracious he'd die. It's my belief he's possessed, like some others I know of. I'm not one to spread, or I could tell you stories about that bird—"
She nodded mysteriously, and glanced at the parrot, who had turned upside down on his perch, and was surveying her with a malevolent stare.
"Why, Mis' Weight, I was just sayin' how cute he was. He'll talk just as pretty sometimes—won't you, Jocko? Say something for Mis' Weight, won't you, Beauty Boy?"
"Helen was a beauty!" crooned the parrot, his head on one side, his eyes still fixed on Mrs. Weight.
"Was she?" said Miss Penny, encouragingly. "I want to know! Now, who do you s'pose he means? There's nobody name of Helen here now, except Doctor Pottle's little girl, and she squints."
"Helen was a beauty,
Xantippe was a shrew;
Medusa was a Gorgon,
And so—are—you!
Ha! ha! ha! crickey! she carries Weight, she rides a race, 'tis for a thousand pound. Screeeeeee!"
Swinging himself upright, the parrot flapped his wings, and uttered a blood-curdling shriek. Mrs. Weight gave a single squawk, and fled into the inner room, slamming the door violently after her.
"How you can harbor Satan, Prudence Pardon, is more than I can understand," she panted, purple with rage. "If there was a man in this village, he'd wring that bird's neck."