There was a squeal, a rush, and a discomfited parrot minus three tail feathers flying to her master's shoulder.
"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, "my, my! What a fuss—what a fuss!"
Very little attention was paid her. Her master and mistress were taken up with the youthful owner of the dog, but Mr. Tracy mechanically stroked the bird as he put another question to 'Tilda Jane.
"And what do you propose to do?"
"I think I ought to go back," she said, earnestly. "I ought to say I'm sorry. I ought to say I'll do better."
"Go back—where?" asked Mrs. Tracy, eagerly.
"First to the ole man. I ought to be civil to him. I ought to talk, an' not be mum like an oyster. I ought to ask him if he wants me to go 'way. I ought to write the lady-boards an' tell 'em where I be. I ought to say I'll go back."
"Do you wish to go back?" asked Mr. Tracy.
A shiver passed over 'Tilda Jane's slight frame, but she spoke up bravely. "I ain't a-goin' to think o' that, sir. I've got to do what's right."