The children had been looking and listening, wondering where the men and the parrots were.
“Papa, where is de mans and birds? de pollies dat talked so loud?” asked little Eric Leland. “Me don’t see dem.”
“No; they can only be heard, not seen,” laughed his father, “while little fellows—like my Eric, you know—should be seen and not heard when at table with so many older people.”
“Big folks talk very much, papa,” remarked the little one, smiling up into his father’s face.
“So they do, and so may you when you grow big,” returned his father. “And now, when at home with no strangers by, you may talk too.”
“Well, Hector, suppose you take Scip’s advice and go and look for those tramps,” said Dr. Conly, addressing the frightened, perplexed-looking young servant-man. “Don’t be afraid; I promise to cure your hurts if you get any in trying to put them out.”
But Hector stood where he was as if rooted to the spot, shaking his head gloomily in response to the doctor’s suggestions.
“No, tank you, doctah, sah, but dis chile radder stay cured widout bein’ hurted fus,” he answered, retreating a little farther from the parlor door as he spoke.
“Then come and make yourself useful,” said Ella. “Get your salver and hand this cup of coffee to Mr. Lilburn.”