Mrs. Peters [looking in cupboard]. Why, here's a bird-cage. [Holds it up.] Did she have a bird, Mrs. Hale?
Mrs. Hale. Why, I don't know whether she did or not—I've not been here for so long. There was a man around last year selling canaries cheap, but I don't know as she took one; maybe she did. She used to sing real pretty herself.
Mrs. Peters [glancing around]. Seems funny to think of a bird here. But she must have had one, or why should she have a cage? I wonder what happened to it?
Mrs. Hale. I s'pose maybe the cat got it.
Mrs. Peters. No, she didn't have a cat. She's got that feeling some people have about cats—being afraid of them. My cat got in her room and she was real upset and asked me to take it out.
Mrs. Hale. My sister Bessie was like that. Queer, ain't it?
Mrs. Peters [examining the cage]. Why, look at this door. It's broke. One hinge is pulled apart.
Mrs. Hale [looking too]. Looks as if some one must have been rough with it.
Mrs. Peters. Why, yes.
[She brings the cage forward and puts it on the table.]