But his terror had restored his strength most marvelously, for he, too, leaped to his feet and retreated to the furthest corner of the room, whence he regarded the scene with dilated eyes.
“Why—why—it’s nobody, nothing, but dear old Tom!”
“It’s an eagle! The first—”
“Of course he’s an eagle. Aren’t you, dear? The most splendid bird in Maine, or maybe Canada. The wisest, the most loving, the— Oh! You big, blundering, precious thing! Scaring people like that. You should be more civil, sir.”
“Is—is—he tame?”
“Tame as Angelique’s pet chicken. But mischievous. He wouldn’t hurt you for anything.”
“Humph! He would have killed me if I hadn’t waked and yelled.”
“Well, you did that surely. You feel better, don’t you?”
“I wish you’d put him outdoors, or shut him up where he belongs. I want to sit down.”
“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t,” she answered, pushing a chair toward him.