"So do I," croaked the bird.
"If you will have a cup of tea made, I am confident that it will benefit her more than food. As for myself, I don't fear to confess that I am hungry, and shall eat heartily," Nancy said.
"Of bushrangers?" roared Poll, who seemed to be undecided how to class the ladies of our party, never having seen a woman in that part of the country.
"The tea shall be prepared, and by the time you have changed your clothes supper will be ready. Jackson, give me a candle, and I will show the ladies into the west room, where they can be as secluded as though in their own house;" and it was admirable to see the hearty farmer bow, and precede the females up the wide, hard wood stairs, displaying as much gallantry and care for their comfort as though he was to marry one of them next day.
"Good night, master," shrieked the mischievous bird, bringing a red flush to Mr. Wright's face.
"I'm coming back to punish you for your impudence, sir," our host said, shaking his finger at the bird.
"Don't hurry yourself. D——n bushrangers—where's the d——n bushrangers?" and as Mr. Wright disappeared from view, the bird turned its attention to other topics, and after surveying us with commendable attention, croaked out,—
"Give me bread; Poll's hungry."
"And so am I," Mr. Brown answered, making an attempt to stroke the bird's head, but the familiarity was rebuked by a vigorous peck, that almost started the skin.
"You little devil, what do you mean?" my friend said, almost angry.