nd ends, she still had an old black
pocket-book and a big bulky bundle done up in a shawl lying idly in her
lap. After I had taken all this in, I gave her personally the once-over
and was surprised to see she wasn't so old as her figure, or anything
like it. For by the size of her she might of been the Pyramids, but her
face was quite young and if she had been a boy I would of said the
moustache was the first cherished down.

"What's your name, dearie?" says Ma, which I simply can't learn her not
to be familiar with servants.

"Anna," says the lump.

"And where do you come from?" says Ma, giving a poor imitation of a
detective.

"Old Country," says Anna. Well, Ma and me at once exchanged glances,
putting name and place together.

"German?" says Ma. "Of course!"

"Swedish," says Anna, more lumpishly than ever.

And just at that moment the air was filled with a big laugh that none of
us there had give voice to. It was _some_ shock, that laugh, and Ma and
me looked around expecting to see who had come into the room, but it
was nobody. Anna was the only one who didn't seem disturbed. She just
went on sitting.

"Who was that?" says Ma.

"It must of been outside," I says, for it was warm and we had the
windows open so's to let in the gasoline and railroad smoke and a little
fresh air.

"I guess so," says Ma. Then she went back to her third-degree.

"So you're Swedish!" says Ma. "Can you cook?"

"Good!" says Anna. "Svell cook!"

"Well, dearie!" says Ma, "why was it you left your last place?"

"Too hot!" says Anna. And again me and Ma exchanged glances.

"Are you a good American?" says Ma.

"Good American-Swedish," says Anna. And immediately that awful laugh was
repeated. This time it was in the room, no doubt about it. And yet no
one was there outside ourselfs.

"My Gawd!" says Ma. "What was it?"

"Somebody is hid some place!" I says. "And I'd like to know who is it
with the cheap sense of humor?"

"It bane Frits," says Anna. "Na, na, Frits!"

"But where on earth . . ." I was commencing, when I noticed Anna was
unwinding the shawl off the package in her lap. And then in another
moment we seen Frits for our own selves, for there he was, a big
moth-eaten parrot, interned in a cage, making wicked eyes at us and
giving us the ha-ha like the true Hun he was!

"Frits and me, we stay!" announced Anna comfortably. "We stay!"

"But look here," says I, "we didn't start out to hire any parrots."

"Why Mary