t, slowly
(scarce knowing what he did) drew forth a red spotted handkerchief and
eyed it. Maybe he had, to begin with, some intention of proffering it.
But he stood still, a figure of woe, now glancing at Mrs Bosenna, anon
staring fixedly at the handkerchief as if in wonder how it came in his
hand. He noted, too, for the first time that the tall clock in the
corner had an exceptionally loud tick.

"Go away!" commanded Mrs Bosenna after a minute or so, looking up with
tear-stained eyes. It seemed that she had suddenly became aware of his
presence.

Cai picked up his hat. "I was waitin' your leave, ma'am."

"Go, please!"

He went. He was indeed anxious to be gone. Very likely at the white
gate below by the stream, 'Bias was standing in wait to knock his head
off. Cai did not care. Nothing mattered now--nothing but a desire to
follow 'Bias and have another word with him. It might even be. . . .
But no: 'Bias was lost to him, lost irrevocably. Yet he craved to
follow, catch up with him, plead for one more word.

He went quickly down the path to the gate, but of 'Bias there was no
sign.

Poor Cai! He took a step or two down the road, and halted. Since 'Bias
was not in sight there would be little chance of overtaking him on this
side of the town; and in the street no explanation would be possible.

Cai turned heavily, set his face inland, and started to walk at a great
pace. As though walking could exorcise what he carried in his heart!

Meanwhile 'Bias went striding down the valley with equal vigour and even
more determination. His right hand gripped the parrot-cage, swinging it
as he strode, and at intervals bumping it violently upon the calf of his
right leg, much to his discomfort, very much more to that of the bird--
which nevertheless, though bewildered by the rapid nauseating motion,
and at times flung asprawl, obstinately forbore to reproduce the form of
words so offensive in turn to Mrs Bowldler and the ladies at Rilla.

Once or twice, as his hand tired, and the rim of the cage impinged
painfully on his upper ankle-bone, 'Bias halted and swore--

"All right, my beauty! You just wait till we get home!"

He had never wrung a bird's neck, and had no notion how to start on so
fell a deed. He was, moreover, a humane man. Yet resolutely and
without compunction he promised the parrot its fate.

A little beyond the entrance of the town, by the gateway of Mr Rogers's
coal store, he came on a grou