se. You
couldn't find a safer place for one."

"Indade, an' to be sure she's too big an' too handsome a pussy to be
after wastin' her time on them little bastes. It's that little tarrier
dog of yours, Mrs. Hopkins, that will be after worryin' the mice an' the
rats, an' the thaves too, I 'll warrant. Is n't he a fust-rate-lookin'
watch-dog, an' a rig'ler rat-hound?"

Mrs. Hopkins looked at the little short-legged and short-winded
animal of miscellaneous extraction with an expression of contempt and
affection, mingled about half and half. "Worry 'em! If they wanted to
sleep, I rather guess he would worry 'em! If barkin' would do their job
for 'em, nary a mouse nor rat would board free gratis in my house as
they do now. Noisy little good-for-nothing tike,--ain't you, Fret?"

Mistress Kitty was put back a little by two such signal failures. There
was another chance, however, to make her point, which she presently
availed herself of,--feeling pretty sure this time that she should
effect a lodgement. Mrs. Hopkins's parrot had been observing Kitty,
first with one eye and then with the other, evidently preparing to make
a remark, but awkward with a stranger. "That 's a beautiful part y 've
got there," Kitty said, buoyant with the certainty that she was on safe
ground this time; "and tahks like a book, I 'll be bound. Poll! Poll!
Poor Poll!"

She put forth her hand to caress the intelligent and affable bird,
which, instead of responding as expected, "squawked," as our phonetic
language has it, and, opening a beak imitated from a tooth-drawing
instrument of the good old days, made a shrewd nip at Kitty's
forefinger. She drew it back with a jerk.

"An' is that the way your part tahks, Mrs. Hopkins?"

"Talks, bless you, Kitty! why, that parrot hasn't said a word this ten
year. He used to say Poor Poll! when we first had him, but he found it
was easier to squawk, and that's all he ever does nowadays,--except bite
once in a while."

"Well, an' to be sure," Kitty answered, radiant as she rose from her
defeats, "if you'll kape a cat that does n't know a mouse when she
sees it, an' a dog that only barks for his livin', and a part that only
squawks an' bites an' niver spakes a word, ye must be the best-hearted
woman that's alive, an' bliss ye, if ye was only a good Catholic, the
Holy Father 'd make a saint of ye in less than no time!"

So Mistress Kitty Fagan got in her bit of Celtic flattery, in spite of
her three successive d