ess
itself to a nut which had been fixed between the bars for its
refreshment. With its curved beak it felt and tapped the nut, at first
gently, then with severity. Finally it plucked the nut from the bars,
seized it with its rough, grey toes, and, holding it down firmly on the
perch, cracked it and pecked out its contents, scattering some on the
floor of the cage and letting the fractured shell fall into the china
bath that was fixed against the bars. This accomplished, the bird paused
meditatively, extended one leg backwards, and went through an elaborate
process of wing-stretching that made it look as if it were lopsided and
deformed. With its head reversed, it again applied itself to a subtle
and exhaustive search among the feathers of its wing. This time its
investigation seemed interminable, and Father Murchison had time to
realise the absurdity of the whole position, and to wonder why he had
lent himself to it. Yet he did not find his sense of humour laughing at
it. On the contrary, he was smitten by a sudden gust of horror. When he
was talking to his friend and watching him, the Professor's manner,
generally so calm, even so prosaic, vouched for the truth of his story
and the well-adjusted balance of his mind. But when he was hidden this
was not so. And Father Murchison, standing behind his curtain, with his
eyes upon the unconcerned Napoleon, began to whisper to himself the
word--madness, with a quickening sensation of pity and of dread.

The parrot sharply contracted one wing, ruffled the feathers around its
throat again, then extended its other leg backwards, and proceeded to
the cleaning of its other wing. In the still room the dry sound of the
feathers being spread was distinctly audible. Father Murchison saw the
blue curtains behind which Guildea stood tremble slightly, as if a
breath of wind had come through the window they shrouded. The clock in
the far room chimed, and a coal dropped into the grate, making a noise
like dead leaves stirring abruptly on hard ground. And again a gust of
pity and of dread swept over the Father. It seemed to him that he had
behaved very foolishly, if not wrongly, in encouraging what must surely
be the strange dementia of his friend. He ought to have declined to lend
himself to a proceeding that, ludicrous, even childish in itself, might
well be dangerous in the encouragement it gave to a diseased
expectation. Napoleon's protruding leg, extended wing and twisted neck,
his bus