“You’re too good to me, Jem,” said his wife. She walked all round the cage admiring it, and the parrot, which was of a hugely suspicious and nervous disposition, having had boys at its last place, turning with her. After she had walked round him five times he got sick of it, and in a simple sailorly fashion said so. “Oh, Jem,” said his wife. “It’s a beautiful talker,” said Gannett hastily, “and it’s so clever that it picks up everything it hears, but it’ll soon forget it.” “It looks as though it knows what you are saying,” said his wife. “Just look at it, the artful thing.” The opportunity was too good to be missed, and in a few straightforward lies the engineer acquainted Mrs. Gannett of the miraculous powers with which he had chosen to endow it. “But you don’t believe it?” said his wife, staring at him open-mouthed. “I do,” said the engineer firmly. “But how can it know what I’m doing when I’m away?” persisted Mrs. Gannett. “Ah, that’s its secret,” said the engineer; “a good many people would like to know that, but nobody has found out yet. It’s a magic bird, and when you’ve said that you’ve said all there is to say about it.” Mrs. Gannett, wrinkling her forehead, eyed the marvellous bird curiously. “You’ll find it’s quite true,” said Gannett; “when I come back that bird’ll be able to tell me how you’ve been and all about you. Everything you’ve done during my absence.” “Good gracious,” said the astonished Mrs. Gannett. “If you stay out after seven of an evening, or do anything else that I shouldn’t like, that bird’ll tell me,” continued the engineer impressively. “It’ll tell me who comes to see you, and in fact it will tell me everything you do while I’m away.” “Well, it won’t have anything bad to tell of me,” said Mrs. Gannett composedly, “unless it tells lies.” “It can’t tell lies,” said her husband confidently, “and now, if you go and put your bonnet on, we’ll drop in at the theatre for half an hour.” It was a prophetic utterance, for he made such a fuss over the man next to his wife, offering her his opera-glasses, that they left, at the urgent request of the management, in almost exactly that space of time. “You’d better carry me about in a band-box,” said Mrs. Gannett wearily as the outraged engineer stalked home beside her. “What harm was the man doing?” “You must have given him some encouragement,” said Mr. Gannett fiercely—“made eyes at him or something. A man wouldn’t offer to lend a lady his opera-glasses without.” Mrs. Gannett tossed her head—and that so decidedly, that a passing stranger turned his head and looked at her. Mr. Gannett accelerated his pace, and taking his wife’s arm, led her swiftly home with a passion too great for words.