"At nine o'clock, sir," said Mr. Homer. "Jocko, the parrot, had had some trifling indisposition, and Cousin Marcia had sent for Miss Penelope Pardon, who, as you are doubtless aware, has some knowledge of the feathered tribes and their peculiar ailments. It chanced that I came in to bring a letter, which would, I fancied, give Cousin Marcia singular pleasure. It was from little Vesta--I would say from Mrs. Geoffrey Strong, Mr. Bliss: she has always been a favorite niece--grandniece, I should say, of Mrs. Tree. I found my cousin somewhat excited; she was speaking to Miss Pardon with emphasis, and, as I entered, she struck the floor with her stick and said: 'Cat's foot! don't tell me! folderol!' and other expressions of that nature, as was her custom when moved. Seeing me, she turned upon me with some abruptness and addressed me in the following words: 'Well, Homer, here you are mooning about as usual. You ought to be in a cage, and have Penny to take care of you. How would you like this for a cage?' She waved her stick round the room, and then, grasping it nervously, shook it at me with violence. "'Homer Hollopeter,' she said, 'what is the name of this village?' "Somewhat startled at this outburst, I repeated her remark. 'The name, Cousin Marcia?' "'The name!' she said, violently. 'The real name! out with it, ninnyhammer!' "I replied firmly,--it is a point on which I have always felt strongly, Mr. Bliss,--'The real name of this village, Cousin Marcia, is Quahaug.' "Mrs. Tree sat bolt upright in her chair. 'Homer Hollopeter,' she said, 'you have some sense, after all! Hooray for Quahaug!' "Mr. Bliss, they were her last words. She sat looking at me, erect, vivacious, the very picture of life; and the next instant the stick dropped from her hand. She was gone, sir. The spirit had--departed;--a--removed itself;--a--winged its way to the empyrean." He paused, half-drew out the blue necktie, then replaced it hurriedly. "It was a great shock," he said; "I shall never be the same man again, never! Miss Pardon was most kind and attentive. She supplied me with--a--volatile salts, and in other ways ministered to my outer man till I was somewhat restored; but the inner man, sir, the--a--rainbow-hued spirit, as the poet has it, is--a--bruised; is--a--battered; is--a--marked with the impress of a grievous blow. At my age I can hardly hope to recover the equilibrium which--" "Come! come! Mr. Hollopeter," said the little minister; "you must not be despondent. Consider, our dear old friend had rounded out her century; the ripe fruit dropped quietly from the bough. It is true that her loss is a grievous one to all our community."