On the following Saturday afternoon, when Josh well knew that there would be a full attendance at Posey’s, that gay and debonair gentleman came in a light spring wagon. He was accompanied by a young man with a thick “O’Merican” accent, who drove the rig, and whom he introduced as Mr. Flaherty. Interest immediately centered on the big box, perforated with many auger holes, that stood in the wagon back of the seat. The vehicle was followed by the agitated and curious crowd, as it was driven back to the chicken yard. The box was tenderly removed and placed inside the wire netting enclosure by Varney and Flaherty. The appearance of Hyder Ali had been skilfully timed. The composite effect of Varney’s discourses on the subject of this wondrous bird had been to produce psychologic conditions that he considered quite perfect for his dark purposes. He knew that the halo of prestige and romance, that had been patiently made to glow around Hyder Ali, would become still brighter when that peerless bird burst dramatically upon the rustic stage. Out of the opened door of the box there came, with delicate mincing steps and regal mien, what, to that crowd, was almost a celestial vision. He was an enormous bird. With the exception of his eyes, he was pure white, even to his carunculated neck wattle and comb. The eyes were of a deep pink, and gleamed like iridescent opals in their snowy setting. The slender comb dangled and hung jauntily on one side, like the tassle on a Turkish fez, and it imparted a rakish oriental air. The head was crowned with a dainty little wisp of airy feathers that would have fluttered the heart of the most obdurate of hen turkeys. The shifting light revealed pearly half-tones in the snowy raiment. He was immaculate and would hardly have seemed out of place on a pedestal. Many strange and queer things have stood on pedestals in this world, both in fact and fancy, and Hyder Ali would have ranked very far from the lower end of the scale. He paused on being released from what to him must have been a humiliating confinement, looked disdainfully at his surroundings, and nonchalantly acquired a fat green tomato worm that decorated a nearby leaf. He walked slowly, and with lordly dignity, about the enclosure, apparently conscious of the wonder and admiration he was attracting. He seemed like some rare exotic—entirely foreign to the strange environment into which an indiscriminate fate had thrust him. “Let joy be unconfined! We’ve got Hyder Ali!” shouted Bill, half sarcastically, as he joined the awe stricken crowd. He had arrived too late to witness the unloading, but he was impressed with the fact that Varney had, at least in some measure, “made good.” However, the demon of distrust still lingered in his heart. He had never seen or heard of anything that looked like Hyder Ali before, but was disposed to restrain his enthusiasm and await further developments.