After that, neither one spoke, but stumbled on, Blandy half-supporting Polly, both watching eagerly for a moving speck in the narrowing stretch between them and the base of the spur ahead. At sundown, they neared the bowl. Blandy began to call: “Patton! Oh, _Patton_! Are you there?” A few steps farther, he came short, putting out an arm to stop Polly. For Patton was there, stretched flat upon his back, his arms thrown wide to either side. And beside him, with its black wings outspread, lay a great bird, claws up and feathers ruffled. BUENAS NOCHES Scarlet fuchsias on a swaying branch freckled the ’dobe wall behind Loretta’s perch. The parrot, her claws wide apart, her brilliant rudder tilting to balance her grey body, industriously snapped at the blossoms. One secured at last, she turned slowly about and, with infinite care, let it drop upon the open pages of Padre Alonzo’s book. The padre brushed the flower away and glanced up. “_Buenos días, señor!_” clacked Loretta; “_buenos días! buenos días! buenos días!_” “Good-day to thyself,” retorted the padre. He spoke in Spanish, shaking a stout finger. “And tear not the flowers again. They be the last of the kind till after the New Year. So take warning, I say, lest thou find thyself thrust without the garden.” Loretta recognised displeasure in his voice. She mumbled an inquiring “_Ga-a-wk! ga-a-wk!_” and shifted thoughtfully from foot to foot. But, presently, the padre having resumed his reading, she turned once more to catch at the swaying branch. When a second fuchsia came fluttering down to his hand, Padre Alonzo uncrossed his sandals and rose. “Oh! oh! oh!” he cried, wagging his close-cropped head so vigorously that the very beads of his rosary tinkled together. “Thou art the naughtiest bird in all of California! What if Padre Anzar finds thee despoiling his plant? He will put thee again where thou must fight to keep thy feathers--in the kitchen with the cats!” At the mention of cats a startling change came over the parrot. Her plumage ruffled, her eyes began to roll, she straightened on the perch, uttering hoarse cries of fear and defiance. “Then be good,” he counselled, “be good. Or off thou’lt likely go. Me-e-ow! me-e-ow!” And now Loretta moved nearer, anxious for friendly terms. “_Dame la mano_,” she suggested; “_a-a-aw, dame la mano. A-a-aw! a-a-aw!_” She balanced tremblingly on one leg, curling the other under her. Padre Alonzo put the stout finger into the proffered claw. “So, so,” he said. “And I shall not tattle. But tell me: What wouldst make thee forget to use thy sharp pruning shears? An apple? or seeds? or one of Gabrielda’s sweet bis--” Loretta perked her head to one side. “_To-o-ny, To-o-ny, To-o-ny_,” she droned coaxingly.