Tomasso wrinkled his face. Their positions were unpleasantly reversed. In Gabrielda’s domain it was she who backed off or sought the safe places, and he who sallied out from his cosy nook by the range to scare her into noisy protests. While here she was bristling to him. His paw poised itself in mid-air. Loretta grew reckless. Fanning her wings, in one lightning stroke she bit him between his flattened ears. The pain of it enraged Tomasso. With a jump, he met her. Then ensued such a scene as the kitchen knew. There was mewing and spitting and yowling; there was _gawking_ and squalling and a rending cry for “_Tony!_” All the while, close to the gold of Ophir, the cat and the parrot went dizzily around and around, a whirligig of grey, scarlet and black--that tossed off fur and feathers. It was over in a moment, when Tomasso fled, over path and grass, and into a dusky recess between the trunks of fir and pine. There he lay down, sulking and grumbling and licking his paws. But Loretta stayed where she was a little, holding her head sidewise in the attitude of a listener. “_Lora_,” she murmured presently, her voice inquiring, “_Lora, Lora._” Then, slowly and clumsily, she made her way to the base of the perch, and with beak and talons climbed it. * * * * * It was past the noon angelus when Padre Alonzo came waddling along the path, and he found the garden still--still, and filled with the sun-drawn incense of trees and flowers. “Sst sst! Tony will be too warm, I fear,” he was saying aloud as he neared the cage. “The little one shall go to a cooler spot.” And with this conclusion, he halted beside the perch of the parrot and lifted the chirping canary down to his knee. “Buenos días,” he said to Loretta, pausing a moment: “a good-day, truly, but over-hot, so that my cassock makes of me a living olla, for I am beaded with water drops from top to toe.” The parrot shifted a little, and again set her head sidewise, as if she were puzzled and listening. Next, she edged toward him, and uncertainly, putting a foot down, clasping and unclasping the pole, trying it cautiously. Against the vertical piece that made her perch like a cross she teetered awkwardly and stopped. “Loretta,” said the padre, in some concern, “hast anything in thy craw? Well, gulp down a stone and grind thy grist. What one swallowest that must one digest.” The gravel crunched behind him. He glanced back, to see Padre Anzar advancing, brown cowl shading hollow eyes. Padre Alonzo coloured guiltily. “Tony must go to the shade,” he said. “The sun is hot to the cooking-point.” Padre Anzar paused a moment, glowering up at Loretta. “Then may it singe the plumage of that vixen,” he answered. “She desecrates our garden.” Another frown, and he passed on.