Straight up to the square table she walked, where Bel had set down her bird-cage, with the newspaper pinned over it. Aunt Blin pulled the paper off with one hand, holding Bartholomew fast under the other arm. His big head stuck out before, and his big tail behind; both eager, restless, wondering, in port and aspect. "Now, Bartholomew," said Aunt Blin, in her calmest, most confident, most deliberate tones, "see here! We've brought--home--a little _bird_, Bartholomew!" Bartholomew's big head was electric with feline expression; his ears stood up, his eyes sent out green sparks; hair and whiskers were on end; he devoured poor little Cheeps already with his gaze; his tail grew huger, and vibrated in great sweeps. "O see, Aunt Blin!" cried Bel. "He's just ready to spring. He don't care a bit for what you say!" Aunt Blin gave a fresh grip with her elbow against Bartholomew's sides, and went on with unabated faith,--unhurried calmness. "We set _everything_ by that little bird, Bartholomew! We wouldn't have it touched for all the world! Don't--you--never--go--_near_ it! Do you hear?" Bartholomew heard. Miss Bree could not see his tail, fairly lashing now, behind her back, nor the fierce eyes, glowing like green fire. She stroked his head, and went on preaching. "The little bird _sings_, Bartholomew! You can hear it, mornings, while you eat your breakfast. And you shall have CHEESE for breakfast as long as you're good, and _don't_--_touch_--the _bird_!" "O, Aunt Blin! He will! He means to! Don't show it to him any more! Let me hang it way up high, where he _can't_!" "Don't you be afraid. He understands now, that we're precious of it. Don't you, Bartholomew? I want him to get used to it." And Aunt Blin actually set the cat down, and turned round to take up her shawl again. Bartholomew was quiet enough for a minute; he must have his cat-pleasure of crouching and creeping; he must wait till nobody looked. He knew very well what he was about. But the tail trembled still; the green eyes were still wild and eager. "The kindlings are in the left-hand closet, you know," said Aunt Blin, with a big pin in her mouth, and settling her shoulders into her shawl. "You'll want to get the fire going as quick as you can." Poor Bel turned away with a fearful misgiving; not for that very minute, exactly; she hardly supposed Bartholomew would go straight from the sermon to sin; but for the resistance of evil enticements hereafter, under Miss Bree's trustful system,--though he walked off now like a deacon after a benediction,--she trembled in her poor little heart, and was sorely afraid she could not ever come to love Aunt Blin's great gray pet as she supposed she ought. Aunt Blin had not fairly reached the passage-way, Bel had just emerged from the closet with her hands full of kindlings, and pushed the door to behind her with her foot, when--crash! bang!--what _had_ happened?