Thus it was that he came to be considered _par excellence_ the good boy of the family, and he was certainly the clever one, and bore every sort of blushing honour thick upon him. It was to an occurrence in his boyhood that Mr. Plowden owed his parents’ determination to send him into the Church. His future career had always been a matter of much speculation to them, for they belonged to that class of people who love to arrange their infants’ destinies when the infants themselves are still in the cradle, and argue their fitness for certain lines of life from remarks which they make at three years old. Now, James’s mamma had a very favourite parrot with a red tail, and out of this tail it was James’s delight to pull the feathers, having discovered that so doing gave a parrot a lively twinge of pain. The onus of the feather-pulling, if discovered, was shouldered on to a chosen brother, who was promptly thrashed. But on one occasion things went wrong with Master James. The parrot was climbing up the outside of his cage, presenting the remainder of his tail to the hand of the spoiler in a way that was irresistibly seductive. But, aware of the fact that his enemy was in the neighbourhood, he kept a careful look-out from the corner of his eye, and the moment that he saw James’s stealthy hand draw near his tail made a sudden dart at it, and actually succeeded in making his powerful beak meet through its forefinger. James shrieked with pain and fury, and shaking the bird on to the floor, stunned it with a book. But he was not satisfied with this revenge, for, as soon as he saw that it could no longer bite, he seized it and twisted its neck. “There, you devil!” he said, throwing the creature into the cage. “Hullo, something has burst in my forehead!” “O James, what have you done!” said his little brother Montague, well knowing that he had a lively personal interest in James’s misdoings. “Nonsense! what have you done? Now remember, Montague, _you_ killed the parrot.” Just then Mr. and Mrs. Plowden came in from a drive, and a very lively scene ensued, into which we need not enter. Suffice it to say that, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, James was acquitted on the ground of general good character, and Montague, howling and protesting his innocence, was led off to execution. Justly fearful lest something further should transpire, James was hurriedly leaving the room, when his mother called him back. “Why, what is that on your forehead?” “Don’t know,” answered James; “something went snap there just now.” “Well, I never! Just look at the boy, John; he has got a cross upon his forehead.” Mr. Plowden papa examined the phenomenon very carefully, and then, solemnly removing his spectacles, remarked with much deliberation: “Elizabeth, that settles the point.” “What point, John?”