itching, and I shall expect you to do it, without extra
charge, if you wish to retain the patronage of my household."

Here was a test of manhood! Would Martindale, a full-grown male, submit to
being bullied by a creature who wore a bustle, and a black silk apron?
Alas, for the whiskered sex! He took his medicine; just as we, hedged in
some fateful corner, gulped down our castor oil. Turning the gaiter over in
his dark hands, he meekly assented. Mrs. Handsomebody, appeased by her easy
victory, inquired after his wife.

"Oh, poorly as usual, thank you ma'am," he said.

"I should think that country life would be much better for her."

"She's even worse in the country."

"There was a sheet of an excellent religious paper wrapped about that
gaiter. You might give it to her to read."

"Thank you, ma'am, I will, though she takes more comfort reading the
dream-book than anything."

"Burn the dream-book. It is probably at the root of the trouble."

"No," replied the cobbler, slowly, "It all began when we lost our
daughter."

Mrs. Handsomebody was touched. "That is sad indeed. How old was the child?"

"Just two days old, ma'am. We were camping in a forest when she was born,
and I had laid her in a little hammock among the birds, and some gypsies
must have stolen her, for when I came back she was gone. She'd be eighteen
now." He stroked his leather apron with trembling hands, at the same time
giving me a curious look of appeal. So when Mrs. Handsomebody, after a few
words of sympathy made a movement to go, I developed a strange pain in the
leg, that made walking an impossibility. She consented that I should rest a
while at the cobbler's, and then return home carrying the gaiter.

When Martindale and I were left alone, he cautiously opened the door into
the passage, peered out, and then returned. He said softly:

"Little Master, I've got to get rid of Coppertoes. She's turned against
him. She says he comes out of his cage of nights, and flies about the
house, pecking at the food, and trying to make a nest in her hair. She says
he stole a golden sovereign of hers and hid it in an old shoe. Isn't it a
shame, and he such a lovely bird?"

"It's awful," I agreed. "What shall you do?"

"I know a man who will buy him, but he is out of town till tomorrow. Could
I depend on you, little master, to keep him for me till then? If he is left
here the misses will do him an injury."

"But Mrs. Handsomebody--" I faltered.

"Just