s,
but that Mother Jane heard and in a measure understood them, I led the
way into the hut and pointed to the string from which the one precious
vegetable had been torn.

She gave a spring toward it that was well-nigh maniacal in its fury, and
for an instant I thought she was going to rend the air with one of her
wild yells, when there came a swishing of wings at one of the open
windows, and a dove flew in and nestled in her breast, diverting her
attention so, that she dropped the empty husk of the onion she had just
grasped and seized the bird in its stead. It was a violent clutch, so
violent that the poor dove panted and struggled under it till its head
flopped over and I looked to see it die in her hands.

"Stop!" I cried, horrified at a sight I was so unprepared to expect from
one who was supposed to cherish these birds most tenderly.

But she heard me no more than she saw the gesture of indignant appeal I
made her. All her attention, as well as all her fury, was fixed upon the
dove, over whose neck and under whose wings she ran her trembling
fingers with the desperation of one looking for something he failed to
find.

"Ten! ten!" it was now her turn to shout, as her eyes passed in angry
menace from the bird to the empty husk that dangled over her head. "You
brought it, did you, and you've taken it, have you? There, then! You'll
never bring or carry any more!" And lifting up her hand, she flung the
bird to the other side of the room, and would have turned upon me, in
which contingency I would for once have met my match, if, in releasing
the bird from her hands, she had not at the same time released the coin
which she had hitherto managed to hold through all her passionate
gestures.

The sight of this piece of gold, which she had evidently forgotten for
the moment, turned her thoughts back to the joys it promised her.
Recapturing it once more, she sank again into her old ecstasy, upon
which I proceeded to pick up the poor, senseless dove, and leave the hut
with a devout feeling of gratitude for my undoubted escape.

That I did this quietly and with the dove hidden under my little cape,
no one who knows me well will doubt. I had brought something from the
hut besides this victim of the old imbecile's fury, and I was no more
willing that Mr. Gryce should see the one than detect the other. I had
brought away a clue.

"The birds of the air shall carry it." So the Scripture runs. This bird,
this pigeon, who now l