of acute physical enjoyment
faded into one of marked attention and alert curiosity. Pulling itself
up by the bars it climbed again upon its perch, sidled to the left side
of the cage, and began apparently to watch something with profound
interest. It bowed its head oddly, paused for a moment, then bowed its
head again. Father Murchison found himself conceiving--from this
elaborate movement of the head--a distinct idea of a personality. The
bird's proceedings suggested extreme sentimentality combined with that
sort of weak determination which is often the most persistent. Such weak
determination is a very common attribute of persons who are partially
idiotic. Father Murchison was moved to think of these poor creatures who
will often, so strangely and unreasonably, attach themselves with
persistence to those who love them least. Like many priests, he had had
some experience of them, for the amorous idiot is peculiarly sensitive
to the attraction of preachers. This bowing movement of the parrot
recalled to his memory a terrible, pale woman who for a time haunted all
churches in which he ministered, who was perpetually endeavouring to
catch his eye, and who always bent her head with an obsequious and
cunningly conscious smile when she did so. The parrot went on bowing,
making a short pause between each genuflection, as if it waited for a
signal to be given that called into play its imitative faculty.

"Yes, yes, it's imitating an idiot," Father Murchison caught himself
saying as he watched.

And he looked again about the room, but saw nothing; except the
furniture, the dancing fire, and the serried ranks of the books.
Presently the parrot ceased from bowing, and assumed the concentrated
and stretched attitude of one listening very keenly. He opened his beak,
showing his black tongue, shut it, then opened it again. The Father
thought he was going to speak, but he remained silent, although it was
obvious that he was trying to bring out something. He bowed again two or
three times, paused, and then, again opening his beak, made some remark.
The Father could not distinguish any words, but the voice was sickly and
disagreeable, a cooing and, at the same time, querulous voice, like a
woman's, he thought. And he put his ear nearer to the curtain, listening
with almost feverish attention. The bowing was resumed, but this time
Napoleon added to it a sidling movement, affectionate and affected,
like the movement of a silly and eager