“You had better ask your friend here.”

“Hey?”

“Perhaps,” said Mrs Bosenna sarcastically, “that goes back beyond your memory!  Your parrot, if I may say so, has a better one.”

“Missus!” expostulated Dinah modestly, while “Oh good Lord!” muttered Cai with a start.  His friend’s eye was on him, too, fixed and suspicious.

“The parrot?” ’Bias, albeit innocent, took alarm.

“Why, what has he been doin’?”

“It isn’t anything he did, sir,” protested Dinah, taking courage to face about again from the oven door.  “It’s what he said.”

“I meant to warn you—­” began Cai; but ’Bias beat him down thunderously—­

“What did he say?” he demanded of Dinah.

“Oh, I couldn’t, sir!  I really couldn’t!”

“I meant to warn you,” interposed Cai again.  “There’s a—­a screw loose somewhere in that bird.  Didn’t I tell you only the night before last that Mrs Bowldler couldn’t get along with him?”

“You did,” admitted ‘Bias, his tone ominously calm.  “But you didn’ specify:  not when I told you I was goin’ to bring the bird up here to Rilla.”

“No, I didn’:  for, in the first place, I couldn’, not knowin’ what language the bird used.”

He would have said more, but ’Bias turned roughly from him to demand of the women—­

“Well, what did he say? . . .  Did he say it in your hearin’, ma’am?”

“Ahem!—­er—­partially so,” owned Mrs Bosenna.

“It’s no use you’re askin’ what he said,” added Dinah; “for no decent woman could tell it.  And, what’s more, the mistress is takin’ her breakfast here in the kitchen because she durstn’t go nigh the parlour.”

“And I got that bird off a missionary!  A decenter speakin’ parrot I’ve never known, so far as my experience goes—­and I’ve known a good few.”

“Folks have different notions on these matters; different standards, so to speak,” suggested Mrs Bosenna icily.

“It’s my opinion,” put in Cai, “that missionary did you in the eye.”

“Oh, that’s your opinion, is it?  Well, you’d best take care, my joker, or you’ll get something in the eye yourself.”

“We don’t want any prize-fightin’ here, if you please,” commanded Mrs Bosenna.

“There again!” foamed ’Bias, with difficulty checking an oath.  “A prize-fighter, am I?  Who put that into your head, ma’am?  Who’s been scandalisin’ me to you?” He turned, half-choking, and shook a minatory finger at Cai.

“I—­I didn’ say I had any objection to fightin’-men, not when they’re quiet,” Mrs Bosenna made haste to observe in a pacificatory tone.  In fact she was growing nervous, and felt that she had driven her revenge far enough.  “My late husband was very fond of the—­the ring—­in his young days.”

It is easier, however, to arouse passions than to allay them.  ’Bias continued to shake a finger at Cai, and Cai (be it said in justice) faced the accusation gamely.