To talk of the parrot, for which ’Bias had an inexplicable affection, might be awkward, as Cai had promised.  But it was less ticklish anyhow than to broach the subject uppermost in the minds of both; and Cai opened on it with a sense of respite, if not of relief.

“By the way,” said he, lighting his pipe and crossing his legs, “I had a chat with Mrs Bowldler before supper.  She came to me complainin’ about”—­(puff)—­“about your parrot.  It seems she has taken a dislike to the bird.”

“Finds his talk monotonous?” suggested ’Bias after a pause, during which he, too, puffed.  Strange to say, he showed no vexation.  His tone was complacent even.

“I wouldn’ say that azackly. . . .”

“I’ll admit ’tis monotonous,” ’Bias went on, between puffs.  “Call it nothing at all if you like:  I don’t take no truck in birds’-talk, for my part—­don’t mind how same it is.  If that’s the woman’s complaint, she was free to teach it new words any time.”

“But it isn’t.”

“Then I don’t see what grievance she can have,” said ’Bias with entire composure.  “The bird’s shapely and well-grown beyond the usual. . . .  Perhaps her objection is to parrots in general—­eh?” ’Bias withdrew the pipe-stem from his lips and stared hardily along it.  “There’s no need to trouble, anyway,” he added, “for, as it happens, I’m givin’ the bird away.”

“Eh?” The interrogation sounded like a faint echo.

“To-morrow.  To Mrs Bosenna.  Why shouldn’t I?”

Cai felt his body stiffen as he sat.  For the moment he made no answer:  then—­

“Well, ’tis your affair—­in a sense,” he said; “but I shouldn’t, if I was you.”

“I promised it to her this very day.  She was confidin’ to me that she finds it lonely up at Rilla, and I don’t wonder.”

“She’ve confided the same thing to me several times, off and on,” said Cai.

“Ah?” . . .  ’Bias was unmoved.  “Then maybe it’ll help ye to guess how the land lies.”

“It do, more or less,” Cai agreed:  and then, as a bright thought struck him.  “Why shouldn’t we lend her the musical box?  It’s—­it’s more reliable, any way.”

“’Twouldn’t be much account as a pet, would it?” retorted ’Bias.  “Now look here, Cai!” he swung about in his chair, and for the first time since the conversation started the pair looked one another straight in the eyes.  “You an’ me’d best come to an understandin’ and get it over.  I don’t mind tellin’ you, as man to man, that I’ve been thinkin’ things out; and the upshot is—­I don’t say ’tis certain, but ’tis probable—­that in the near futur’ I shall be spendin’ a heap o’ my time at Rilla.”

“You’ll be welcome.  I can almost answer for it,” Cai assured him heartily.

“You’ve noticed it, eh? . . .  Well, that saves a lot o’ trouble.”  With a grunt of relief ’Bias turned his gaze again upon the empty grate and sat smoking for a while.  “I’d a sort o’ fear it might come on ye sudden . . . eh?  What’s the matter?” He turned about again, for Cai had emitted an audible groan.