She opened the little satchel hanging at her belt, and from it took a folded slip of paper which she handed to Polly, telling her she might have it to read, and when she had finished it to please bring it back to her.  Polly thanked her, and ran away to a quiet corner of the back room, where I saw her slowly reading the clipping as she rocked herself in her pretty birch chair.  When she had read it through, she sat for some time looking very thoughtful.  At last she rose and carried the paper back to Miss Katharine, halting a moment as she passed my cage, to whisper softly: 

“Dickey Downy, you dear little fellow, I’m going upstairs right this very minute to take the feathers off my best Sunday hat and I’m never, never going to wear birds any more.”

CHAPTER XII

TWO SLAVES OF FASHION

  I do not like the fashion of your garments.
          —­Shakespeare.

  I’m sure thou hast a cruel nature and a bloody.
          —­Shakespeare.

Two young ladies, fashionably dressed, met each other that afternoon just in front of our side window, which had been raised to let in the air.  From the warmth of their greeting I saw that they were on terms of friendly intimacy.

One of the girls stood a little out of the range of my vision, therefore I could not hear her voice when she talked, if, indeed, she had a chance to say anything, but the vivacious monologue carried on by her friend was amply sufficient to show the theme which interested them.

How glibly that pretty creature chattered!  How fast the words flew!  How she arched her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders and winked her eyes and wrinkled her forehead and pursed her rosy lips and tilted her nose and gesticulated with her slender hand and tapped the pavement with her umbrella point, passing from each phase of expression to the next with a rapidity truly wonderful.  Occasionally she went through with these strange grimaces all at once.  She was indeed a whirlwind of language, an avalanche of emotion.

Her voice was high pitched and shrill, so that every one on the street must have heard her as she exclaimed: 

“Oh, Nell, how perfectly lovely your new hat is!  Turn around so that I can see the other side.  Oh-h, ah-h, that darling little bird with its glossy plumage among the velvet is too sweet for anything!  If anything it is prettier than Kate Smith’s hat with the thrush’s head and wings, although I’ll admit hers is awfully stylish.  You ought to see my new hat.  Ah, I tell you it’s a beauty; soft crown of silvery stuff, and on one side a tall aigrette and a dear little cedar-bird, and toward the back is the cutest, cunningest humming-bird with its tiny green body and long bill.  It looks as if it were ready to fly or to sing.  I selected the trimming for sister May’s new hat too.  It is brown velvet and has an oriole on it; you know