as thou art, I have remembered. And now tell me, what hast thou given Tony?”
As though in mute answer, the parrot suddenly lowered her head toward him, and he saw that over the gray of her feathered face was a splash of scarlet, as if a vivid fuchsia petal had fallen there.
“Loretta!” he cried anxiously; “Loretta! thine eyes!”
She lifted her head until her beak pointed past the giant crucifix and straight into the glaring sun.
“Buenos dias,” he prompted tenderly, alarmed now at her unusual silence and the indifference shown his offering; “Loretta, buenos dias.”
But she was settling herself upon
