in an adjoining room a green-and-red cockatoo squawked upon his perch, making a vivid splash of color in the late afternoon sunshine.
It was the cockatoo that she remembered the most distinctly, perhaps, for it had been the cockatoo which had engrossed the little frightened maid's attention those three long years ago when the poverty and death of Grannie Haggerty had set her drifting in the cruel world until, out of the torrid waters of neglect. Parson Chapman had lifted her to this haven that was his friend's home, before removing her to his own home in New Jersey.
Now Sally felt the same trust and liking for Mistress Van Houten that had enveloped her before, when that lady entered her parlor hurriedly and seated herself in a wing chair. She motioned Sally to draw near and, while the girl told her story, kept uttering little clucking cries of pity and horror. When the tale was ended, she closed her eyes and pondered, while Sally watched her anxiously. Suddenly Mistress Van Houten's eyes flew open, and she fixed them keenly upon the girl's wistful face.
"'Tis plain to be seen, Sally, that Parson Chapman did make a mistake when he placed ye in Mistress Todd's family. It can be seen that she hath no patience wi' ye, and dear knows," a smile spread over the lady's face, "dear knows a girl o' your age doth take much patience!"
