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be allowed down here in the court where your pretty white feathers and your unblemished morals might be tarnished by the dreadful people all about. You shall go up on your perch; it is much better”—and with a deprecatory wave of his hand he strolled up the court-yard, Coco still nibbling his cheek with his horny black beak, the old man crooning a little love song as he walked.

I rose from my chair and began bawling out the good news of madame’s expected visit to the occupants of the several windows, the effect being almost as startling as had been Mignon’s song.

Instantly plans were cried down at me for her entertainment. Of course she must stay to dinner, our last one for the season! This was carried with a whoop. There must be, too, some kind of a special ceremony when the invitation was delivered. We must greet her at the door—all of us drawn up in a row, with Herbert stepping out of the ranks, saluting like a drum-major, and requesting the “distinguished honor”—and the rest of it: that, too, was carried unanimously. Whatever her gardening costume, it would make no difference, and no excuse on this score would receive a