I strongly suspect that
pet subject of Miss Wort's--that hulking, idle son of Widow Burt. I am
sorry for _her_, but _he_ is no good. You know I wrote to the inspector
of police at Hampton. Did I not tell you? No! Well, but I did, and said
if he would send an extra man over to stay the night in the house and
watch who stole my pigeons, he should have coffee and hot buttered
toast; and I dare say Eppie would not have objected to sit up with him
till twelve. However, the inspector didn't--he did not consider it
necessary--but the ordinary police probably watched, for I have not been
robbed since. And that is a comfort; I hate to sleep with one eye open.
You are laughing, Bessie; you would not laugh if you had lost seven
pigeons ready to go into a pie, and all in the space of ten days. I am
sure that horrid Burt stole 'em."
Bessie still laughed: "Is your affection so material? Do you love your
pigeons so dearly that you eat them up?" said she.
"What else should I keep them for? I should be overrun with pigeons but
for putting them in pies; they make the garden very untidy as it is. I
have given up keeping ducks, but I have a tame gull for the slugs. Who
is this at the gate? Oh! Miss Wort with her inexhaustible physic-bottle.
Everybody seems to have heard that you are here, Bessie."
Miss Wort came in breathless, and paused, and greeted Bessie in a way
that showed her wits were otherwise engaged.
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