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It was Bill who got into the tent once and put acid on my trapeze wire. And it was because he bribed poor Loper that he was able to do it. Bill pretended it was only a trick to make me slip, because he wanted to get even with me for discharging him. So poor, weak Harry let him sneak into the tent, disguised so none of our men would know him.
In the mean time Mrs. Loper and her two assistants, warm and red, but sustained by the importance of the occasion, were at work in the kitchen, beating eggs and stirring sugar and butter together for cakes, making pies, and roasting, baking, boiling, and stewing. When their other tasks were done, Maggie and Elvira were deputed to set the table.
"When do you find time to learn so much about birds?" asked George Loper, who knew only a few of the more common ones, blackbirds, crows, jays, hawks, and robins, and had no eyes for the variety of feathered life around him.
It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add that a full explanation ensued when the party became calmer; that Mrs Twitter could not doubt the veracity of Hetty Frog, but suspected her sanity; that Mrs Frog was sent for, and was recognised at once by Mr Twitter as the poor woman who had asked him such wild and unmeaning questions the night on which he had found the baby; and that Mr and Mrs Twitter, Mrs Loper, Mrs Larrabel, and Crackaby came to the unanimous conclusion that they had never heard of such a thing before in the whole course of their united lives which lives, when united, as some statisticians would take a pride in recording, formed two hundred and forty-three years!
Being well-known, both as to person and circumstances, he was accepted at once; taken in, washed, cropped, and transformed as if by magic. "My dear Mrs Loper," said Mrs Twitter over a cup of tea, "it is very kind of you to say so, and I really do think you are right, we have done full justice to our dear wee Mita.
Loper had none, and the men scraped their cups on the edge of the saucers before placing them on the clean white cloth. One man drank six cups of coffee, then said he guessed he wouldn't take any more, adding, "It's best to be moderate." At this all the men burst into a roar of laughter, except one, who grew red in the face and ate his dinner in silence.
That genial old man was busy one morning in the nursery, amusing little Mita, who had by that time attained to what we may style the dawn-of-intelligence period of life, and was what Mrs Loper, Mr Crackaby, and Mr Stickler called "engaging." "Mariar!" shouted Mr Twitter to his amiable spouse, who was finishing her toilet in the adjoining room.
As Mrs Loper could not form the slightest conception what the result would be, she replied with a weak smile and a request for more sausage. These remarks, although calculated to enlist the sympathies of Crackaby and excite the mental energies of Twitter, had no effect whatever on those gentlemen, for the latter was deeply depressed, and his friend Crackaby felt for him sincerely.
A track of light rails ran from the river bank to these workings; the gravel and sand was loaded into a car, and hauled or pushed to the bank, then dumped into a chute, which sent it down to the river's edge. Loper was not at his work however, neither did we find him at his ranch, a mile down the river. He had a neat little place, with fruit trees and a garden, a horse or two, and some poultry.
George Loper went away grumbling that he couldn't see any use in learning about birds: all he wanted was for the crows and blackbirds to keep away from the corn when it was first planted. But Elvira and young Worth talked ten minutes longer, finding more and more that they were interested in the same subjects.
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