Aunt Mary's nephew was tired--very tired.
A little later he felt a weight against him; he looked; it was Aunt Mary's
head,--she was oblivious there on his bosom.
He heard a voice; it was the parrot.
"Now see what you've done," it said in sepulchral tones.
They reached the house, bore the honored guest within, and delivered her
to Janice.
"You can have that parrot," Jack called back to the cabman. "He's
guaranteed against slang."
The cabman drove away.
Janice received them with a look which might have been construed in many
ways, but they were all far past construing and the look fell to the
ground unheeded.
And again Aunt Mary was tucked carefully up to dream herself rested once
more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - A DEPARTURE AND A RETURN
The next day poor Aunt Mary had to undergo the ordeal of being obliged to
turn her face away from all those joys which had so suddenly and
brilliantly altered the hues of life for her. It pretty nearly used her
up. She took her reviving decoction with tears standing in her eyes,--and
sat down the glass with a bursting sigh. "My, but I wish I knew when I'd
be taking any more of this?" she said to Janice.
"Oh, you'll come back to the city some day," said the maid hopefully.
"Come back!" said Aunt Mary. "Well, I should say that I would come back!
Why--I--?" she stopped suddenly, "never mind," she said after a minute,
"only you'll see that I'll come back. Pretty surely--pretty positively.
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