Verty smiled, and let Cloud dip his muzzle into the trough of a pump
which stood by the door, venerable-looking and iron-handled, like all
parish pumps.

"What excuse have you, young man?" said Mr. Roundjacket. "The
individual who arrives late at the locality of his daily exercitation
will eventually become a candidate for the high and responsible
position of public suspension."

"_Anan_? said Verty, who was not accustomed to paraphrase. Then
turning his eyes toward the pigeon, he said:

"Pretty fellow! Oh! will you show me the way? You shall--to see
Redbud!"

And Verty, for the first time, seemed to realize the fact, that he
could see her again. His countenance became brilliant--his eyes were
filled with light--his lips wreathed with smiles.

Mr. Roundjacket was astounded.

"Young man," he said, sticking his pen behind his ear, "I should
be pleased to know what you are thinking about! You are really
extravagant, sir--you need the purifying and solidifying influence of
the law; believe me--hey! what are you doing there?"

Verty was gnawing off the ribbon from the pigeon's foot, tied too
tightly; he could not undo it, and having no knife, used his sharp
white teeth for the purpose.