"But you seem nicely fed."

I picked on.

"What is his name, old man? Don't you like to talk?"

"Adam Moss."

"Such a green, cool, soft name! It is like his house and yard and
garden. What does he do?"

"Whatever he pleases."

"You must not be impertinent to me, or I'll tell him. What does
he like?"

"Birds--red-birds. What do _you_ like?"

"Red-birds! How does he catch them? Throw salt on their tails?"

"He is a lover of Nature, madam, and particularly of birds."

"What does _he_ know about birds? Doesn't he care for people?"

"He doesn't think many worth caring for."

"Indeed! And _he_ is perfect, then, is he?"

"He thinks he is nearly as bad as any; but that doesn't make the
rest any better."