"Poor old gentleman! He must have the blues dreadfully. What does
he do with his birds? Eat his robins, and stuff his cats, and sell
his red-birds in cages?"

"He considers it part of his mission in life to keep them from
being eaten or stuffed or caged."

"And you say he is nearly a hundred?"

"He is something over thirty years of age, madam."

"Thirty? Surely we heard he was very old. Thirty! And does he
live in that beautiful little old house all by himself?"

"_I_ live with him!"

"_You_! Ha! ha! ha! And what is _your_ name, you dear good old
man?"

"Adam."

"_Two_ Adams living in the same house! Are you the _old_ Adam? I
have heard so much of him."

At this I rose, pushed back my hat, and looked up at her.

"_I_ am Adam Moss," I said, with distant politeness. "You can have
these strawberries for your breakfast if you want them."