"Jerry?"

"The bird," explained Cap'n Abe, easing himself comfortably into a chair,
his guest being seated, and resting his palms on his knees as he gazed at
her out of his pale blue eyes. "He's a lot of comfort--Jerry. An' he
useter be a great singer. Kinder gittin' old, now, like the rest of us.

"Does seem too bad," went on Cap'n Abe reflectively, "how a bird like him
has got to live in a cage all his endurin' days. Jerry's a
prisoner--like I been. _I_ ain't never had the freedom I wanted,
Miss------?

"Louise, please. Uncle Abram. Lou Grayling," the girl begged, but
smiling.

"Then just you call me Cap'n Abe. I'm sort o' useter that," the
storekeeper said.

"Of course I will. But why haven't you been free?" she asked, reverting
to his previous topic. "Seems to me--down here on the Cape where the sea
breezes blow, and everything is open----"

"Yes, 'twould seem so," Cap'n Abe said, but he said it with hesitation.
"I been some hampered all my life, as ye might say. 'Tis something that
was bred in me. But as for Jerry------

"Jerry was give to me by a lady when he was a young bird. After a while
I got thinkin' a heap about him bein' caged, and one sunshiny day--it was
a marker for days down here on the Cape, an' we have lots on 'em! One