Edith had no idea what she meant by the "big plant," so made no reply.
Mrs. McQuilken went back to the subject of cats.

"Did you know the Egyptians used to worship cats? Well, sometimes they
did. And when their cats died they went into mourning for them."

"How queer!"

"It does seem so, but it's just as you look at it, Edith. Cats are a
sight of company. I didn't care so much about them or about birds
either when my husband was alive and my little children, but now--"

Again she paused, and this time she did not go on again. Some one out of
doors laughed; it was Jimmy Dunlee, and the mocking-bird took up the
merry sound and echoed it to perfection.

"Doesn't that seem human?" cried Mrs. McQuilken. And really it did. It
was exactly the laugh of a human boy, though it came from the throat of
a tiny bird.

"My little boys, Pitt and Roscoe, liked to hear him do that," said Mrs.
McQuilken.

Edith observed that she did not say "my boyoes." "Pitt, the one that
died in Japan, doted on the mocking-bird. The other boy, Roscoe, was all
bound up in the canary."

"Does the canary sing?"