its corridors one day I took a wrong turning and found I was among
some at least quasi-private rooms. The doors being open I saw that
there were flowers, books, a warm rug on the floor of one and a
mirror on the wall of another. The third I ventured to step inside of,
for a really beautiful Madonna and child confronted me at the door.
The next moment I saw what I had not expected to see--a parrot in a
cage suspended from the window! I made quite sure that it was not
_the_ parrot before I went up to it. It was asleep and appeared to
be all over of a dull grey color, to match the Nuns, one might have
said. I stood for quite a little while regarding it. Suddenly it
stirred, shook itself, awoke and seeing me, immediately broke out
into frantic shrieks to the old refrain "And for goodness sake don't
say I told you."

So it was the parrot after all! Of that I felt sure, despite the
changed color, not only because of the same words being repeated--two
birds might easily learn the same song, but because of the bird's
manner. For I felt certain that the thing knew me, recognized me, as
we say of human beings or of dogs and horses. I felt an
extraordinary sensation coming over me and sat down for a moment. I
seemed literally to be in the presence of something incomprehensible
as I watched the poor excited bird beating about and singing in that
way. The words of the song became painfully and awfully significant--
"for goodness sake don't say I told you!" They were an appeal to my
pity, to my sense of honor, to my power of secrecy, for I felt
convinced that the bird had seen something--in fact that, to use De
Kock's convenient if ambiguous phrase, _something had happened_!
Then to think of its recognizing me too, after so long an interval!
What an extraordinary thing to do! But I remembered, and hope I
shall never forget, how exceeding small do the mills of the gods