Once only did any thing like approval of the lad escape his lips.

Miss Betty's uncle's second cousin had returned from foreign lands with
a good fortune and several white cockatoos. He kept the fortune himself,
but he gave the cockatoos to his friends, and he sent one of them to the
little ladies of Lingborough.

He was a lovely creature (the cockatoo, not the cousin, who was plain),
and John Broom's admiration of him was boundless. He gazed at the
sulphur-colored crest, the pure white wings with their deeper-tinted
lining, and even the beak and the fierce round eyes, as he had gazed at
the broom bush in his babyhood, with insatiable delight.

The cousin did things handsomely. He had had a ring put round one of the
cockatoo's ankles, with a bright steel chain attached and a fastener to
secure it to the perch. The cockatoo was sent in the cage by coach, and
a perch, made of foreign wood, followed by the carrier.

Miss Betty and Miss Kitty were delighted both with the cockatoo and the
perch, but they were a good deal troubled as to how to fasten the two
together. There was a neat little ring on the perch, and the cockatoo's
chain was quite complete, and he evidently wanted to get out, for he
shook the walls of his cage in his gambols. But he put up his crest and
snapped when any one approached, in a manner so alarming that Annie the
lass shut herself up in the dairy, and the farm-bailiff turned his
speckled hat in his hands, and gave cautious counsel from a safe
distance.

"How he flaps!" cried Miss Betty. "I'm afraid he has a very vicious
temper."