His meal finished, the rascal--his confidence increasing as the moments went by without interruption--proceeded to warm himself well by the fire, and then on tiptoe to walk about the room, peering into cupboards and lockers, opening boxes and pulling out drawers. The parrot's blood boiled with indignation at the sight of this "unfeathered vulture," as she mentally termed him, ransacking all the Madam's tidy and well-kept stores; but when he opened the drawer in which lay the six silver teaspoons (the pride of the cottage), and the porringer that Toto had inherited from his great-grandfather,--when he opened this drawer, and with a low whistle of satisfaction drew the precious treasures from their resting-place, Miss Mary could contain herself no longer, but clapped her wings and cried in a clear distinct voice, "Stop thief!"
The man started violently, and dropping the silver back into the drawer, looked about him in great alarm. At first he saw no one, but presently his eyes fell on the parrot, who sat boldly facing him, her yellow eyes gleaming with anger. His terror changed to fury, and with a muttered oath he stepped forward.
"It was you, was it?" he said fiercely. "You'll never say 'Stop thief' again, my fine bird, for I'll wring your neck before I'm half a minute older."
[Illustration: But at this last mishap the robber, now fairly beside himself, rushed headlong from the cottage.--PAGE 163.]
He stretched his hand toward the parrot, who for her part prepared to fly at him and fight for her life; but at that moment something happened. There was a rushing in the air; there was a yell as if a dozen wild-cats had broken loose, and a heavy body fell on the robber's back,--a body which had teeth and claws (an endless number of claws, it seemed, and all as sharp as daggers); a body which yelled and scratched and bit and tore, till the ruffian, half mad with terror and pain, yelled louder than his assailant. Vainly trying to loosen the clutch of those iron claws, the wretch staggered backward against the hob. Was it accident, or did the kettle by design give a plunge, and come down with a crash, sending a stream of boiling water over his legs? Who can tell? It was a remarkable kettle. But at this last mishap the robber, now fairly beside himself, rushed headlong from the cottage, and still bearing his terrible burden, fled screaming down the road.