Free Perdita by Hilary Scharper Page B

place, and it troubledme.
    He said that his mother—bowing to her—was the tundra swan, beautiful and noble. His stepfather was an eastern kingbird—“known in the scientific world as the Tyrannus tyrannus .” Mr. Thompson coughed slightly at this, but did not contradict him. Effie giggled a bit nervously, and so Allan took this as encouragement tocontinue.
    Auntie Alis was the ruffed grouse, respectable, dignified, and to be heard thumping her carpets in the spring. Mr. Thompson was the Wilson’s snipe, whose erratic takeoff made it difficult for hunters to follow him through the woods—rather heartlessly referencing, I thought, the poor man’s recentmishap!
    I pretended to glower at him when he said that I was the dark-eyed junco, preferring solitude to the company of otherbirds.
    But then—oh my! He said Miss Ferguson was a shrike, possessed of extraordinary eyesight and known to impale its prey upon thorns and barbs, and then leave them there for future consumption. She truly did glower at him forthat!
    â€œAnd George,” Allan said quietly, turning to him last, and looking first to him and then to me. “George is the great horned owl of the Lodge. Silent, mysterious, searching for his mate as he passes above us in soundless flight, under a moonlitsky.”
    It was quite a poetic statement coming from Allan! And almost against my will I turned to look at George. It was then I noticed that his eyes are indeed an amber-gray, flecked with tiny spots of gold—just like an owl’s.
    There was apause.
    â€œ Bubo virginianus ,” quipped Mr. Thompson, breaking the silence. Then Allan laughed harshly and turned away from ussharply.
    â€œAllan, you are quite a skilled dramatist,” said Miss Ferguson quietly, and immediately I sensed danger. She smiled and moved closer to him. “Do you perform—impersonations?”
    I felt my body freeze. Allan, you mustn’t , I whispered to myself. But it was too late. There was a strange recklessness inhim.
    â€œOf course I do,” hesaid.
    â€œDo someone for us,” purred MissFerguson.
    â€œWho would you like?” demanded Allanboldly.
    I think she knew that Dr. McTavish and Mr. Stewart were close by. But Allan couldn’t see them because they were still in conference and were standing back in thehallway.
    â€œYour best one,” said Miss Ferguson, shrugging her shoulders. Somehow she must haveknown!
    I sat filled with an awful foreboding—paralyzed with dread. Oh, that I might have stopped him! Why did I not think of some interruption? Allan, of course, did Dr. McTavish. It was an extravagant performance—terrible! In Allan’s strange mood, it came out as cruel and mocking, a gross insult to the greatman.
    The rest of us could see Mr. Stewart and Dr. McTavish pause in the doorway and watch his performance. Old Mr. Stewart’s face was a vivid red, and I don’t think I have ever seen him look so angrybefore.
    â€œWherever did you learn to roll your r’s like that?” Miss Ferguson gushed, pretending not to see Dr. McTavish, nor Mr. Stewart glaring at Allan from thedoorway.
    â€œMargie taught me!” Allan said ingenuously. “You should see her do Dr. McTavish!”
    And then Caroline turned to me and said quite sweetly, “It seems that Allan’s studies encompass much more than Latin, do they not, MissBrice?”
    It was then that Allan saw Dr. McTavish with his stepfather in the doorway, and his facefell.
    I did not answerher.
    Auntie A. and I got up immediately. I thanked Mrs. Stewart for a lovely afternoon, but I am sure I did it abruptly. I blurted out something to Dr. McTavish, but I could not look at George. As I was leaving, I took Allan’s hand briefly. I could not help but feel sorry for him. He looked utterly crushed, and my mortification seemed to pale in comparison tohis.
    â€œI am still going to test you on your Latin,” I whispered,