The postman stood up in his cart to look at it.
"Better be sure it's plumb dead before you give it a seat in your carriage," he advised.
Mary gave a glance of disgust toward the blue-veiled figure in the surrey.
"Oh, it's _dead_," she said, witheringly.

"Mr.Craydock shot its head off to begin with, over at the orange-grove this morning, and I've killed it four different times on our way home.

He gave it to me to take to Norman for his collection.

But Miss Scudder is so scared of it that she makes me get out every half-mile to pound a few more inches off its neck.

It was a perfect beauty when we started,--five feet long and twelve rattles.