Two or three days later the matter was settled beyond the shadow of a doubt. There, one morning, in the ramshackle nest, was an egg.

“I thought she was sick because of that shaking she got,” said Jack. “She was broody, that’s all.”

“It’s a monstrous egg,” said Edna. “Poor birdie!”

“What do you expect, after God knows how many years?” said Jack, laughing. “Some birds lay eggs nearly as big as themselves—the kiwi or something. Still, I must admit it’s a whopper.”

“She doesn’t look well,” said Edna.

Indeed, the old parrot looked almost as sick as a parrot can be, which is several times sicker than any other living creature. Her eyes closed up, her head sank, and if a finger was put out to scratch her she turned her beak miserably away. However, she sat conscientiously on the prodigious egg she had laid, though every day she seemed a little feebler than before.

“Perhaps we ought to take the egg away,” said Jack. “We could get it blown, and keep it as a memento.”

“No,” said Edna. “Let her have it. It’s all she’s had in all these years.”

Here Edna made a mistake, and she realized it a few mornings later. “Jack,”

she called. “Do come. It’s Tom—Thomasina, I mean. I’m afraid she’s going to die.”

“We ought to have taken the egg away,” said Jack, coming out with his mouth full of breakfast. “She’s exhausted herself. It’s no good, anyway. It’s bound to be sterile.”

“Look at her!” cried Edna.

“She’s done for,” said Jack, and at that moment the poor old bird keeled over and gasped her last.

“The egg killed her,” said Jack, picking it up. “I said it would. Do you want to keep it? Oh, good lord!” He put the egg down very quickly. “It’s alive,” he said.

“What?” said Edna. “What do you mean?”

“It gave me a turn,” said Jack. “It’s most extraordinary. It’s against nature.