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. There’s a chick inside that egg, tapping.”

“Let it out,” said Edna. “Break the shell.”

“I was right,” said Jack. “It was a bird I saw. It must have been a stray parrot. Only it looked so big.”

“I’m going to break the shell with a spoon,” said Edna, running to fetch one.

“It’ll be a lucky bird,” said Jack when she returned. “Born with a silver spoon in its beak, so to speak. Be careful.”

“I will,” said Edna. “Oh, I do hope it lives!”

With that, she gingerly cracked the shell, the tapping increased, and soon they saw a well-developed beak tearing its way through.