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. In another moment, the chick was born.

“Golly!” cried Jack. “What a monster!”

“It’s because it’s young,” said Edna. “It’ll grow lovely. Like its mother.”

“Maybe,” said Jack. “I must be off. Put it in the nest. Feed it pap. Keep it warm. Don’t monkey with it too much. Goodbye, my love.”

That morning Jack telephoned home two or three times to find out how the chick was, and if it ate. He rushed home at lunchtime. In the evening everyone came round to peep at the nestling and offer advice.

Charlie was there. “It ought to be fed every hour at least,” said he. “That’s how it is in nature.”

“He’s right,” said Jack. “For the first month, at least, that’s how it should be.”

“It looks as if I’m going to be tied down a bit,” said Edna ruefully.

“I’ll look in when I pass and relieve your solitude,” said Charlie.

“I’ll manage to rush home now and then in the afternoons,” said Jack, a little too thoughtfully.

Certainly, the hourly feeding seemed to agree with the chick, which grew at an almost alarming speed. It became covered with down, feathers sprouted; in a few months it was fully grown, and not in the least like its mother.