t, and then I heard him say all those queer things.
I didn't speak for a good while, for fear of stopping him talking. But
after a bit he got fidgety; I daresay he knew there was somebody there,
and then he flopped about and went back to his own talking, and said he
was cold and wanted to go to bed, and all that. And somebody inside
heard him and took him in. And then--' Pete stopped to rest his voice, I
suppose. He was always rather fond of resting, whatever he was doing.

'Hurry up,' I said. 'What happened after that?'

'The old lady said I'd better come in, and she shut up the window--I
suppose she felt cold, like the parrot--and she made me sit down; and
then I asked her what made him say such queer things in his squeakiest
voice; and she said he was copying what he heard, for there was a little
girl in the _next_ house--not in his own house--who cried sometimes and
seemed very cross and unhappy, so that Mrs. Wylie often is very sorry
for her, though she has never really seen her. And I said, did she think
anybody was unkind to the little girl, and she said she hoped not, but
she didn't know. And then she seemed as if she didn't want to talk about
the little girl very much, and she began to ask me about if I went to
school and things like that, and then I said I'd better go home, and she
came downstairs with me and--I think that's all, till you and Clement
came and we all heard the parrot again.'

'I wonder what started him copying the little girl again, after he'd
left off,' I said.

'P'raps he hears her through the wall,' said Pete. 'P'raps he hears
quicker than people do. Yes,' he went on thoughtfully, 'I think he must,
for the old lady has never heard exactly what the little girl said. She
only heard her crying and grumbling. She told me so.'

'I daresay she's just a cross little thing,' I said. 'And I think it was
rather silly of Mrs. Wylie to let you hear the parrot copying her. It's
a very bad example. And you said Mrs. Wylie seemed as if she didn't want
to talk much about her.'

'I think she's got some plan in her head,' said Peterkin, eagerly, 'for
she said--oh, I forgot that--she said she was going to come to see
mamma some day very soon, to ask her to let me go to have tea with her.
And I daresay she'll ask you too, Gilley, if we both go down to the
drawing-room when she comes.'

'I hope it'll be a half-holiday, then,' I said, 'or, anyway, that she
will come when I'm here. It is very funny about th