s--I don't like
parrot's eyes--than he shut up, and wild horses couldn't have made him
utter another word, much less Mrs. Wylie.

I was quite sorry for her, she seemed so disappointed.

It was just like a tiresome baby, whose mamma and nurse want to show off
and bring it down to the drawing-room all dressed up, and it won't go to
anybody, or say 'Dada,' or 'Mam-ma,' or anything, and just screeches. I
can remember Elvira being like that, and I daresay we all were.

'It is too bad,' said our old lady. 'He has got to know me, and I have
been teaching him some new words. And his mistress and her maid are out
this afternoon, so I thought we should have him all to ourselves, and it
would be so amusing. But'--just then a bright idea struck
her--'supposing you two go back into the room, so that he can't see
you, and I will say "Good-bye, my dears," very loud and plainly, to make
him think you have gone. Then I will come out again, and you shall
listen from behind the curtain. I believe he will talk then, just as he
has been doing.'

Pete and I were most willing to try--we were all three quite excited
about it. It was really quite funny how his talking got the Polly
treated as if he was a human being. We stalked back into the
drawing-room, Mrs. Wylie after us, saying in a very clear tone--

'Good-bye, then, my dears. My love to your mamma, and the next time you
come I hope Poll-parrot will be more friendly.'

And then I shut the door with a bang, to sound as if we had gone,
though, of course, it was all 'acting,' to trick the parrot. Peterkin
and I peeped out at him from behind the curtain, and we could scarcely
help laughing out loud. He looked so queer--his head cocked on one side,
listening, his eyes blinking; he seemed rather disgusted on the whole, I
thought.

Then Mrs. Wylie stepped out again.

'Polly,' she said, 'I'm ashamed of you. Why couldn't you be kind and
friendly to those nice boys who came to see you?'

'Pretty Poll,' he said, in a coaxing tone.

'No,' she replied; 'not pretty Poll at all. Ugly Poll, I should say.'

'Polly's so tired; take Polly in. Polly's cold,' he said, in what we
called his natural voice; and then it seemed as if the first words had
reminded him of the little girl, for his tone suddenly changed, and he
began again: 'I'm so tired, Nana. No, I won't be good; no, I won't. I'll
write a letter, and I won't be locked up,' in the squeakier sort of
voice that showed he was copying somebod