This reproof only excited the bird the more, and in a loud, angry tone,
she went on,--

"Keep, still, Poll! don't meddle! don't meddle! Ah, Poll, what are you
about? Take care; I see you!"

Mr. Lee watched his daughter anxiously, to see whether she would recover
her temper, and was pleased to observe that she presently advanced to
the cage, when she held out her finger to say "Good night" to her pet,
as usual.

"Good night; say your prayers," repeated the bird, holding out her
claw.

She then gave her parents their good-night kiss, and snatching Tiney in
her arms, went gayly from the room.

CHAPTER III.

POLL'S FUNNY TRICKS.

In summer, Poll lived mostly out of doors, hung in a cage at the top of
the piazza. Here she seemed very much amused at the various operations
she witnessed.

In the morning, she was placed in front of the house on account of the
shade; but after dinner, the cage was carried round to a porch, where
the shed and barn were in full view.

From the front porch, she could salute all the early visitors, and watch
the butcher's cart as it passed, often startling him with the inquiry,--

"What have you to-day?" Then, if no one answered, she would quickly
reply, "Veal," or, "Only veal to-day."

But her greatest amusement was to watch a family of children, who lived
nearly opposite. There was one child just commencing to go to school--a
duty which he disliked exceedingly.

As soon as Poll saw him she would begin, "You must go, or you'll grow up
a dunce."

Then she would whine, and cry, "I won't go, I say I won't."

"Go right along, you naughty boy, or I shall tell your father."

Poll now begins to sob and sniffle in earnest, when she suddenly stops
and begins the whole conversation over again, greatly to the merriment
of her hearers.

There is, however, one trick that Poll has learned, which is quite
inconvenient.

Near Mr. Lee's house, the ground rises, his residence being on a hill.
Teams loaded with coal, and other heavy articles, continually pass by,
it being of course quite an object with the drivers to get the horses to
the top of the hill without stopping on the way.

But this would spoil Miss Poll's fun. When they are about half way up,
and just in the steepest part, she calls out, "Whoa," in a loud,
authoritative voice, so exactly in imitation of the driver that they
obey at once. This she repeats as often as he attempts to start them
forward, until, greatly vexed