he freedom of savage life, you are
at liberty to go. 'Tis a large door, always open, out of which you can
fly; and when you are gone I shall shed no tears over your departure."

The bird seemed really to comprehend the drift of my discourse, and
from that time forward we lived upon the most intimate terms, which,
however, never passed the bounds of mutual respect.

Now, if we were to live in such close ties of friendship, it was
necessary that my friend should have a name, and that he, too, should
be able to address me by mine. The title, "Friend Parrot," was rather
too formal, and his screeching at me in some unmeaning way every time
he wanted me could not for long be tolerated.

So, "Mr. Parrot" said I, "you are Mr. Parrot no longer. Your name is
'Pippity.'"

He soon learned his new name, and then said I:

"Pippity! my name is 'Frank.'"

It was incredible how rapidly he learned mine.

"Further, Pippity," I continued, "you must learn the names of the
things round about us."

Instruction began at once. For several days he had to be told the names
of things many times before he was able to repeat them correctly; but
after that, and apparently all of a sudden, he seemed to have caught a
bright idea and to thoroughly understand my method of teaching.

From that time on, when the name of a thing was made plain to him, he
seemed to grasp it immediately and never forgot it. This expedited
matters wonderfully, for I liked to talk to him and observe his efforts
to repeat what I said, so there was ample conversation, though somewhat
one-sided, going on in our ancient dwelling. I marveled at the parrot's
extraordinary power; but what astonished me above all was his wonderful
memory, and his unlimited capacity for taking in new ideas. Sometimes I
would ask him, after an interval of weeks, some name of a thing I had
taught him, and the answer was invariably correct. On such occasions I
would say to him:

"Pippity, what's that?"

He would tell me immediately; and I laughed outright when, one day, as
we were strolling through the forest, I stumbled over a stone, and the
parrot, perching on it, pecked it with his bill, and then, looking up
at me askance, asked:

"What's that?"

That was a phrase I had unwittingly taught him. And now I began more
than ever to perceive his extraordinary genius.

Thenceforth it was "What's that?" and "What's that?" and actually the
fellow wanted to learn more quickly than I could teach.