many hours in my cage when, to my
horror, a large monkey came and stared at me, putting his ugly hairy
face so close to the cage, that it was all I could do to scream with
fright. At first the men drove him away, but they were soon too busy to
pay any attention to my cries; and somehow I got to be less frightened,
when I saw that he couldn't get near me, though he tried ever so hard.
Round and round he went, tugging at the bars in vain; then he mounted on
the top, and peered at me through the openings, grinning in a very ugly
manner. Now, I had always been considered a bold cockatoo, and anything
but a coward; and so, when I saw his tail sticking between the bars, I
flew down to the bottom of the cage, and seizing it, gave it such a
bite that I nipped the piece quite out! Away he went, howling and
yelling; but though he showed it to ever so many of the men, they said
it served him right for teasing me.

[Illustration: THE COCKATOO'S REVENGE.

_Page 50._]

"It was, no doubt, very dull, but I was greatly cheered by the company
of a little girl, the daughter of one of the passengers. She used to
come down every morning, and chatter away to me about all sorts of
things, not one of which I understood, except that she always called me
Pretty Cockatoo, as you do, Master Herbert. She knew, too, what I liked
to eat, and would bring me almonds, and fruit, and sweet cake, and would
stay chattering away to me while I ate them. Soon I began to weary for
her coming, and would sit counting the hours, and forgetting my wrongs,
while waiting for her to come again. I liked the almonds, of course;
but I liked to see her face, and hear her kind voice, far more. And I
think I was less sulky and unhappy during that time than I had been all
my life. It was the parting from her that upset me, and made me fall
into a gloomy and sulky state of mind. I well remember the last day we
were together. She came to me with a piece of cake she had saved for me
from her own lunch; and I seemed somehow to understand what she was
saying. I felt at the time she was asking me to be a good bird; but now
that I have known you, sir, so long, and am better acquainted with the
English language, I know she told me how much happier I should be if I
were good. 'Oh fie, Cockatoo,' I think I hear her saying, 'how naughty
of you to bite the captain's finger; you ought to be a good bird,
sir,--and he is so kind to you, and all the birds aboard.' It was all
very well