Jessie's Parrot

THE PARROT

MEANWHILE the children were amusing themselves with the parrot. The whole flock had followed Jessie to make his acquaintance, Maggie having called the others to join them; and even the still sobbing Belle forgot her troubles in this new object of interest.

The bird proved to be in a most amiable and sociable humor; and, to the great delight of his former little mistress, exhibited himself in a most gratifying manner.

His cage was placed before a little stand just outside of a window opening upon the verandah; and when the children first saw him he was swinging head downwards from one of the bars, hanging by one claw, and appearing to take no notice of any thing until Jessie called to him.

Then he put out the other claw, and swung himself upright; immediately commencing a kind of dance upon his perch, as if in an ecstacy, and calling out, —

"Jessie! Jessie! pretty Jessie, good Jessie."

"Good Polly," said Jessie, while the children gathered around in great delight. "How are you, Polly?"

"Polly pretty well; Polly all right," answered the bird.

The little girls were astonished, as indeed were the ladies who had accompanied them. Not one among the group but had often seen parrots who would repeat certain set phrases, but this bird actually answered questions, and as if he understood them too.

"What does Polly want?" asked Jessie, delighted at the sensation her pet was producing.

"Polly want a bit of sugar," answered the bird.

Jessie put her hand into her pocket, and produced one of the sugar-plums the children had thrown to her, and held it up before the parrot's greedy eyes.

"Dance a jig then, and sing a song, Polly," she said.

Polly forthwith commenced a kind of seesaw on his perch, swaying his body back and forth, balancing himself first on one foot, then on the other, in a measured sort of way which he probably supposed to be dancing. At any rate, his audience were contented to accept it as such, and he met with continued applause, until suddenly bringing his gyrations to a close he screamed in a loud, discordant voice, —

"Sugar!"

"Sing then," said Jessie.

In a sharp, cracked, but very distinct voice, and with some resemblance to a tune, the parrot began, —

"Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that" —

Here he came to an abrupt close, eying the sugar-plum wistfully.

"Sing it," said Jessie; and he began again.

"Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb – sugar – sugar – sugar,"

screamed the creature, amid peals of laughter from the children, who now begged that he might have the coveted reward, which Jessie accordingly gave him.

"He knows it all," she said; "but I can hardly ever make him sing it through."

Poll took the sugar-plum gingerly in one claw, and sat nibbling at it till it was all gone, while the children crowded around him, admiring his gay, bright-colored feathers, and expressing their wonder at his accomplishments and sense.

"Now you must show off some more," said Jessie, when the bird had disposed of his feast. "Polly, where is the naughty child?"

To the intense delight of the children, Poll began to scream and cry exactly like a passionate child, after which he laughed and chuckled with satisfaction at his own performances, then crowed like a rooster, baa-ed like a nanny-goat, barked like a dog, and mewed like a cat. After all this he took up intelligent conversation again.

"Polly's a pr-r-r-etty bird; Polly's a good bird; Polly's a wise bird," he screamed, in all of which his little hearers entirely agreed.

"Who do you love, Polly?" asked Jessie.

"Polly love Jessie; Jessie a good girl," was the answer.

"Where's your master, Polly?"

"Bob Malcolm gone to sea. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye," screamed the parrot.

"Sing a song of" – began Jessie, and the parrot took up the strain.

"Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye" —

Here he came to a stop, nor could he be coaxed to finish the couplet, though Jessie assured the audience that he could, if he chose, sing the first four lines of the old song all through.

However, he condescended to repeat some of his former performances. But it would take too long to tell all the feats of this remarkable bird; and you must not think that these I have related are quite impossible, for I have seen a parrot who could do all that is here described, and more too. The children were so interested and amused that they could scarcely be persuaded to leave him when Patrick announced that their lunch was ready; and Jessie, who was bidden by Miss Ashton to join her grandfather and share the meal provided for him, was begged to keep within call, so that they might return to the entertainment when they had finished their lunch.

While this was going on, Miss Ashton told the story she had heard from old Malcolm, and said that she was so much interested in him and his grandchild, that she would go after lunch and see the clergyman, while the little girls amused themselves for a while under the care of the other ladies. She carried out this purpose, and went on her kind errand, followed by many a hope that she would find the story all correct.

But when the children went back to the parrot they were disappointed, for he proved cross or tired or in a less sociable mood than he had been before, and he very rudely turned his back upon them, and would utter no words save, —

"Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue!" every time any one spoke to him. So, finding this neither polite nor amusing, the company left him and scattered themselves in search of other entertainment.

"How sober you look, Maggie; what are you thinking about?" asked Hattie Leroy, coming up to where Maggie Bradford stood leaning upon a stone railing.

Maggie looked thoughtful, it may be, but hardly sober, for her thoughts seemed pleasant ones, to judge by the light in her eye, and the half smile upon her lip.

"I have an idea," said Maggie, "and I think it's a nice one, at least if we are allowed to do it."

"What is it?" asked Hattie.

"Well," said Maggie, "I don't care to have it talked about very much till we know if we can do it; but I was thinking it would be so nice if we could have a little fair, just ourselves, you know, the school-children and Bessie and me. I know some children who had a fair in their own house, and they made money enough to pay for a bed in St. Luke's Hospital for a poor, lame child; and I thought perhaps we could make enough to buy back Jessie's parrot for her; and to make a more comfortable home for them. We could make things for the fair, and ask our friends to help us. Mamma would make some for us, I know, and so will Aunt Annie, and, I think, Aunt Bessie and Aunt May."

"Where could we have it?" asked Hattie, who seemed much interested.

"In one of our own houses," said Maggie, "or, – that was another thought I had, – perhaps Miss Ashton would be so very good as to let us have it at her house. The piazza would be lovely for it; and she generally lets us have some party-ish kind of a thing when school breaks up. Last year we had a giving of prizes; and at Christmas we had a Christmas festival, and a queen both times."

"Yes," said Hattie, "and Gracie said it was shameful that you were queen both times. She thinks it was very selfish in you."

Maggie colored violently.