“How dare you eat strong onions just before a service?” demanded the dean, who had been head-master of one of the big public schools. “Once a schoolmaster always a schoolmaster,” which means that when a man has been a schoolmaster, he always treats every one afterwards, whether men or boys, just as if they were schoolboys under him.

“If you please, sir, I haven’t been eating onions,” replied King.

“How dare you stand there and tell me such an untruth?” said the dean. “Do you suppose I cannot smell? I say you have been eating onions, and the odour is very nasty indeed.”

“Please, sir, I have not really eaten any onions,” said King.

“What! Do you persist in telling me such a falsehood. You shall be punished at once. Mr. Harmer!”

“Yes, sir,” said the master.

“Give this boy at once a good caning. He has dared to tell me a lie and persist in it.”

As the dean said this, he walked away.

When Mr. Harmer was about to cape King, the boy said he really had not been eating onions.

“I can smell them,” said the master.

“That’s something I’ve got on my coat,” replied King.

“How did you get it on your coat?”

King explained, but the master caned him all the same, saying it served him right for playing practical jokes on a little boy. King felt very angry with Alfred, as if he had been the cause of his punishment.

It would be well for all boys, when they are going to play jokes on others, to think how they would like them if turned against themselves.

As Alfred was going home in the afternoon with Steve, Mr. Cottenham was standing at his door and called out to them as they passed.

“Come here,” he said, “I want to speak to you for a few minutes.”

They went up to him. Alfred readily guessed why he wanted them.

“What is your name?” he asked Alfred.

“Alfred Davidson.”

“Well, Alfred, how did your friends like the pigeon’s milk?”

“Not much, sir. Herbert King got into a row over it,” replied Steve laughingly. “He even got caned.”

Steve told him about the dean being angry, because he did not like the smell of onions, and would not believe what King said; also that Mr. Harmer would not listen to his excuse, but had caned him, and said he deserved it, for playing practical jokes.“King is very angry with Alfred now, sir,” continued Steve, “because he thinks it was all through him that he got into such a row, and he says he will be even with him yet.”

“It served him right,” remarked Mr. Cottenham, laughing loudly; “he has sent boys here before on fools’ errands, but I don’t think he will do so again.”

“Come, come,” said Poll, “where’s the bottle?”

“Do you know these boys again?” said Mr. Cottenham, rubbing the bird’s head.

“Look out!” said Poll.

“That’s a very clever bird, Mr. Cottenham,” said Steve.

“Yes, it is,” replied the chemist, “and I got it in a Very peculiar way. If you can come and have tea with me, I will tell you a short story of how I got Poll.”

“Thank you, sir! We will just run home and ask, and be back in less than ten minutes,” said Steve.

Away ran the two boys, and in much less than ten minutes they were back again.

“Wipe your boots!” said the parrot. “Come, Joe, hurry up!”

A lady entered, so the boys waited a few minutes while Mr. Cottenham attended to her. They looked at the parrot, who kept turning its head, first to one side and then to the other, chuckling as it did so.

Mr. Cottenham told them to go into his parlour at the back of the shop; behind it was a large garden, which ran down to the river. The chemist was very fond of gardening; his garden was always neat and trim, and full of flowers, according to the season of the year. There was a door which opened from the parlour into the garden, and they could see a dog chained up. It was a big collie, and it wagged its tail when it saw Steve.

“Rover,” called Steve to the dog through the open window, “good doggie!” Rover barked and frisked about.

Stephen Gray’s father was an intimate friend of Mr. Cottenham, and Steve had often had tea with him. Mr. Cottenham was a bachelor, and his chief companion was his parrot. He was very fond of music, and played the fiddle well, and he usually assisted when there was a grand festival at the cathedral. Stephen Gray’s father was a solo-bass in the choir, and also played the violoncello.

Mr. Cottenham brought in Poll, took it out of its cage, and put it on the bar of its stand, when it began to chatter again.“Poor Poll wants some cake. Oh dear! oh dear! where’s the sugar?” said the bird.

“Now, Poll,” observed the chemist, “you must not talk, as I don’t want to be interrupted.”

“Poor Poll wants some cake,” said the bird.

“Then Poll shall have some,” said Mr. Cottenham, picking out a piece, while the bird watched every movement. “Now, Poll, draw a cork, and then you shall have this piece of cake.”

Poll made a wonderful imitation of the popping of a cork and the gurgling sound of liquid being poured out.

“Now, Poll, sneeze!” said its master.

Poll jumped up and down, and sneezed, and then laughed exactly like a human being. Mr. Cottenham’s parrot was known for miles round, and children would come to his shop on purpose to hear it talk.

A customer entered the shop, and Poll called out “Shop!” Mr. Cottenham went, and returned in a few minutes.

The boys had a hearty tea. “Now, would you like to hear how it was I bought Poll?” said their host.

“Yes, sir, very much,” said both of the boys.

“It was seven years ago last autumn, when I was out some distance from here, going for a walk across country. I am very fond of a good walk, and often go out all day when I take a holiday. It was very hot, and so I had my big white umbrella, as I don’t care what people think or say. I like to be comfortable if I can. It was rather difficult on that day to feel very comfortable, though, as the sun was shining not only brightly, but nearly as hot as I have felt it in India.”