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,—

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

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

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.

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.

"The queen was chosen," she said, "and the girls chose me. I did not make myself queen."

"Well, Gracie did not like it one bit," said Hattie, "and she thinks you had no right to be queen when you did not go to the school the last time."

Maggie was silent, but the gladness was gone from her face.

"Wouldn't it be too cold to have the fair on the piazza?" asked Hattie.

"Not by the time we are ready," said Maggie. "You know it will take a good while to make enough things, and Miss Ashton does not close the school till the first of June. I heard her tell mamma so the other day. And by that time it will be quite warm and pleasant, and there will be plenty of flowers. I was thinking we could dress the piazza with wreaths and festoons and flags; and we could make some kind of a throne and canopy at one end. And there we could have the flower-table and the queen behind it, with some maids of honor to sell flowers."

If Maggie imagined that Hattie would express any admiration or approval of her plan, she was mistaken. Hattie seemed interested, and asked a great many questions, as to how Maggie would arrange such and such matters, but she did not act as if she thought the "idea" very fine after all, and this was rather different from the way in which Maggie was accustomed to have her plans received. But she did not care for that; she was not a vain child, constantly seeking for admiration, and she was too full of her subject to pay much heed to Hattie's cool way of hearing this one.

"I'm not going to say much about it till I see if mamma approves," she said. "Then I'll ask Miss Ashton and tell all the children about it. There are Bessie and Lily beckoning to me; let us go and see what they want."

And away she ran, intending to tell her sister and Belle and Lily of her plan on the first convenient opportunity; but not willing, as she had said, to make it public till she learned if it could be carried out. She did not yet feel as if she knew Hattie very well, and she was rather astonished at herself for having talked so freely to her; but the truth was, that Hattie had come upon her rather unawares, and asked her what she was thinking of, at the moment when she was turning her "idea" over in her mind, and she had told her almost without reflection. Still she did not exactly regret having done so, and, after what she had said, never supposed that Hattie would mention what she had told her.

Upright, honorable Maggie judged others by herself, and was entirely unsuspicious of evil.

It would take too much space in this little book, and you would not care to have a particular description of all the various points of interest visited by our party throughout the day,—the Arsenal with its collection of wild beasts and monkeys; the great reservoir with its blue water, looking like a lake within walls, as indeed it is; the lovely Ramble through which they wandered for a long time, and many another pleasant spot. They are all familiar to many of you, and those to whom they are not, may make acquaintance with them some day.

You may be sure that Miss Ashton did not leave old Malcolm and his grand-daughter without some remembrance of this day, for she was not only very sorry for them and felt that they were really in need of assistance, but she also knew that Jessie and her wonderful bird had added much to the entertainment of her little flock. She gave Jessie money enough to furnish herself with materials to begin her little trade again, and, leaving her address with her, bade her bring some of her pretty toys to her house when they should be made.

They were all in the omnibus once more, and had started on their homeward way, all rather tired and quiet with the day's ramble, when what was Maggie's astonishment to hear Hattie say,—

"Miss Ashton, Maggie and I have such a very nice plan. We thought we might have a fair, just us children, and ask our friends to help us; and then we could sell the things we made, or that were given to us, and so earn a good deal of money to help Jessie and her grandfather, and to buy back the parrot for her. And we might have it when the weather is warm and pleasant, just before school closes, so that we could have it out of doors; and perhaps, Miss Ashton, you would not mind letting us hold it on your piazza and in the garden. And Jessie might make some of her pretty baskets and things for it, and we could sell them for her. We thought we could raise a good deal of money that way, for almost all our friends would be glad to come."

It would be hard to tell whether indignation or surprise was uppermost in Maggie's mind, as she sat utterly speechless and confounded, while Hattie ran on thus, disclosing in this public manner the plans which she had said were to be kept secret until her own mamma and Miss Ashton had heard and approved of them.

Yes, here was Hattie not only doing this, but speaking as if she had been the inventor of the cherished "idea," and as if Maggie had only fallen in with it, perhaps helped it out a little.

Maggie was too shy to speak out as many children would have done, and to say,—

"That was my plan, Miss Ashton. I was the first one to think of that;" and she sat with her color changing, and her eyes fixed wonderingly and reproachfully on Hattie as she spoke, feeling somehow as if she had been wronged, and yet not exactly seeing the way to right herself.

"Oh! that would be delightful," said Gracie. "Miss Ashton, do you think you could let us do it?"

"Well, I might," said Miss Ashton. "That is not a bad idea, Hattie. I will talk to my mother about it and see what she thinks, and you may all tell your friends at home, and learn if they approve."

"If we could have the fair on your piazza," continued Hattie eagerly, "we could dress it up very prettily with wreaths and flowers, and we could make a kind of a bower at one end, and choose one of the girls for a queen, and let it be her throne-room, and there we could have the flower-table. Some of the children told me you always let them have a festival before vacation, Miss Ashton; and we might put it off till a little later, so that it would be warm and pleasant, and we should have plenty of flowers."

There was not one of the children who did not raise her voice in favor of the new plan except Nellie Ransom, who sat opposite to Maggie, and who watched her changing face, and looked from her to Hattie with inquiring and rather suspicious looks.

Lily clapped her hands, and almost sprang from her seat.

"I'll begin to work for the fair this very evening!" she said. "No more of your putting off for me. I'll bring down mamma's ribbon-box and worsted-box, if she'll let me, and ask her what I can have, and to-morrow I'll ask her to let me make something."

"And we'll ask mamma and Aunt Annie, won't we, Maggie?" said Bessie; "and Belle, we'll ask them for some things for you too."

Bessie received no answer from Maggie, who, feeling as if the whole matter had been taken out of her hands, poor child, and as if she had been robbed of her property, dared not speak, lest she should burst into tears.

"I have a whole lot of money saved up," said Lily, "and I'll take some of it to buy what I want to make pretty things, and keep the rest to spend at the fair."

"Haven't you to pay your missionary money to our box yet?" asked Bessie.

"Well, I haven't paid it yet," said Lily, "but I don't know if I will give a dollar this year. I've supported the heathen for two years now, and I think I'd like a little change of charity. Wouldn't you, Maggie?"

Maggie only nodded assent, scarce knowing what question she was replying to.

"Maggie," said Belle, "you don't seem very interested; why don't you talk about the fair and give us new ideas, as you 'most always do?"

"Does something provoke you or trouble you, Maggie, dear?" asked Bessie, looking into her sister's perplexed face.

"Hattie," said Nellie suddenly, fixing her eyes searchingly on the little girl she addressed, "what put that idea of the fair into your head?"

"Oh!" answered Hattie in some confusion, "I—that is, we, Maggie and I, just thought it would be nice, and so we talked about it a little, and made up our minds to ask Miss Ashton about it."

Quick-witted Lily caught Nellie's suspicion, and so did Bessie; and the former, who had worn an air of displeasure with Hattie ever since the affair of the morning, asked promptly,—

"Who was the first to make up that idea,—the fair and the queen in the flower bower, and dressing the piazza and all? Who was it, I say?"

"Well," answered Hattie reluctantly, "Maggie was the first to think about it, and we talked it over together and arranged it all."

"I knew it!" cried Lily triumphantly; "I just knew it was Maggie. It sounds just like her making up. Hattie," she added reproachfully, "you tried to make us think it was yours."

"I didn't," said Hattie. "I never said so."

"You didn't just say so," said Bessie solemnly, "but you tried to give that depression."

"I didn't," pouted Hattie again; "and we did talk about it together, didn't we, Maggie?"

Maggie only gave a faint smile by way of answer, for she felt that she could not honestly allow that Hattie had suggested one single idea; and still she was too generous to wish to blame her more than she could avoid.

And for the second time that day was Hattie made to feel that her want of strict truthfulness had lowered her in the eyes of her young companions.

"Umph!" said Lily severely; "appears to me, Miss Hattie"—

But she was not allowed to finish the intended reproach, for Miss Ashton, seeing symptoms of a quarrel, hastened to avert it, and gently bade Lily be quiet.

Lily obeyed; but her eye still rested sternly upon Hattie, and the latter was forced to bear more than one disapproving gaze during the remainder of the drive home.

"I am afraid," said Miss Ashton to her mother that evening, "that Hattie Leroy is by no means a truthful child;" and she told of the occurrences of the day, adding that it was not the first time she had noticed a want of openness and uprightness, little acted deceits, a keeping back of the whole truth, and even, now and then a deliberate falsehood; and more than all, a manner of repeating a thing which gave it a very different meaning from what the speaker intended, so often making mischief and discomfort.

"That is bad, very bad," said Mrs. Ashton; "it may affect the other children."

"I would rather hope that they may have a good influence on her," answered her daughter. "The standard of truth is so high in our school, thanks, I believe, to dear little Bessie Bradford, Maggie, Belle, and one or two others, that any departure from it is considered a very serious offence. Lily, with all her thoughtlessness and love of mischief, is strictly truthful; so are Dora and Nellie. Gracie is the only one for whom I fear, for, although I think she would be shocked at the idea of telling a deliberate untruth, her conceit and wish to be first are so great that they often lead her to exaggerate and give a false coloring to what she says of herself as compared with others."

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