A lovely home. In the rooms are gathered all the beautiful things which go to make up a pretty house; carpets and curtains, and easy chairs and lovely plush-covered sofas, and pictures, and books, and flowers, and birds. I cannot think of anything that they lacked. Yet all these do not make lovely homes. I have been in places filled with all the beauties which money could buy, and arranged with all the care which refined taste could give, yet which were not homes at all, but great beautiful cold rooms! Haven't you been in places where the carpets were only ingrain, or perhaps rag, or where there was even no carpet at all, and the chairs were plain wooden ones, and the pictures on the walls were only a few cheap mottoes, yet which was all full of gentle words, and cheery smiles, and unselfishness in little things? Such places are sure to be homes. I have discovered that the furniture makes very little difference, after all. Well, the house at which I stopped was a home in the truest sense of the word. I shall never think of the sweet Christian lady who is at its head, without feeling thankful to God for having made so good and true a woman, and given her so many beautiful things to use in making others happy.

After all that, I am afraid you will be astonished that I should only tell you the story of one member of the family. But you can't think how much she interested me. I reached the home late at night and went at once to my room. In the early morning I was awakened by a loud call from a voice downstairs. "Clara!" shouted the shrill voice, then waited, and seeming to get no reply, screamed again, "Clara!" with no better success than before. This was repeated I should think a dozen times; until from being only amused I became half-vexed. I thought it very strange that in so fine a house and with so many evidences of culture, the mistress should allow a servant to stand in the hall below and scream after any one in that way. Then I wondered who "Clara" was, and why in the world she did not answer the call; it did not seem possible that she could be asleep, after her name had been rung out so often. I buried my head in the pillows and tried to take another nap; but that was impossible; there that persistent servant stood, and shouted out at intervals that one name, dwelling on each letter until it seemed to me that the name was a half-hour long! At last I arose in despair, and began to make my toilet; only hoping that "Clara's" slumbers had been disturbed as well as my own.

When I made my way to the back parlor, none of the family was in sight, but in the middle of the floor looking at me with doubtful eyes, as though she would like to know where I came from, and what right I had there, was a great green parrot! I was not very well acquainted with parrots, so I stood at a respectful distance, but I thought it was proper to be courteous, and I said "Good-morning!"

To this I received no sort of reply; the creature put her head on one side and looked somewhat disdainful; then raising her voice to a loud shrill note, she called "C-l-a-r-a!" The mystery was explained! Here was the "servant" who had shown such ill breeding in the beautiful home.

Presently we went in to breakfast, and Polly parrot went along. She moved about the dining-room, wherever she chose, and was very quiet, until one of the young ladies whose name I discovered was "Clara," went away to attend to some household duty; then Miss Polly began her cry for "C-l-a-r-a" so loud we could hardly converse. "Polly," said her mistress, "you must be quiet; you disturb us; you cannot go to Clara, she is busy."

What did that parrot do but throw herself on her back, kick her clumsy feet into the air, and cry with all her might! I saw no tears, it is true; but if I had not been looking on, I would have been sure that a very spunky child was having a fit of crying. Imagine my astonishment! I had never heard a parrot cry; did not know that it was ever one of their accomplishments. Being a parrot, what would have been extremely disagreeable in a child, was really as funny as possible, and I laughed until I was in danger of shedding tears myself. Still the passionate whine went on. Suddenly the back parlor door was opened slightly, and a sweet voice said: "Mamma, you may let Polly come to me; I am not doing anything which she will disturb."

"Polly," said her mistress, "do you hear that? Get up. Clara says you may go where she is."

Instantly the parrot rolled over on her side, and burst into the most jubilant peal of laughter I ever heard—"Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho!" triumph in every note.

Then she straightened herself up, shook out her feathers, and waddled triumphantly out of the room.

"She is a curious creature," said the lady; "quite a study. We have not had her long, and it is very amusing to us; we know the habits and customs of the family from whom she came almost as well as though we had lived with them. You know parrots get all their knowledge by imitation. Isn't it remarkable, and rather startling when one stops to think of it, that even a parrot can produce your faults and foibles for others to laugh at? I often wonder what I am teaching her, unintentionally, which will astonish some one else."

"It is wonderful!" I said. And then I fell to wondering whether it was a girl or boy who had taught that parrot to lie on its back and cry because it couldn't have its own way. And what sort of a man or woman such a child would be likely to make.

I doubt whether the child, whoever he was, would have done it before me—a stranger—and here the parrot had told me all about it!

Aunt Esther was trying very hard to persuade little Eddy to retire at sunset, using as an argument that the little chickens always went to roost at that time.

"Yes," replied the wide awake little Eddy, "but the old hens always goes with them, auntie."