Then Aunt Emma went behind him and rapped gently on the table. The
parrot stopped marching, stuck his head on one side and listened. Aunt
Emma rapped again.
"Come in!" said the parrot suddenly, quite softly, as if he had turned
into quite another person. "Hush--sh--sh, cat's got a mouse!"
"Well, Polly," said Aunt Emma, "I suppose she may have a mouse if she
likes. Is that all you've got to tell us? Polly, where's gardener?"
"Get away! get away!" screamed Polly, while all his feathers began to
stand up straight, and his eyes looked fierce and red like two little
live coals.
"That always makes him cross," said Aunt Emma; "he can't bear gardener.
Come, Polly, don't get in such a temper."
"Oh, isn't he like the witches on the broom-sticks in our fairy-book,
Olly?" cried Milly. "Don't you think, Aunt Emma, he must have been
changed into something? Perhaps he was a wicked witch once, or a
magician, you know, and the fairies changed him into a parrot."
"Well, Milly, I can't say. He was a parrot when I had him first, twelve
years ago. That's all I know about it. But I believe he's very old. Some
people say he's older than I am--think of that! So you see he's had time
to be a good many things. Well, Polly, good-night. You're not a nice
bird to-night at all.
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