The Cockatoos Story | Page 9

do it again, but kept saying instead, 'Oh fie! Who stole the feathers?' And the more he wanted me to change the word into tea or sugar, the more I cried 'feath--ers.' He was so angry with me about it that he sold me to an old lady, who took me away in her carriage."
"But where did you come from first of all, Polly?" said Herbert. "Where were you born?"
"I really cannot tell you, sir," said Polly. "I have heard the old bird-stuffer telling people I was a native of Western Africa, but whether that was true or not I do not know. All I can recollect of my first home was sitting beside an old parrot like what I am myself now, who, I suppose, was my mother; and on looking round, I saw a strange animal glaring at me from the trunk of the tree behind. I fluttered and screamed, but my mother did not seem to fancy there was any danger, till, all at once, she was pounced upon by the animal, and dragged away, and I never saw her more. Then I crept back into the nest, and lay half-dead with fright, moaning and crying at times for very loneliness; but she never came. And even now, Master Herbert--would you believe it?--I keep thinking of that dreadful time, and I have to shriek out for some relief to my feelings. You often ask me what I am crying for, but you will know now. And you often wonder why I won't be friends with the cat, and try to bite her when I get a chance. Well, the animal that stole my mother was so very like a cat, that I cannot help hating everything that looks like one.--But don't you think, sir, Mr. Cocky is staying out beyond his time. I am not sure of him, sir. Remember, by his own showing, he was an ill-behaved, ungrateful bird in his youth."
"Yes; but, Polly, don't you think he has some good qualities too?" said Master Herbert. "I liked to hear him tell how he went to look for his mother, when the rest were running away, leaving her to her fate. I really think, if his brothers had been kinder to him he would have been more amiable. And papa often tells me that if he sees a boy kind to his mother, he is pretty sure to turn out a good man in the end. But tell me, Polly, how you got on after your mother left."
"Well, sir," continued Polly, "as I sat looking out of the nest in the tree, another parrot came and sat beside me, asking all sorts of questions as to where my mother had gone; and when I told him, he stayed and took care of me. I suppose he must have been my father. But before I was many months older, I was knocked down off the tree, just in the same way as Cockatoo says his mother was knocked down, and I was put into a cage and carried away along with ever so many birds. I've scarcely any recollection of living out of a cage, sir, or off a perch, the time I stayed in my native woods being so short, and so very long ago."
"And how did you like the old lady, Polly?" inquired Herbert.
"Oh, very well indeed, sir," she replied. "I had plenty to eat and drink, and a very fine brass cage to live in, and a servant to attend to my wants along with the other birds my mistress had. I cannot say I was ever troubled with a restless disposition,--owing, I suppose, to my having been taken from my native land when I was so very young,--and I always felt very happy. My mistress took a great deal of notice of me, teaching me a great many things, and particularly songs. I used to sing a verse of an old song called 'Crazie Jane,' and another called 'The Maid of Lodi,' which used to be a great favourite with my mistress; and when I saw her coming in with some dainty bits from the dessert after dinner, I used to dance about my perch, and cry out,--
'I sing the Maid of Lodi, Who sweetly sung to me,'
which used to make her so happy, poor old lady. But I am sorry to say my singing led me into some trouble. I used to be put in the kitchen at night to benefit by the heat of the fire, and I used to be teased a good deal by the servants to sing. Now, it was past my usual bed-hour when I was taken to the kitchen, and as I always went to bed at sunset, I used to be quite angry with them,