The Cockatoos Story | Page 9

servant-maid, 'Who stole the
tea?' and finish off with the other as a warning. So I said under my
breath, but loud enough for him to hear, 'Honesty, sir, is the best----;'
and then screamed out, 'Who stole the----? Oh, fie for shame!'
"You should have seen how he started, Master Herbert; but he went on
with his wicked intentions, and actually kept back every third feather,
making a bird to resemble a trogon out of them. When he tried to get
me to say that about honesty, I never would 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