re we were going to
look for Peterkin.

'It's the parrot,' he replied; 'the parrot in Rock Terrace.'

'I don't know what you mean,' I said. 'I never heard of a parrot, and I
don't know where Rock Terrace is.'

'Nonsense,' said Clem, stopping for a moment. 'You must have forgotten.'

'I haven't indeed,' I said.

'Not about the parrot that Peterkin has been dreaming of ever since we
passed it on Saturday, when we were out with mamma--next door to old
Mrs. Wylie's?' Clem exclaimed.

'No,' I repeated. 'I wasn't with you that day, and----'

'No more you were,' said Clem.

'And,' I went on, 'I don't know where Mrs. Wylie lives, though I've
often seen her herself at our house. And you know, Clement, that's just
like Peterkin. If he's got anything very much in his head, he often
doesn't speak of it, except to any one who knows about it already.'

'He hasn't said very much about it, even to me,' said Clement. 'But, all
the same, I know he has got it tremendously in his head.'

'How do you mean? Is he making up fairy stories about it?'

'Perhaps! You see he had never heard a parrot speaking. I'm not sure if
he knew they ever did. But he wanted very much to see it again, and it
just came into my mind all at once, that if he had a chance he might
have run round there and lost his way. I don't suppose he _meant_ to
when mamma told him to go home. It may just have struck him when he got
to the corner of Lindsay Square.'

I did not answer. We were walking so fast that it was not easy to go on
speaking. But I did think it was very clever of Clement to have thought
of it. It was so like Peterkin.

Clement hurried on. It was quite dark by now, but the lamps were
lighted, and Clem seemed quite sure of his way. In spite of feeling
rather unhappy about Peterkin, I was enjoying myself a little. I did not
think it possible that he was really badly lost, and it was very
exciting to rush along the streets after dark like this, and then I
could not help fancying how triumphant we should feel if we actually
found him.

It was not very surprising that I did not know where Rock Terrace was,
or that I had never even heard of it. It was such a tiny little row of
such tiny houses, opening out of one corner of Lindsay Square. The
houses were rather pretty; at least, very neat-looking and
old-fashioned, with a little bit of garden in front, and small iron
gates. They looked as if old maids lived in them, and I daresay there
were a good