parrot's house. He was out on the
balcony. I wondered if he would notice us, or if he did, if he would
condescend to speak to us.

Yes, I felt that his ugly round eyes--don't you think all parrots' eyes
are ugly, however pretty their feathers are?--were fixed on us, and in
a moment or two came his squeaky, croaky voice--

'Good morning, boys! Good morning! Pretty Poll!'

'He didn't say "naughty boys,"' I remarked.

'No, of course not,' replied Peterkin; 'because he knows all about it
now, you see.'

'We mustn't stand here long, however,' I said. 'I wond----'

'I wonder why Margaret hasn't hung out a handkerchief if she couldn't
get to speak to us,' I was going to have said, but just at that moment
we heard a voice on the upstairs balcony--

'Good Polly,' it said, 'good, good Polly.'

And the parrot repeated with great pride--

'Good, good Polly.'

But when we looked up there was no one to be seen, only I thought one of
the glass doors of Margaret's dining-room clicked a little. And I was
right. In another moment there she was herself, on the dining-room
balcony--half on it, that's to say, and half just inside.

'Isn't he good?' she said, when we came as near as we dared to hear her.
'I told him to let me know as soon as he saw you, for I couldn't manage
the handkerchief, and I was afraid you might have gone before I could
catch you. Nurse has been after me so this morning, for the witch was
angry with me yesterday for standing at the window without my shawl. But
you mustn't stay,' and she nodded in her queenly little way. 'It's
keeping all right--Wednesday at half-past two, at the corner next the
Square--wet or fine. Good-bye.'

'Good-bye, all right,' we whispered, but she heard us.

So did the parrot.

'Good-bye, boys; good Polly! good, good Polly!' and something else which
Peterkin declared meant, 'Wednesday at half-past two.'

I felt pretty nervous, I can tell you, that day and the next. At least I
suppose it's what people call feeling very nervous. I seemed half in a
dream, and, as if I couldn't settle to anything, all queer and fidgety.
A little, just a very little perhaps, like what you feel when you know
you are going to the dentist's, especially if you _haven't_ got
toothache; for when you have it badly, you don't mind the thought of
having a tooth out, even a thumping double one.

Yet I should have felt disappointed if the whole thing had been given
up, and, worse than that, horribly fright