f course was brightly lighted up.

Papa was there, speaking to some one; he had his hat on, as if he was
just coming out again. And--yes--it was Drew he was speaking to, and
James too, I think--but behind them was poor mamma, looking so
dreadfully unhappy. It did make me want to shake Peterkin again.

They did not see us as quickly as we saw them, for it was dark outside
and they were all talking: papa giving directions, I fancy.

So they did jump when Clem--hurrying for once--rushed up the steps,
dragging Peterkin after him.

'We've found him--we've found him!' he shouted. 'In with you, Pete: show
yourself, quick.'

For mamma had got quite white, and looked as if she were going to faint
or tumble down in some kind of a fit; but luckily before she had time
for anything, there was that fat boy hugging and squeezing her so tight
that she'd have been clever to move at all, though if she _had_ tumbled
down he would have made a good buffer.

'Oh, mamma, mamma--oh, mummy,' he said, and by this time he was howling,
of course, 'I never meant to flighten you. I never did. I thought I'd
been only five minutes, and I thought it was nearly as quick home that
way.'

And of course mamma didn't scold him! She hugged him as if he'd been
lost for a year, and as if he was the prodigal son and the good brother
mixed up together.

But papa looked rather stern, and I was not altogether sorry to see it.

'Where have you been, Peterkin?' he said. And then he glanced up at us
two--Clem and me--as Peterkin seemed too busy crying to speak. 'Where
has he been?' papa repeated. 'It was very clever of you to find him, I
must say.'

And mamma's curiosity began to awaken, now that she had got old Pete
safe in her arms again. She looked up with the same question in her
face.

'Where--' she began.

And I couldn't help answering.

'It was all Clem's idea,' I said, for it really was only fair for Clem
to get some praise. 'He thought of the parrot.'

'The _parrot_', mamma repeated, growing more puzzled instead of less.

'Yes,' said Clement. 'The parrot next door to Mrs. Wylie's. Perhaps you
don't remember, mamma. It was the day Peterkin and I were out with
you--Giles wasn't there--and you went in to Mrs. Wylie's and we waited
outside, and the parrot was in a cage on the balcony, and we heard it
talk.'

'Yes,' said Peterkin, 'he _talked_,' as if that was an explanation of
everything.

Mamma's face cleared.

'I think I do remember so