y else.

'Nonsense!' said Mrs. Wylie. 'You are not tired or cold, Polly, and
nobody is going to lock you up.'

He was silent for a moment, and peeping out again, we saw that he was
staring hard at the old lady.

Then he said very meekly--I am not sure which voice it was in--

'Polly be good! Polly very sorry!'

Mrs. Wylie nodded approvingly.

'Yes,' she said, 'that's a much prettier way to talk. Now, supposing we
have a little music,' and she began to sing in a very soft, very thin,
old voice a few words of 'Home, Sweet Home.'

There was something very piteous about it. I think there is a better
word than 'piteous'--yes, Clement had just told it me. It is 'pathetic.'
I felt as if it nearly made me cry, and so did Peterkin. We told each
other so afterwards, and though we were so interested in the parrot and
in hearing him, I wished he would be quiet again, and let Mrs. Wylie go
on with her soft, sad little song. But of course he didn't. He started,
too, a queer sort of whistle, not very musical, certainly, but yet, no
doubt, there was a bit of the tune in it, and now and then sounds rather
like the words 'sweet' and 'home.' I do think, altogether, it was the
oddest musical performance that ever was heard.

And when it was over, there came another voice. It was the maid next
door, who had stepped quietly on to the balcony--

'I'm afraid, ma'am, I must take him in now,' she said, very
respectfully. 'It is getting cold, and it would never do for him to get
a sore throat just as he's learning to sing so. You are clever with him,
ma'am; you are, indeed: there's quite a tune in his voice.'

Mrs. Wylie gave a little laugh of pleasure.

'And did the young gentlemen you were speaking of never come, after
all?' the maid asked, as she was turning away, the big cage in her hand.

'Oh yes,' said Mrs. Wylie, 'they are here still. But Polly was very
naughty,' and she explained about it.

'He's learnt that "won't be good" from next door,' said the girl, 'and I
do believe he knows what it means.'

'I very sorry; I be good,' here said the parrot.

They both started.

'Upon my word!' exclaimed the maid.

'Has he learnt _that_ from next door?' said Mrs. Wylie, in a lower
voice.

'I hope so. It's very clever of him, and it's not unlikely. The child is
getting better, I believe, and there's not near so much crying and
complaining.'

'So I have heard,' said the old lady, and we fancied she spoke rather
mysteriously, 'a