rection of my food. He
put me in such good humor that I was impelled to say to him:

"Friend Parrot, I don't mind being sociable; and if you are inclined to
do me the favor of honoring me with your company, I most respectfully
invite you to partake of this humble collation." And, taking up one of
the choicest nuts in the collection, I handed it to him forthwith.

He took it promptly, and proceeded to crack and munch it in regular
parrot fashion.

"You must excuse me," I resumed, "that my viands are not of the
choicest cooking, and that I have no servants to wait upon my highly
esteemed guest, and that there are no silver knives and forks and
spoons to eat with in the latest civilized style, but I have rid myself
of all those things, and am glad of it."

The parrot nodded his head approvingly, as much as to say, "Right,
quite right."

The poor bird was very hungry, and I let him eat his fill.

Breakfast over, my guest flew upon my shoulder and was disposed to be
affectionate. He delicately pecked at my lips, drew his bill gently
across my cheeks, and pulled my hair with his claws.

"Come, come! friend Parrot, none of your soft billing and cooing. Leave
that to women and children."

So I gave my friend politely to understand that I did not care for such
pretty endearments; and, soon comprehending the force of my objection,
he very sensibly desisted from bestowing further attention upon me, and
thenceforth kept his handsome person reasonably aloof.

I entertained my friend two days, during which I gave him much valuable
advice, and, which was more to the purpose and perhaps better
appreciated, plenty to eat.

On the morning of the third day, the sun rose in all his beauty again,
and I fully expected the bird would fly away. He was in no hurry to go,
however. I went out, wandered about, and toward noon returned home.
Still the parrot was there. So it was the next day, and the next. I did
not want to resort to force and drive him away.

Finally I said to him one day:

"Friend Parrot; since I see you are in no hurry to leave my humble
home, and that it evidently grieves you to lose the pleasure of my
society, I shall not eject you forcibly from the premises. Stay,
therefore, as long as it shall please you. I will share with you food,
and shelter from the sun and rain. And whenever you grow weary of this
my society, tired of this plain habitation, or disgusted generally with
civilization, and wish to return to t