But what was _that_ the
fairy said you could teach me? Is it a story? I must hear it."

"Very well, sir," said Mrs. Polly, courtesying again, just to show how
agile she was, for she did not like the idea of her old legs being
thought stiff. "But before you came in, Mr. Cockatoo was preparing to
tell me his history, the history of his life. He is two years old,
Master Herbert, and as he fancies the world has ill-used him, I think it
would make him more comfortable to tell his story first, if you don't
mind, sir."

"Oh, very well," said Herbert, delighted to think that he could
understand the cockatoo also. "But I must not forget my lessons. I shall
go now and learn them; and in the afternoon, when you are in your cages,
I will bring the fish-hooks I have got to make, and while I do them we
can listen to the story."

"We shall be all the better of a few quiet hours," said Mrs. Polly, who
was very fond of a nap in the afternoon, especially after partaking of
rich cake. "Dear me, Master Herbert, one gets quite stupified looking
back into one's life. We'll lay our brains in sleep, sir, while you're
at your lessons. Good-day, good-day." Out of compliment, she finished
off with Herbert's own language, though had she said it in her own he
would have understood it quite well. But Polly hadn't lived for seventy
years for nothing.

In the afternoon the cockatoo's cage was placed at the open window,
Polly preferring to have hers on one side, to be away from the draught;
and when Herbert had got his box of hooks, and his coloured feathers,
and reels of silk placed conveniently, he bade Mr. Cockatoo begin his
story.

[Illustration: LISTENING TO THE COCKATOO'S STORY.

_Page 22._]

"You said some time ago, Master Herbert," began the cockatoo, "that I
was brought from the Indian Islands; and I suppose you're right, sir,
though I can't say I ever heard the name before to-day: all I can say
is, I remember the place well. When I popped my head out of my shell, I
found other three heads had done the same, so I was the youngest of my
family. A sad circumstance for me, as you will see. There we lay,
without a single feather, and not even a particle of down to cover us,
our heads feeling far too large for our naked bodies. We had to be as
patient as we could, down in our nest in an old rotten tree, till the
down began to come; but it was three or four months before we were
fairly covered with feathers. Somehow, being the youngest, my