ked down, and I was put
into a cage and carried away along with ever so many birds. I've
scarcely any recollection of living out of a cage, sir, or off a perch,
the time I stayed in my native woods being so short, and so very long
ago."

"And how did you like the old lady, Polly?" inquired Herbert.

"Oh, very well indeed, sir," she replied. "I had plenty to eat and
drink, and a very fine brass cage to live in, and a servant to attend to
my wants along with the other birds my mistress had. I cannot say I was
ever troubled with a restless disposition,--owing, I suppose, to my
having been taken from my native land when I was so very young,--and I
always felt very happy. My mistress took a great deal of notice of me,
teaching me a great many things, and particularly songs. I used to sing
a verse of an old song called 'Crazie Jane,' and another called 'The
Maid of Lodi,' which used to be a great favourite with my mistress; and
when I saw her coming in with some dainty bits from the dessert after
dinner, I used to dance about my perch, and cry out,--

'I sing the Maid of Lodi,
Who sweetly sung to me,'

which used to make her so happy, poor old lady. But I am sorry to say my
singing led me into some trouble. I used to be put in the kitchen at
night to benefit by the heat of the fire, and I used to be teased a good
deal by the servants to sing. Now, it was past my usual bed-hour when I
was taken to the kitchen, and as I always went to bed at sunset, I used
to be quite angry with them, and would say all sorts of impudent things
instead of singing. But, as they would then walk away with my dishes,
and threaten to pour water on me if I didn't do what they said, in
desperation I would sing my songs to get rid of them. One young woman,
the lady's-maid, was particularly tormenting in this way; and when Tom,
the footman, tried to teach me a new song, I could not help noticing she
was in a great fright. I pricked up my ears at once, and showed Tom I
was all attention. In a very few days I could say it quite correctly,
but no one knew of it except Tom. Seeing the lady's-maid preparing to go
out one day, and dressed in her very finest clothes, I took the
opportunity to ask her for a drink of water, my dish being empty; but
she was in a hurry, and cross at something, and instead of replying
civilly, she made such an ugly face, and flapped her handkerchief at me.
My mistress, who was going out too, had her back turned at the mome