“Midway between these, a hook was driven into the beam, and there Poll used to hang as long ago as I can remember any thing.
“It was the custom for the men of the village to gather together at the store, and talk politics, or gossip about the affairs of the place. Long before town meeting, it was well understood at the store how each man in the community would vote, and who would be elected to the different offices.
“Among others who used to come there, was a man by the name of Brush. He was considered an inoffensive, well meaning man, with no force of character; but all supposed him honest. Poll, however, knew to the contrary; and after a while she convinced others that Brush was a thief.
“It was noticed, when this man got excited by the conversation, that he always left the circle round the stove, and walked back and forth through the store; and it was at such times that he contrived to cut large slices from the bacon, which he carefully concealed in his pocket. My father soon began to conclude that the meat, and sundry other articles, were missing, but could not imagine who was the thief. He watched for several days, not noticing that whenever Mr. Brush made his appearance, Poll instantly screamed, ‘Bacon.’
“One evening he determined to watch, as, the day previous, a larger slice than usual had been taken, and he was hid behind a barrel, when he saw Mr. Brush coming softly toward him.
“‘Bacon! bacon! bacon!’ screamed Poll, at the top of her voice.
“‘I’d wring your neck if I dared,’ murmured the man, glancing maliciously toward the bird; and then he walked back again to the fire.
“After this, father watched the parrot, and found he made this cry only when Brush appeared. He thought it so singular that he charged him with the theft, which the man, in great confusion reluctantly confessed.
“The curious story of his detection by a parrot soon spread through the town, and for years Mr. Brush was called by the name of Bacon, while the bird received much attention and many compliments for her sagacity.”
“I suppose, then, Poll saw him take it,” said Minnie, gravely.
“O, yes! He witnessed the whole proceeding, and did his best to give warning at once; but his loud cries were not understood.”
“Wasn’t he a good bird?” asked Lizzie.
“Yes, indeed. I suppose it would be a good plan to hang a parrot in every store.”
CHAPTER VI.
PARROT SAVING THE SILVER
Minnie was quite distressed one morning, when, on going to Poll’s cage to say “Good morning” to her pet, she found her unable to answer, only returning a feeble moan. She ran in haste to tell her mother, who thought it one of the parrot’s tricks. When she came down, however, she found Poll was really ill.
“Dear Poll! darling birdie!” she said, tenderly, stroking the beautiful head. “I’ll make you some tea, which I hope will soon cure you.”
She went at once to a side closet, and taking a little pinch of saffron from a paper, sent it to the cook, with directions to steep it at once.
Breakfast that morning was a dull affair, without Poll’s lively talk; and as, after the saffron tea, she did not at once revive, Minnie began to mourn so much lest her dear parrot would die, that her father, to occupy her attention, took her to the library, and read her some anecdotes, a few of which I will repeat.
“A tradesman in London kept two parrots, which usually hung in a cage over the porch projecting from the front door, so that when a person stood on the side of the street nearest the house, the birds could not be seen.
“One day, when the family were all absent, some one rapped at the door, when one of the parrots instantly called out, —
“‘Who’s there?’
“‘The man with the leather,’ was the reply.
“‘Oh, ho!’ retorted the parrot.
“The door not being opened as he expected, the stranger knocked again.
“‘Who’s there?’ repeated the bird.
“‘Why don’t you come down?’ cried the man, impatiently. ‘I can’t wait all day.’
“‘Oh, ho!’ was the only response.
“The man now became furious, and leaving the knocker, began to pull violently at the door bell, when the other parrot, who had not before spoken, exclaimed, ‘Go to the gate.’
“‘What gate?’ he asked, seeing no such convenience.
“‘Newgate,’ was the answer, just as the man, greatly enraged at the thought of being sent to Newgate prison, ran back into the street, and found out whom he was questioning.”
“Dr. Thornton, a benevolent physician in London, once visited the menagerie in Haymarket, where he saw a parrot confined by a chain fastened to his leg. He talked with the bird, and found he could imitate the barking of dogs, the cackling of fowls, and many sounds like the human voice. The bird, however, seemed melancholy and restless, which induced the good doctor to try and buy him of the owner. He succeeded at last in getting him for the sum of seventy-five dollars, which Dr. Thornton did not regret, since it would rescue the poor creature from her present unhappy confinement.
“The first thing he did was to loose him from the chain, and carry him home, where his diet was changed from scalded bread to toast and butter for breakfast, and potatoes, dumplings, and fruit for dinner.
“At first, his poor feet were so cramped, and the muscles so much weakened from long disuse, that he could not walk. He tottered at every step, and in a few minutes appeared greatly fatigued. But his liberated feet soon acquired uncommon agility, his plumage grew more resplendent, and he appeared perfectly happy. He no longer uttered harsh screams, but very readily learned many words, and amused himself for hours repeating them. He attached himself particularly to his kind benefactor, and always cheerfully practised his little accomplishments to please him, calling out, ‘What o’clock? Pretty fellow! Saucy fellow! Turn him out, Poll.’
“He was friendly to the children of the family, and to strangers, but exceedingly jealous of infants, from seeing them caressed.
“He was remarkably fond of music, and danced to all lively tunes, moving his wings, and also his head, backward and forward, to keep time. If any person sang or played a wrong measure, he stopped instantly. When his quick scent announced the time of meals, he ran up and down the pole, uttering a pleasing note of request.
“When any food was given him of which he was not very fond, he took it in his left claw, ate a little, and threw the rest down; but if the variety was nice and abundant, after eating what he wished, he carefully conveyed the remainder to his tin pail, saving it for another occasion.
“Every Friday a scissors grinder came and worked under his window. After listening attentively, Poll tried to imitate the sound with his throat, but could not succeed. He then struck his beak against the perch; but his quick ear discerned a difference. Finally he succeeded by drawing his claw in a particular way across the tin perch, and repeated the performance of grinding every Friday, much to the amusement of those who saw him.”
Minnie was so much interested in these stories that she quite forgot her grief, until her mother opened the library door to tell her that her pet was beginning to sing.
Minnie flew to see her, and before noon had the pleasure of knowing that Poll was quite recovered. Indeed, she had never seemed more gay. She hopped first on one foot and then on the other, in curious imitation of a polka dance, tossing her head on one side in a most coquettish manner.
Then she talked and laughed with Minnie, exclaiming every now and then in a cunning tone, “What are you about, you rogue? O, you little rogue!”
The little girl was delighted. She held Poll on her lap, caressing her fondly, and calling her by all sorts of endearing and funny names.
The parrot on her part seemed desirous of showing her gratitude for relief from pain by doing all she could to please her little friend. She often heard the cook calling Tom, who was apt to run to the barn when she wanted him; and she began in a loud, impatient tone, “Tom!” her voice rising; then again, “Tom!” falling inflection; “Tom!” again; “I say, Tom; come here, you rascal!”
Finding this made Minnie laugh heartily, she began to call, “Leo, come here! Lie down, sir! Tiney, Tiney,” in a small, fine voice, like the child’s; “Tiney, Tiney, Tiney! O, you little rogue!”
After this she chattered away like Jacko, cocking her eyes and looking as if she thought herself very smart.
Once in a while Poll talked Portuguese, which she had learned from some sailors who were in the vessel when she came over, more than fifteen years before. She began now to talk what sounded to Minnie like perfect jargon, but which so much amused the bird that she kept stopping to laugh most heartily.
By and by Mrs. Lee was ready to sit down; and she said Poll had had excitement enough for a sick bird, but told Minnie if she would bring the book about birds, she would try and find some true stories to read to her.
The next hour was passed most pleasantly to both of them. Some of the stories I will tell you.
“A parrot belonging to a lady in England was fond of attending family prayers; but for fear he might take it into his head to join in the responses, he was generally removed.
“But one evening, finding the family were assembling for that purpose, he crept under the sofa, and thought himself unnoticed. For some time he maintained a decorous silence; but at length he found himself unable to keep still, and instead of ‘Amen,’ burst out with, ‘Cheer, boys; cheer!’