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WO weeks later they took possession of me. They did it with so much
friendliness that at the end of a month it was as though we had always
lived together. Even the furniture fitted into all my odd nooks and
angles as if it had been made especially for me. And, indeed, it might
have been, for most of it was created in the reign of Queen Anne, at
which period my walls were, as one might say, feeling their legs. It was
very pleasant when night had settled down and everyone was sleeping, to
listen to the conversations which were carried on between the new-comers
and my own floors and stairs. One grandfather's clock was particularly
interesting in his reminiscences. He had told the time to Dr. Johnson
and had ticked away the great lexicographer's last hours. On this
account he was inclined to be amusingly self-important; it was a
permanent source of grievance with him that, so far as the present
generation was concerned, his pedigree was unknown. There were times
when he would work himself into such passions that his weights would
drop with a bang. He was always sorry for it next morning and ashamed
to face the little lady. As she came down to breakfast, she would catch
sight of his hands and say, “So the poor old clock has stopped again!
The old fellow's worn out. We shall have to send him to the mender's.”
Perhaps it is hardly fair to repeat this gossip about one piece of the
furniture, for everything, myself included, was old; whether we were
tables, chairs or stair-cases, we all had our crochets and oddities.
But, however much we differed among ourselves, we were united in adoring
the youth of the little lady and her children. More than any of us the
whispering parrot adored her.
The whispering parrot was a traveller. He had come from Australia fifty
years ago.
He played so indispensable a part in producing the happy ending that he
deserves an introduction.
He had been the gift of the children's grandfather, a retired General.
His plumage was Quaker grey, all except his breast and crest which were
a wonderful rose-pink. He had black beady eyes which took in everything;
what they saw, he invariably remembered. He had a confidential, hoarse
way of speaking, that never rose above a whisper. When you heard him
for the first time you supposed that he had a bad sore throat. He had
a favorite question which he asked whenever he thought he was not being
paid sufficient attention, “What shall we talk about?” He would ask it
with his head cocked on one side, while he rubbed his feathers up and
down the bars. “What shall we talk about?” he would ask the little lady
as she sat sewing beneath the lamp of an evening. She was always by
herself when the children had been put to bed. She had no callers and
never went anywhere.
“Talk about Polly!” she would say. “I don't know, you good grey bird.
Did you think I was lonely? Well, let's see! Who loves Mummy best? Can
you answer me that?”
Then he would cock his head still farther on one side and pretend to
think furiously. She would have to ask him several times before he would
attempt an answer. Usually, when he got ready, he would clear his throat
and whisper, “The dustman.” After which he would laugh as though his
sides were aching: “What a naughty Polly! What a naughty Polly!”
She would maintain a dignified silence till she had emptied her
needle. Then she would glance at him reproachfully, “Think again, Mr.
Impudence--not the dustman.”
So he would think again, and having clambered all over his cage and hung
upside down to amuse her, would hazard, “Polly?”
“Not Polly.”
Then he would make any number of suggestions, though he knew quite well
the answer she required. After each wrong guess he would go off
into gales of ghostly merriment. At last he would say very solemnly,
“Robbie.”
“Yes, Robbie,” she would reply and scratch his head; after which the
game was ended. Soon she would fold away her work, put out the lights
and climb the narrow stairs to her quiet bed.
It seemed very sad that, when she was so young, she should have to spend
so many hours in talking to a rascally old bird. One can be young for so
short a time. How short, those who are old know best.
There were evenings, however, when, after the parrot had answered
“Robbie,” she would whisper, “I wonder!” and clasp her hands in her lap,
gazing straight before her. On these evenings she would sit very late
and would look down at her feet from time to time, as though expecting
to see someone crouching there. Taxis would chug their way into the
square and draw up at one or other of the dolls' houses. The taxi door
would open and after a few seconds close with a bang. There would be the
rustle of a woman's dress and the tripping of her slippered feet across
the pavement; the bass muttering of her husband paying the driver;
laughter; the rattling of a key in the latch; and silence. The little
lady would sit quite motionless, listening to the secret homecomings
of lovers. Then at last she would nod her head, “You're right, Polly, I
expect. There's no one else. No doubt it's Robbie who loves me best.”