<h2><SPAN name="THE_STORY_OF_A_PARROT" id="THE_STORY_OF_A_PARROT"></SPAN>THE STORY OF A PARROT.</h2>
<p>So many months had passed since I was stolen from my beautiful home that
I was already a bird of considerable size. I was brought on shore by a
sailor, who took me to a dismal place in a dirty, noisy street, where I
found several hundred other birds—parrots, canaries, Java sparrows, and
many kinds I had never seen before, confined in small cages. The
confusion of sounds was dreadful, and I was sorry to hear that most of
the conversation was the most malicious gossip. I was received with
shouts of derision, and indeed my appearance was as wretched as
possible. My feathers were soiled and broken, and I was overcome with
sadness. The air of the place was stifling, and although the man who had
charge of me gave me enough to eat, my cage and feed dishes were so
dirty that I could not taste a mouthful. Some of my companions showed
sympathy for me, and I found a sad consolation in chatting with them;
but for all that, the days passed wearily, and I often wished myself
dead. My cage was sometimes placed upon a long table in the centre of
the room, that I might be inspected by various persons, from whose
conversation with my owner I learned that I was for sale. How sadly my
thoughts flew back to my poor parents, who would certainly have died of
grief had they known of my unfortunate condition, and that I, a free
child of the broad African forest, was about to be sold into life-long
slavery! So bad-tempered was I (for I plunged furiously at every one who
approached me) that no one wished to buy me, and my owner would often
say, "That African imp is only fit to kill and stuff." He might kill and
stuff me for all I cared, and I made no effort to control my temper.</p>
<p>At last one day a very kind-looking gentleman came in, and stopping
before my cage, began to admire the rich color of my plumage. "All he
needs is care and kindness to make him a fine bird," he said; and I soon
understood that he had ordered me sent to his house.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illo_009.jpg" width-obs="248" height-obs="400" alt="I LIVED AGAIN IN THE FOREST." title="" />
<span class="caption">I LIVED AGAIN IN THE FOREST.</span></div>
<p>From that day I might have had a pleasant life, but my malicious temper
was destined to bring me much farther trouble. My new master appeared
very fond of me, and did much for my comfort. I was allowed the liberty
of a fine perch, well provided with clean new feed dishes, but, to my
intense mortification and disgust, a chain was put upon my feet. My
perch stood near a large window, but heavy curtains prevented me from
getting more than a single peep of daylight. I saw my new master only
for a short time morning and evening, and the solitude was terrible. I
sat alone day after day, believing myself to be slowly dying of sadness.
I wished that my life could be one long sleep, for when, my head buried
in my feathers, I went to the land of dreams, I lived again in the
forest where I was born; I saw once more the noble branches of my native
tree, and heard the rushing waters of the mighty river on whose banks it
stood; I breathed the perfume of thousands of wild flowers; crowds of
brilliant birds came hurrying to comfort me; I saw again my father, my
mother, my brother, and my sister; I believed myself free once more.
Alas! sorrowful was the awaking from all these delights.</p>
<p>"Are you happy?" my master would say. "Have you eaten your breakfast,
Lorito?" Yes, indeed, I had breakfasted. I did nothing but eat breakfast
from morning till night. I grew very fat, and what was worse, I became
so stupid that I repeated like an echo all my master's words. "Have you
eaten your breakfast?" I would scream; and my master would laugh, and
toss me a lump of sugar. That was my only recreation—to repeat my
master's words and eat sugar. I was gradually losing all sense of honor
and truth, and to be praised and get a lump of sugar I would rest my
beak in my claw and say, with a languishing air, "My head aches; let me
alone." My head did ache, too, sometimes, remembering the days when I
knew only the language of my fathers, when the sweet voice of my mother
waked me in the morning to pass a happy day playing with my brother and
sister. Solitude and confinement had soured my character. The rings of
my chain hurt my feet so that they were becoming swelled and inflamed. I
hated all the world. When my master filled my feed dish with dainties,
instead of gratefully accepting his kindness I would seize the dish and
spitefully overturn its contents. All day long I screamed as loud as I
could, and it gave me the greatest satisfaction when once a policeman
came running in great haste to inquire of the house-maid if there was
any trouble. "That horrid parrot!" I heard her say, and I laughed as
loud as I had screamed before.</p>
<p>One morning my master entered the dining-room, in the window of which
stood my perch, followed by a lady and three beautiful children, who
rushed toward me eagerly.</p>
<p>"Be careful, Hope," said her father, as the smallest of the three
stretched her little hand toward me; "that fellow bites like a savage."</p>
<p>"Poor Rito, he won't bite me," she said, sweetly; but I know I would
have done it then, had not the children's mother astonished me by boldly
taking me on her hand. "Poor Lorito," she said. "Look at his feet. They
are all red and swelled. Anybody would be cross left all alone on a
perch with his feet chained together."</p>
<p>She then gently removed my chain, and called the house-maid to carry the
perch, with me upon it, to her sitting-room, and to prepare a dish of
wine and sugar to bathe my feet.</p>
<p>When I found myself alone in the sitting-room, and had time to think
quietly, I realized that a great change had taken place in the house.
Three children had come home, and my solitary days were over. They might
tease me, perhaps, but at least they would be company. Another thing too
I realized, and that was that for the first time I was free. I looked
around the room. It was light and sunny, and I could see that it was
filled with various pieces of handsome furniture for which parrots have
no use. You may be surprised, but to my mind a branch of a tree in a
wild forest is infinitely more beautiful and useful than all the fine
furniture in the world.</p>
<p>I began slowly to swing myself down from my perch with the intention of
making a close inspection of the room. I am almost sure that at<span class='pagenum'><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</SPAN></span> first I
was more curious than malicious, but, alas! I had scarcely started on my
voyage of discovery when I perceived a small blue and gilt bowl standing
upon the marble hearth. It contained the sweetened wine ordered as a
healing bath for my feet. The fragrance was so enticing that, forgetting
the good precepts my mother had taught me, I dipped my beak into the
bowl and took a long drink, nor did I stop so long as a single drop
remained.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/illo_010.jpg" width-obs="220" height-obs="300" alt=""TEARING OUT NAIL AFTER NAIL."" title="" />
<span class="caption">"TEARING OUT NAIL AFTER NAIL."</span></div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illo_011.jpg" width-obs="193" height-obs="300" alt=""I WAS BOTH HORRIBLE AND RIDICULOUS."" title="" />
<span class="caption">"I WAS BOTH HORRIBLE AND RIDICULOUS."</span></div>
<p>No sooner had I swallowed the contents of the bowl than I felt a strange
burning sensation in my head, which seemed on the point of dancing away
from my body. I was possessed of an intense desire to fight something,
and I gazed eagerly around the room in the hope of finding some enemy
with whom I could engage in mortal combat. I saw no moving thing in the
whole apartment which I could attack, but unfortunately my eyes fell
upon some shining brass nails which served as ornaments round the edge
of a table. To my heated imagination each nail seemed glaring directly
at me, menacing me like the evil eye of a bird of prey. I rushed madly
toward the table, and climbing up one of its legs, I seized a nail in my
beak. To my great delight I found I could easily pull it out, which I
immediately did, and threw it spitefully away. With yells of triumph I
crept all around the table, clinging with my claws, and tearing out nail
after nail as I went, until every one of those aggravating glaring eyes
lay scattered over the carpet.</p>
<p>Although I was victorious in my violent battle with the nails, my
spirits were not yet calmed. In looking around for a new victim, I saw a
bottle standing upon a table in the centre of the room. The old saying
that he who drinks once will drink again is one of the truest of
proverbs, and I no sooner discovered the bottle than I made all possible
haste to reach it, hoping that it contained more sweetened wine. To be
sure, the liquid in the bottle was very dark colored, and had an
unpleasant odor, but in my eagerness I paid little attention to those
things. I tried to taste it, but the mouth of the bottle was too small
for my beak, and all my efforts were in vain. In my rage I vowed
revenge, and, screaming loudly, I threw the tantalizing thing with
violence to the floor.</p>
<p>Alas! my ill behavior was sadly punished. The bottle I had overturned
was filled with ink, and I was spattered from head to foot with the vile
black mixture. My beautiful plumage, of which I had been so proud, was
ruined. I was both horrible and ridiculous. In this miserable and
forlorn condition I climbed back upon my perch, and in a most wretched
frame of mind waited to be discovered, and perhaps punished.</p>
<h4>[<span class="smcap">to be continued</span>.]</h4>
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