time looking as wicked and cunning as a hook-beaked old grey parrot can look.
"Sam, Sam, where's the master?" shouted Poll, in a reedy-weedy tone, like a cracked clarionet, as soon as the lads came in sight. "Stealing the grapes. Stealing the grapes," she shouted again. "Rogues, rogues, rogues! Two in the morning, hi! hi!" And then she gave a shrill whistle, and burst out into a loud hearty laugh, that made Fred stare, it was so natural.
"There," said Philip, proudly, "you haven't got such birds as that in London."
"Oh yes, we have," said Fred, "but Papa don't care about buying them. Poor Polly," he continued, putting his finger in to stroke the parrot.
"Don't do that," shouted the boys together; but it was too late, for almost at the same moment Fred gave utterance to a most doleful "Oh-h-h!" Poll had made a snap at his finger, and hooked a piece of flesh out sufficient to make it bleed pretty freely.
"What a beast!" said Fred,