The Rescue of an Old Place 



which, unfortunately, I . do not under- 

 stand. 



"I thought you told me this parrot 

 could talk ? " 



" So he can ze parrot lankwich 

 you don't expect all ze lankwiches for ten 

 tollar, do you ? " 



Thus our cat-bird, which costs us no- 

 thing but strawberries, discourses in a jar- 

 gon which we would fain comprehend, so 

 as to answer him according to his deserts ; 

 and sometimes of a Sunday morning he 

 sings us a glorious tune. 



When the rain comes, Apollo, the par- 

 rot, climbs to the top of the tree in which 

 he is perched, and spreads all his bright 

 feathers to catch the shower. Elongating 

 his wings, he makes them meet over his 

 brow in the very attitude of the cherubim, 

 and then, turning a somersault, he hangs 

 head downward, that the water may thor- 

 oughly drench his plumage. With all his 

 gold, and red, and green glittering with 

 raindrops, he resembles some superb 

 blossom quivering on a stem, and makes 

 a beautiful spectacle of himself. When 

 his bath is done he chatters and laughs 

 210 



