Peterkin Part 9

It wasn't that we had to be any earlier on Sundays than any other day, but that dressing in your best clothes takes so much longer somehow, and we had to have our hair very neat, and all like that, because we generally went down to the dining-room, while papa and mamma and Clement and Blanche were at breakfast, after we had had our own in the nursery.

There would be no good in trying to remember all our morning talks that week about Peterkin's plans. He did not get the least tired of them, and I didn't, for a wonder, get tired of listening to him, he was so very much in earnest.

He chopped and changed a good bit in little parts of them, but still he stuck to the general idea, and I helped him to polish it up. It was really more interesting than any of his fairy stories, for he managed to make both himself and me feel as if we were going to be _in_ one of them ourselves.

So I will skip over that week, and go on to the next. By that time we knew that Mrs. Wylie was in London, because mamma said something one day about having had a letter from her. Nothing to do with the little girl, as far as we knew; I think it was only about somebody who wanted a servant, or something stupid like that.

It got on to the Monday of the next week _again_, and by that time Pete had got a sort of start of his plans. He had got leave to come to meet me at the corner of Lindsay Square, once or twice in the last few days.

I used to get there about a quarter or twenty minutes to one. We were supposed to leave school not later than a quarter past twelve, but you know how fellows get fooling about coming out of a day-school, so, though it was really quite near, I was often later.

Mamma was pleased for Peterkin to want to come to meet me. She was not at all coddling or stupid like that about us boys, though her being in such a fuss that evening Pete was lost may have seemed so. And she was always awfully glad for us to be fond of each other. She used to say she hoped we'd grow up 'friends' as well as brothers, which always reminded me of the verse about it in the Bible about 'sticking closer than a brother.' And I like to think that dear little mummy's hopes will come true for her sons.

It wasn't exactly a fit of affection for me, of course, that made Pete want to get into the way of coming to meet me. Still, we _were_ very good friends; especially good friends just then, as you know.

So that Monday, which luckily happened to be a very nice bright day, he had no difficulty in getting leave for it again. I had promised him to hurry over getting off from school, so we counted on having a good bit of time to spend in looking at the parrot and talking to him, and in 'spying the land' generally, including the invisible princess, if we got a chance, without risking coming in too late for our dinner. We had taken care never to be late, up till now, for fear of Peterkin's coming to meet me being put a stop to; but we hadn't pretended that we would come straight home, and once or twice we had done a little shopping together, and more than once we had spent several minutes in staring in at the flower-shop windows, settling what kind of flowers would be best, and in asking the prices of hers from a flower-woman who often sat near the corner of the square. She was very good-natured about it. We shouldn't have liked to go into a regular shop only to ask prices, so it was a good thing to know a little about them beforehand.

I remember all about that Monday morning particularly well. I did hurry off from school as fast as I could, though of course--I think it nearly always happens so--ever so many stupid little things turned up to keep me later than I often was.

I skurried along pretty fast, you may be sure, once I did get out, and it wasn't long before I caught sight of poor old Pete eagerly watching for me at the corner of Lindsay Square. He did not dare to come farther, because, you see, he had promised mamma he never would, and that if I were ever very late he'd go home again.

I didn't give him time to be doleful about it.

'I've been as quick as I possibly could,' I said, 'and it's not so bad after all, Pete. We shall have a quarter of an hour for Rock Terrace at least, if we hurry now. Don't speak--it only wastes your breath,' for in those days, with being so plump and st.u.r.dy and his legs rather short, it didn't take much to make him puff or pant. He's in better training now by a long way.

He was always very sensible, so he took my advice and we got over the ground pretty fast, only pulling up when we got to the end, or beginning, of the little row of houses.

'Now,' said I, 'let's first walk right along rather slowly, and if we hear the Polly we can stop short, as if we were noticing him for the first time, the way people often do, you know.'

Peterkin nodded.

'I believe I see the corner of his cage out on the balcony,' he said, half whispering, 'already.'

He was right. The cage was out.

We walked past very slowly, though we took care not to look up as if we were expecting to see anything. The parrot was in the front of the cage, staring down, and I'm almost certain he saw us, and even remembered us, though, out of contradiction, he pretended he didn't.

'Don't speak or turn,' I whispered to Pete. It was so very quiet along Rock Terrace, except when some tradesman's cart rattled past--and just now there was nothing of the kind in view--that even common talking could have been heard. 'Don't speak or seem to see him. They are awfully conceited birds, and the way to make them notice you and begin talking and screeching is to pretend you don't see them.'

So we walked on silently to the farther end of the terrace, in a very matter-of-fact way, turning to come back again just as we had gone. And I could be positive that the creature saw us all the time, for the row of houses was very short, and he was well to the front of the balcony.

Our 'stratagem'--I have always liked the word, ever since I read _Tales of a Grandfather_, which I thought a great take-in, as it's just a history book, neither more nor less, and the only exciting part is when you come upon stratagems--succeeded. As we got close up to the parrot's house, next door to Mother Wylie's, you understand, _and_, of course, next door to the invisible princess's, we heard a sound. It was a sort of rather angry squeak or croak, but loud enough to be an excuse for our stopping short and looking up.

And then, as we still did not speak, Master Poll, his round eyes glaring at us, I felt certain, was forced to open the conversation.

'Pretty Poll,' he began, of course. 'Pretty Poll.'

'All right,' I called back. 'Good morning, Pretty Poll. A fine day.'

'Wants his dinner,' he went on. 'I say, wants his dinner.'

'Really, does he?' I said, in a mocking tone, which he understood, and beginning to get angry--just what I wanted.

'Naughty boy! naughty boy!' he screeched, very loudly. Pete and I grinned with satisfaction!

CHAPTER VI

MARGARET

THERE'S an old proverb that mamma has often quoted to us, for she's awfully keen on our all being 'plucky,' and, on the whole, I think we are--

'Fortune favours the brave.'

I have sometimes thought it would suit Peterkin to turn it into 'Fortune favours the determined.' Not that he's _not_ 'plucky,' but there's nothing like him for sticking to a thing, once he has got it into his head. And certainly fortune favoured him at the time I am writing about.

Nothing could have suited us better than the parrot's screeching out to us 'naughty boy, naughty boy.'

I suppose he had been taught to say it to errand-boys and boys like that who mocked at him. But we did not want to set up a row, so I replied gently--

'No, no, Polly, good boys. Polly shall have his dinner soon.'

'Good Polly, good Polly,' he repeated with satisfaction.

And then--what _do_ you think happened? The door-window of the drawing-room of the next house, _the_ house, was pushed open a little bit, and out peeped a child's head, a small head with smooth short dark hair, but a little girl's head. We could tell that at once by the way it was combed, or brushed, even if we had not seen, as we did, a white muslin pinafore, with lace ruffly things that only a girl would wear. My heart really began to beat quite loudly, as if I'd been running fast--we had been so excited about her, you see, and afterwards Pete told me his did too.

The only pity was, that she was up on the drawing-room floor. We could have seen her so much better downstairs. But we had scarcely time to feel disappointed.

When she saw us, and saw, I suppose, that we were not errand-boys or street-boys, she came out a little farther. I felt sure by her manner that she was alone in the room. She looked down at us, looked us well over for a moment or two, and then she said--

'Are you talking to the parrot?'

She did not call out or speak loudly at all, but her voice was very clear.

'Yes,' Peterkin replied. As he had started the whole business I thought it fair to let him speak before me. 'Yes, but he called out to us first.

He called us "naughty boys."'

'I heard him,' said the little girl, 'and I thought perhaps you _were_ naughty boys, teasing him, you know, and I was going to call to you to run away. But--' and she glanced at us again. I could see that she wanted to go on talking, but she did not quite know how to set about it.

So I thought I might help things on a bit.

'Thank you,' I said, taking off my cap. 'My little brother is very interested in the parrot. He seems so clever.'

At another time Pete would have been very offended at my calling him 'little,' but just now he was too eager to mind, or even, I daresay, to notice.

'So he is,' said the little girl. 'I could tell you lots about him, but it's rather tiresome talking down to you from up here. Wait a minute,'

she added, 'and I'll come down to the dining-room. I may go downstairs now, and nurse is out, and I'm very dull.'