tragically. "Can't you climb up and get it away from him? Can't you do anything, you – you stupid silly?"
At last Roy saw the reason for her fright. On the edge of the shed roof, lashing his tail in ludicrous ferocity, crouched a half-grown cat, and under his claws lay a tiny young white rabbit. Roy looked hurriedly about for a stick, but nothing of the description lay at hand. Meanwhile the red-haired girl taunted him to action, interspersing wails of despair with pleas for help and sprinkling the whole with uncomplimentary reflections on his courage and celerity.
"Aren't you going to do anything?" she wailed. "Are you going to stand there all night? Oh, please, please rescue him!"
The reflection on Roy's celerity weren't at all merited, for scarcely a quarter of a minute had passed since his advent. But if "the baby" was to be rescued there was no time to lose. The cat, apparently not understanding what all the noise and excitement was about, still held his captive and looked down wonderingly from the edge of the roof. Roy hesitated for just an instant longer. Then he seized the first apparently empty box that came to hand, turned it upside-down at the corner of the shed, and, amidst more despairing shrieks than ever, leaped onto it. Perhaps he was scared by the sudden appearance of Roy's head over the edge of the roof, perhaps by the renewed and more appalling clamor; at all events the cat abandoned his prey on the instant and took off along the roof. Roy managed to save the rabbit from a bad fall by catching it in one hand just as it rolled over the edge and in another moment was holding it forth, a very badly frightened little mass of white fur and pink eyes, to its distressed mistress. But strange to say the mistress seemed more anguished than ever. What she was saying Roy couldn't for the life of him make out, but it was evidently something uncomplimentary to him. In another moment the mystery was explained. Following the excited gestures of the red-haired girl, Roy turned just in time to see the box upon which he had stood topple and fall. Whereupon from out of it stalked a highly insulted red and green parrot, quite the largest Roy had ever seen. The bird emerged with ruffled plumage and wrathful eyes, cocked his head on one side and remarked fretfully in a shrill voice:
"Well, I never did! Naughty Poll! Naughty Poll!"
Then he chuckled wickedly and rearranged his feathers with a formidable beak. After that he turned and viewed Roy with a glittering, beady eye, and,
"Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing!" he shrieked at the top of his voice.
This outburst was so unexpected and excruciating that Roy gave back before it. But as though satisfied with the dismay he had caused the parrot broke out into a shrill burst of laughter and waddled toward the girl, who had now transferred her attention to the rescued rabbit.
"I – I didn't know he was in the box," stammered Roy.
"No, I don't suppose you did," answered the girl grudgingly. "Boys are so stupid! You might have killed him! Come here, Methuselah, and tell me all about it. Did the wicked boy frighten you most to death? Did he? Well, he was a wicked thing, so he was."
The parrot closed his beak carefully about one of her fingers and was lifted to her arm, where he sat in ruffled dignity and stared at Roy with malevolent gaze. The rescued rabbit lay meanwhile, a palpitating bunch of white, in the girl's other hand. Presently, having examined him carefully for damages and found none, she stepped to one of the boxes and deposited him on a litter of straw and cabbage leaves.
"I've had such horrid luck with the babies," she said confidently, her indignation apparently forgotten. "There were three at first. Then one died of rheumatism – at least, I'm almost sure it was rheumatism, – and one was killed by a rat and now only poor little Angel is left. I call him Angel," she explained, turning to her audience, "because he is so white. Don't you think it is a very appropriate name?"
Roy nodded silently. Like the parrot, he had had his temper a bit ruffled; the girl's remarks had not been especially complimentary. If she guessed his feelings she showed no signs of it. Instead,
"You're a new boy, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Roy.
"What's your name?"
"Roy Porter."
"Mine's Harry – I mean Harriet Emery; they call me Harry. Harriet's a beast of a name, isn't it?"
Roy hesitated, somewhat taken back.
"Oh, you needn't mind being polite," continued the girl. "I hate polite people – I mean the kind that say things they don't mean just to be nice to you. Harriet is a beast of a name; I don't care if I was named for Aunt Harriet Beverly. I hate it, don't you? Oh, I forgot! You're one of the polite sort!"
"No, I'm not," answered Roy, laughing. "I don't like Harriet any better than you do. But I like Harry."
"Do you?" she asked eagerly. "Honest? Hope to die?"
"Hope to die," echoed Roy gravely.
"Then you may call me Harry."
"Thanks. Is Doctor Emery your father?"
"Yes. Only they don't call him Doctor Emery – the boys, I mean."
"Don't they? What do they call him?"
"Emmy," answered Harry with a giggle. "It's such a funny name for papa! And mamma they call 'Mrs. Em.'"
"And they call you Harry?" said Roy for want of something better to say. Harry's head went up on the instant and her blue eyes flashed.
"You'd better believe they don't! That is, not many of them. They call me Miss Harry."
"Oh, excuse me," Roy apologized. "Miss Harry."
Harry hesitated. Then,
"Those that I like call me Harry," she said. "And you – you rescued the baby. So – you may call me Harry, without the Miss, you know."
"I'll try to deserve the honor," replied Roy very gravely.
Harry observed him suspiciously.
"There you go being polite and nasty," she said crossly. Then, with a sudden change of manner, she advanced toward him with one very brown and somewhat dirty little hand stretched forth and a ludicrous smirk on her face. "I forgot you were a new boy," she said. "I hope your stay with us will be both pleasant and profitable."
Roy accepted the proffered hand bewilderedly.
"There," she said, with a little shake of her shoulders and a quick abandonment of the funny stilted tone and manner, "there, that's done. Mamma makes me do that, you know. It's awfully silly, isn't it?"
Methuselah, who, during the conversation, had remained perched silently on the girl's shoulder, now decided to take part in the proceedings.
"Well, I never did!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Can't you be quiet? Naughty Poll! Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing!"
This resulted in his banishment, Roy, at Harry's request, returning the borrowed box to its place, and the parrot being placed therein with strict injunctions to remain there.
"Doesn't he ever get away?" asked Roy.
"Oh, yes, sometimes. Once he got into the stable and went to sleep on the head of John's bed. John's the gardener, you know. And when he came in and saw Methuselah sitting there he thought it was an evil spirit and didn't stop running until he reached the cottage. My, he was scared!" And Harry giggled mischievously at
