Peterkin. Molesworth Mrs.
exactly,' he said. 'Just a sort of half. I'm glad you've come, Gilley, for I've got a lot of things in my head.'
'You generally have,' I said, 'but I'm sleepy, if you're not. That scamper in the cold after you, my good boy, was rather tiring, I can tell you.'
'I'm very sorry,' said he, in a penitent tone of voice, 'but you know, Giles, I never meant to – '
'Oh, stop that!' I exclaimed; 'you've said it twenty times too often already. Better tell me a bit of the things in your head. Then you can go to sleep, and dream them out, and have an interesting story ready for me in the morning.'
'Oh, but – ' objected Pete, sitting up in bed and clasping his hands round his knees, his face very red, and his eyes very blue and bright, 'they're not dreamy kind of things at all. There's really something very misterist – what is the proper word, Gilley?'
'"Mysterious," I suppose you mean,' I said.
'Yes, misterous,' repeated he, 'about what the parrot said, and I'm pretty sure that old lady thinks so too.'
'Didn't she explain about it, at all?' I asked him. I began to think there was something queer, perhaps, for Peterkin's manner impressed me.
'Well, she did a little,' he replied. 'But I'd better tell you all, Gilley; just what I first heard, before she came up and spoke to me, you know, and – '
Just then, however, there came an interruption.
Mamma put her head in at the door.
'Boys,' she said, 'not asleep yet? At least you should be, Peterkin. You didn't wake him, I hope, Giles?'
I had no time for an indignant 'No; of course, not,' before Pete came to my defence.
'No, no, mummy! I was awake all of myself. I wanted him to come very much, to talk a little.'
'Well, you must both be rather tired with all the excitement there has been,' mamma said. 'So go to sleep, now, and do your talking in the morning. Promise, – both of you – eh?'
'Yes,' we answered; 'word of honour, mamma,' and she went away, quite sure that we would keep our promise, which was sealed by a kiss from her.
Dear little mother! She did not often come up to see us in bed, for fear of rousing us out of our 'beauty' sleep, but to-night she had felt as if she must make sure we were all right after the fuss of Peterkin's being lost, you see.
And of course we were as good as our word, and only just said 'Good-night!' to each other; Pete adding, 'I'll begin at the beginning, and tell you everything, as soon as I hear your first snort in the morning, Giles.'
'You'd better wait for my second or third,' I replied. 'I'm never very clear-headed at the first, and I want to give my attention, as it's something real, and not one of your make-ups,' I said. 'So, good-night!'
It is awfully jolly to know that you are trusted, isn't it?
CHAPTER III
AN INVITATION
I slept on rather later than usual next morning. I suppose I really was tired. And when I began to awake, and gradually remembered all that had happened the night before, I heartily wished I hadn't promised Peterkin to snort at all.
I took care not to open my eyes for a good bit, but I couldn't carry on humbugging that I was still asleep for very long. Something made me open my eyes, and as soon as I did so I knew what it was. There was Pete – bolt upright – as wide awake as if he had never been asleep, staring at me with all his might, his eyes as round and blue as could be. You know the feeling that some one is looking at you, even when you don't see them. I had not given one snort, and I could not help feeling rather cross with Peterkin, even when he exclaimed —
'Oh, I am so glad you're awake!'
'You've been staring me awake,' I said, very grumpily. 'I'd like to know who could go on sleeping with you wishing them awake?'
'I'm very sorry if you wanted to go on sleeping,' he replied meekly. He did not seem at all surprised at my saying he had wakened me. He used to understand rather queer things like that so quickly, though we counted him stupid in some ways.
'But as I am awake you can start talking,' I said, closing my eyes again, and preparing to listen.
Pete was quite ready to obey.
'Well,' he began, 'it was this way. Mamma didn't want me to be late for tea, so she stopped at the end of that big street – a little farther away than Lindsay Square, you know – '
'Yes, Meredith Place,' I grunted.
'And,' Pete went on, 'told me to run home. It's quite straight, if you keep to the front, of course.'
'And you did run straight home, didn't you?' I said teasingly.
'No,' he replied seriously, but not at all offended. 'When I got to the corner of the square I looked up it, and I remembered that it led to the funny little houses where Clem and I had seen the parrot. So, almost without settling it in my mind, I ran along that side of the square till I came to Rock Terrace. I ran very fast – '
'I wish I'd been there to see you,' I grunted again.
'And I thought if I kept round by the back, I'd get out again to the front nearly as soon – running all the way, you see, to make up. And I'd scarcely got to the little houses when I heard the parrot. His cage was out on the balcony, you know. And it is very quiet there – scarcely any carts or carriages passing – and it was getting dark, and I think you hear things plainer in the dark; don't you think so, Gilley?'
I did not answer, so he went on.
'I heard the parrot some way off. His voice is so queer, you know. And when I got nearer I could tell every word he said. He kept on every now and then talking for himself – real talking – "Getting cold. Polly wants to go to bed. Quick, quick." And then he'd stop for a minute, as if he was listening and heard something I couldn't. That was the strange part that makes me think perhaps he isn't really a parrot at all, Giles,' and here Pete dropped his voice and looked very mysterious. I had opened my eyes for good now; it was getting exciting.
'What did he say?' I asked.
'What you and Clement heard, and a lot more,' Peterkin replied. 'Over and over again the same – "I'm so tired, Nana, I won't be good, no I won't."'
'Yes, that's what we heard,' I said, 'but what was the lot more?'
'Oh, perhaps there wasn't so very much more,' said he, consideringly. 'There was something about "I won't be locked up," and "I'll write a letter," and then again and again, "I won't be good, I'm so tired." That was what you and Clement heard, wasn't it?'
'Yes,' I said.
'And one funny thing about it was that his voice, the parrot's, sounded quite different when he was talking his own talking, do you see? – like "Pretty Poll is cold, wants to go to bed" – from when he was copying the little girl's. It was always croaky, of course, but squeakier, somehow, when he was copying her.'
Peterkin sat up still straighter and looked at me, evidently waiting for my opinion about it all. I was really very interested, but I wanted first to hear all he had in his head, so I did not at once answer.
'Isn't it very queer?' he said at last.
'What do you think about it?' I asked.
He drew a little nearer me and spoke in a lower voice, though there was no possibility of any one ever hearing what he said.
'P'raps,' he began, 'it isn't only a parrot, or p'raps some fairy makes it say these things. The little girl might be shut up, you see, like the princess in the tower, by some bad fairy, and there might be a good one who wanted to help her to get out. I wonder if they ever do invite fairies to christenings now, and forget some of them,' he went on, knitting his brows, 'or not ask them, because they are bad fairies? I can't remember about Elf's christening feast; can you, Gilley?'
'I can remember hers, and yours too, for that matter,' I replied. 'You forget how much older I am. But of course it's not like that now. There