It was rather dark. Lu caught Hanny in her arms and whisked her down to the dining-room. The boys were thirteen and eleven, and were playing checkers on the large dining-table. Everything looked so immensely big to Hanny. The shelves of the sideboard were full of glass and silver and queer old blue china; the chairs had great high backs and were leather-covered.
"We want to see the guinea-pigs," said Lu. "But I'll take her out to see the parrots first."
There was a fat colored woman in the kitchen who suggested Aunt Mary. They went through to a little room under the great back porch, made in the end of the area.
There were two parrots and a beautiful white paroquet. Polly was sulky. "Mind your business!" was all she would say. Dan soon began to be quite sociable, declaring "He was glad to see them, and would like to have some grapes."
"You shut up!" screamed Polly.
"I'll talk as much as I like."
"No, you won't. I'll come and choke you."
"Do if you dare!"
Then they shrieked at each other with the vigor of fighting cats. Polly rustled around her cage as if she would be out the next moment. Hanny clung to Lu and was pale with fright.
"They can't get out. They'd tear each other to pieces when they're mad, and sometimes they're sweet as honey. Pa's going to sell one of them, but we can't decide which must go. Polly talks a lot when she's in the mood. I don't know what's ruffled her so. Polly, my pretty Polly, sing for me, and the first time I go out I'll buy you some candy with lots of peanuts in it—lots—of—peanuts," lingeringly.