“Well, you’ll get rid of him soon, I hope,” Rock told her.
“Do you really think so?” Cassy exclaimed. “I hope we shall, and, oh, I’d like to get rid of a good many things.”
“What, for instance?”
“Oh, most of the schoolgirls, and this horrid noisy street and Mrs. Boyle’s parrot. I wish I could go to another school and move into another street, and never see the parrot again.”
“Why, don’t you like the parrot? I think she is very funny.”
Cassy shook her head.
“She is a bad bird, and says things in such a wicked way like old Mrs. Finnegan, and they laugh just alike. Polly bites, too, and is so cross. Sometimes I sit on the fence and look at her and she looks at me and says: ‘You’re bad! You’re bad!’ and I say, ‘I am not as bad as you. You are bad!’ And then she laughs as if she liked to be bad. I believe she has a black heart,” Cassy concluded, soberly.
Rock laughed.
“The poor Polly! I don’t believe she is as wicked as you make out, but I’ve no doubt but by this time next year you will be far away from here.”
“Oh, let’s pretend we will,” cried Cassy, stopping in her work of clearing off the dishes. “You say what you think we’ll be doing, and I’ll say, and Jerry can.”