“Why, you can talk like a man,” cried the boy in his astonishment.
“Certainly; much better than some men, I [[77]]trust. Pray come here and scratch me, Tim,” cried the parrot coaxingly.
Little Tim obeyed very cautiously, and in fear and trembling.
“That is delightful,” said Cockie.
“It’s wonderful,” muttered poor Tim.
“What is wonderful, sir? Can’t parrots talk?”
“Some of them can, but not like you.”
“Oh! but I’m not a parrot, I’m a fairy.”
“A fairy?” cried the boy, agape with wonder. “Are you really?”
“Truly I am. One of the Lake George fairies. Xanthine, our Queen, turned me into a parrot, five years ago, through her foolish jealousy, and here I’ve been caged up ever since with this great beak upon my face, which quite disfigures me.”