"Pretty Mary," said the bird in its queer, croaking voice; "move Mary's cage. Hurrah for Fairy!"
"There, just hear that!" exclaimed Fairy, proudly; "now I rather guess a bird like that could learn to hurrah for anybody."
"Well," said Dorothy, "but you don't know yet that these children's names are Gwendolen Genevieve, and Montmorency."
"What!" cried Fairy, nearly dropping the cage, "of course no parrot could learn such names as those."
"And Miss Marcia objects to nicknames," said Dorothy. "These new people aren't a bit like their aunts, though."
"When are they coming down?" asked Lilian, who had joined her sisters; "I wish they'd get that procession of baby-carriages started. I want to see the show."
At that moment, the French nurse, Celestine, came down-stairs with the two older children. The little ones had been freshly dressed, and looked extremely pretty. Sylvia was in crisp white muslin, with fluttering bows of pink ribbon, and Montmorency wore a boyish garb of white piqué.
"Won't you speak to me?" asked Lilian, putting out her hand to the little girl.
"No," said the child, hiding her face in her nurse's apron; "do away. I's af'aid."
"Mees Sylvie,—she is afraid of everything," said Celestine; "she is a naughty—naughty,—a bad ma'amselle."