TEN days passed, and Alfred received another letter from his mother, saying that his father was expected home in three days’ time. Moreover, the lady he had met at the deanery had called again, this time with her husband, Mr. Rogers, and they had promised to repeat the visit when his father came home. “Don’t forget, Alfie,” wrote his sister, “that we hope next week to come and see you.” Alfred was not likely to forget that; he almost counted the hours and minutes to the day when he should see his father again.
Steve met him as usual, as he was on his way to school, and as they passed Mr. Cottenham’s shop, he called to them:
“Steve,” he said, “poor Polly’s gone!”
“Dead, sir?”
“No; Steve; at least I hope not. Last night a strange cat came into my parlour, through the open window, and flew at Polly. I only heard a noise, and when I came in I saw the parrot fly through the window, and the cat after it. I rushed down the garden, but Poll, although one wing has had a few feathers taken out to prevent it from flying away, can still fly some yards at a time—farther than I thought it could. I have been out half the night and early again this morning, but I cannot find any trace of it. I hope I sha’n’t catch that cat until I am less angry, or it will be a bad job for it.”
“We will look about, sir,” replied Steve, “and run back if we should see it or hear anything about it. Everybody in the town knows it, I should think, so I do hope you will get it back again.”
“I hope so too, Steve, I can assure you.”
The boys went on to school without seeing Polly, or meeting anyone who had seen it. They told their school-fellows, and all of them determined to join Mr. Cottenham in their spare time in hunting for the bird.
The dean still retained something of the schoolmaster about him, and used twice a year to examine the choir-boys in the school for about a couple of hours. His visit was always an unexpected one, and the boys, when assembled after service, were surprised when he walked in, accompanied by Mr. Young. All the boys were afraid of him, not that they need have been, for although he was a firm believer in discipline, he was very fond of young people, and boys had at various times experienced many kindnesses at his hands. But still, he was the dean, and because he was the dean, the choir-boys were always uneasy, to say the least, when the surprise examination took place. Moreover, if a boy were very bad and had to be expelled, he was taken before the dean, and in that light, as a judge, he was always regarded.
“He will be sure to be down on me, worse luck,” exclaimed King, “on account of that young sneak, Davidson!”