How my Uncle and I put Humpty Dumpty together again.
My uncle stood by me very bravely when Aunt Sophia entered the tool-house with an exclamation of surprise. For a few minutes she could not understand what we had been about.
“Feathers—a bird—a parrot!” she exclaimed at last. “Why, it is like poor Polly.”
I looked very guiltily at my uncle and was about to speak, but he made me a signal to be silent.
“Yes, my dear,” he faltered, “it—it was poor Polly. We—we found her in the lumber-room—all in ruins, my dear, and we—we have been examining her.”
“I don’t believe it,” said my aunt sharply. “That mischievous boy has been at his tricks again.”
“I assure you, my dear,” cried my uncle, “I had to do with it as well. I helped him. Nat wants to understand bird-stuffing, and we have been to the museum and then we came home.”
“Well, of course you did,” said my aunt tartly; “do you suppose I thought you stopped to live in the museum?”
“No, my dear, of course not,” said my uncle, laughing feebly. “We are studying the art of taxidermy, my dear, Nat and I.”
He added this quite importantly, putting his eyeglasses on and nodding to me for my approval and support.