Bobby—for so this favorite was called—was a very knowing bird indeed—talking fluently, if not wisely, in both English and Hindostanee; and though somewhat vain of his beauty and accomplishments, and a little too selfish and fond of good living, never arrogant or surly, but the most gracious and amiable of cockatoos.
Bobby had a fine gilded cage, which hung in a shaded veranda, where the family sat in the cool morning and evening hours; so, when not talking, or talked to himself, he picked up a good deal of knowledge by listening to the conversation of others.
Everybody liked Bobby, he was so clever and comical; but Mabel not only liked and petted him, but cared for him constantly; patiently ministered to his dainty appetite, and tried always to teach him good and useful things. Indeed, I am afraid that, if it had not been for his young mistress, Bobby would have been a wicked little heathen, like other Hindoo cockatoos.
When Mabel was told that she must go to England, almost the first words which she sobbed out were, "May I take Bobby?"
"Of course, darling," said her papa; "Bobby shall go with you."
But on the morning when Katuka and her young mistress sailed, lo, Bobby was nowhere to be found! He had been stolen in his cage from the veranda, and carried away during the night, by some straggling native; and poor little Mabel was obliged to go away with a new grief weighing down her tender, childish heart. All through the long voyage, she missed and mourned for her lost pet, and, when she reached London, her good grandmamma could give her nothing that would quite take its place.
Everybody was kind to the lonely little girl, and much was done to make her well and happy. Every day her grandmamma or her good ayah took her to drive or walk in Hyde Park, or Kensington Gardens, or out on the open, breezy heaths; and Mabel soon grew better, healthier, and stronger, and a soft color stole into her pale cheeks, and deepened and brightened, day by day, like the flush of an opening rose.
Mabel dearly loved her kind English friends, but there were sometimes chill wintry days, or dull rainy evenings, when she was very homesick, and cried to see again her far-off Indian home, her papa and mamma, and little baby-brother.
At such times, she would often say to her kind ayah, who wept with her, "Ah, Katuka, if I only had poor Bobby here, it would be some consolation."
One day, when Mabel had been about six months in England, her grandmamma took her to the Zoological Gardens. She was greatly interested in seeing the animals, though she shrank away with a shudder from the tigers, of whom she had heard fearful stories in India. At last, they entered a long, beautiful gallery, all hung with bright gilded cages of gorgeous birds, mostly parrots, of many different species. As Mabel walked slowly along, admiring the pretty chattering creatures, but sadly remembering her lost Bobby, and thinking that no one of all these was half so beautiful as he, suddenly she heard, from a cage just before her, a joyous familiar cry: "Good morning, Miss Mabel!—come to bring Bobby dinner? Poor Bobby hungry!"