To the intense delight of the children, Poll began to scream and cry exactly like a passionate child, after which he laughed and chuckled with satisfaction at his own performances, then crowed like a rooster, baa-ed like a nanny-goat, barked like a dog, and mewed like a cat. After all this he took up intelligent conversation again.
"Polly's a pr-r-r-etty bird; Polly's a good bird; Polly's a wise bird," he screamed, in all of which his little hearers entirely agreed.
"Who do you love, Polly?" asked Jessie.
"Polly love Jessie; Jessie a good girl," was the answer.
"Where's your master, Polly?"
"Bob Malcolm gone to sea. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye," screamed the parrot.
"Sing a song of"—began Jessie, and the parrot took up the strain.
"Sing a song of sixpence,
A pocket full of rye"—
Here he came to a stop, nor could he be coaxed to finish the couplet, though Jessie assured the audience that he could, if he chose, sing the first four lines of the old song all through.