When invited properly, he would dance a hornpipe, whistling his own music in sharp staccato notes, as from a piccolo. He could likewise “present arms” with a little straw musket which I had provided for him; besides feigning to be dead, and allowing you to take him up by the legs, his head hanging down, apparently lifeless, the while, without stirring—although he would sometimes, if you kept him too long in this position, open one of his beady black eyes, and seem to give you a sly wink, as if to say, “A joke is a joke, certainly; but you may, perhaps, carry it too far!” I could not enumerate half his accomplishments in this line; and, as for whistling operatic tunes—the most difficult ones, with unlimited roulades, were his especial choice—“Bai-ey Je-ove!” as Horner would say, you should only have heard him.
As I allowed him to go in and out of his cage at pleasure, he roamed the garden according to his own sweet will, whenever and wherever he pleased, without reservation; and he, I may add, seldom abused the privilege. Some time after I had given him to Min, he actually found his way back one morning to our house again. I shall never forget the circumstance: you should have witnessed his delight at seeing the old place and his old friends again! He flirted, he danced, he rolled in paroxysms of joy on the little table by the window, whereon he had been accustomed to go through his performances:—he chirped, he whistled; in fact, he behaved just like a mad bird.
But he did not desert his mistress, mind you. I think he even got fonder of her than he had even been of me. Still, often after discovering that he could thus vary the monotony of his existence by paying a visit to his old domicile—which only lay a short distance from his new quarters—he would come round; and, after spending an hour or two with me, when he would conscientiously insist on going through the entire round of his accomplishments without any invitation on my part, as if to show that he yet retained his early instructions well in mind, he would return to Min’s house, and the no less warm affection that awaited him there.
This was the little present that I intended for a birthday gift to my darling: one that I valued beyond gold. The very next afternoon I carried him round to her in my coat-pocket—he having a tiny cage that just fitted into it comfortably “to a t.”
Fortunately, I found Min alone in the drawing-room, when I was ushered in. She was sitting on the sofa reading, and, although she rose up on my entrance, she only bowed, looking distant, and somewhat embarrassed.
This did not look well for my chances of forgiveness, and for getting her to accept Dicky Chips, did it?
I went up to her impulsively.
“Min!” I exclaimed, “can you, will you, excuse and forgive me for acting so rudely last night? I cannot forgive myself; and I shall be miserable till you pardon me!”
She looked down gravely a minute.
“What made you so naughty, sir?” she asked at length, looking up again with a dancing light in the clear grey eyes, and a smile on her pretty little mouth.