“You might have known it would,” said Tom.
“I guess I’d better pick out a real hard lump next time,” said Posy; and she made up her mind not to put that one in her mouth, so she only lapped it a little as she walked towards the canary’s cage.
Just then a noise was heard from the china-closet, and Tom at once went to see what it was.
“Why, there’s a mouse-hole right in the corner of that upper shelf,” he said; “I thought it sounded like a mouse gnawing.”
“Rats! rats!” called the parrot, whose cage hung in the window by the side of the canary’s.
“You’re mistaken, ma’am,” said Tom; “the barn-cat doesn’t give the rats a chance to come into the house,—they live in the barn.”
“Rats!” again cried the parrot.
Posy went up to the parrot’s cage and looked in.
“How do you do? How’s your mother?” asked the parrot, with her head on one side.
“Pretty well, I thank you, Mrs. Polly,” answered Posy; and she couldn’t resist the temptation of trying to seize the red feathers in Mrs. Polly’s tail and give them a little tweak. Mrs. Polly always resented such liberties, and made sudden dives at the chubby fingers; but Posy had learned to be careful, and drew them out in time.