“Chick-en Lit-tle! Chick-en Lit-tle! Poor Pete! Scat! Go off an’ die!”
The words seemed to come from the floor and sounded as if they were fired out of a popgun.
Chicken Little jumped down from her father’s chair and stood for an instant spellbound in the middle of the floor.
Then she fell upon the newcomer with a shout.
“Oh, it’s a parrot! Ernest, it’s a parrot!”
But Polly eyed her distrustfully.
“Scat—go off and die!” he exclaimed, promptly retreating toward the door.
At a safe distance he began to call again:
“Chicken Little—Chicken Little!”
“Why, Father, how does he know my name?”