The children stopped and looked around again. This time Gertie spied a small green body hovering close to Jane’s white shoes.
“Poor Pete,” it remarked plaintively.
“Why Pete—you naughty bird—how did you come to follow me? What can I do? Get down, Pete—you’ll spoil my dress.”
Pete was trying to climb Jane’s skirts. He did not like the looks of the strange boys.
“Dear me, we’ll have to take him back home,” said Gertie.
“We’ll take him for you. Can he talk?”
Before Chicken Little could reply something leaped into the midst of the little group and Pete gave a heart-rending squawk. The children jumped and screamed but before they fairly understood what had happened, Pete and a big gray cat were in mortal combat. Fur and feathers flew for several awful seconds accompanied by wails from the little girls and shouts from the boys who wanted to save the parrot but hated to spoil the fight.
The Howard boys made one or two ineffectual efforts to grab Pete getting nips and scratches for their pains. Chicken Little, terrified for Pete’s life, tried to seize the cat and received a vicious scratch on the arm. The others pulled her away.
A crowd was quickly gathering. Rescue came opportunely in the shape of Pat Casey who had the good sense to arm himself with a stick. A few smart blows loosened the cat’s grip and it slunk away. Pete, much disheveled and shorn of some of his gayest feathers, stood blinking dazedly for a minute. Then, catching sight of Chicken Little, he hopped feebly toward her, croaking hoarsely: “Bust my buttons.”
The children set up a shout.