Everybody started and looked up into the tree from which the sounds had seemed to come; but no parrot was visible there.
"Why, where is the bird?" asked several voices in tones of surprise. But hardly had the question been asked when another parrot seemed to speak from a table near that at which the bridal party sat. "Polly's hungry. Poor old Polly—poor old soul!"
"Is that so, Polly? Then just help yourself," said Dr. Percival.
"Polly wants her coffee. Poor old Polly, poor old soul!" came in reply, sounding as if the bird had gone farther down the table.
Then a whistle was heard that seemed to come from some distance among the trees, and hardly had it ceased when there was a loud call, "Come on, my merry men, and let us get our share of this grand wedding feast."
"Tramps about! and bold ones they must be!" exclaimed one of the neighborhood guests.
"Really I hope they are not going to make any trouble!" cried another. "I fear we have no weapons of defence among us; and if we had I for one would be loath to turn a wedding feast into a fight."
"Hark! hark!" cried another as the notes of a bugle came floating on the breeze, the next minute accompanied by what seemed to be the sound of a drum and fife playing a national air, "what, what can it mean? I have heard of no troops in this neighborhood. But that's martial music, and now," as another sound met the ear, "don't you hear the tramp, tramp?"
"Yes, yes, it certainly must be troops. But who or what can have called them out?" asked a third guest, starting to his feet as if contemplating rushing away to try to catch a glimpse of the approaching soldiers.
"Oh, sit down and let us go on with our breakfast," expostulated still another. "Of course they are American troops on some trifling errand in the neighborhood and not going to interfere with us. There! the music has stopped and I don't hear their tramp either. Dr. Percival," turning in his host's direction and raising his voice, "can you account for that martial music playing a moment since?"