'Where—' she began.
And I couldn't help answering.
'It was all Clem's idea,' I said, for it really was only fair for Clem to get some praise. 'He thought of the parrot.'
'The parrot', mamma repeated, growing more puzzled instead of less.
'Yes,' said Clement. 'The parrot next door to Mrs. Wylie's. Perhaps you don't remember, mamma. It was the day Peterkin and I were out with you—Giles wasn't there—and you went in to Mrs. Wylie's and we waited outside, and the parrot was in a cage on the balcony, and we heard it talk.'
'Yes,' said Peterkin, 'he talked,' as if that was an explanation of everything.
Mamma's face cleared.
'I think I do remember something about it,' she said. 'But I have never heard you mention it since, Peterkin?'
'No,' said Peterkin, getting rather red.
'He has spoken of it a little to me,' said Clement; 'that's how I knew it was in his mind. But Peterkin often doesn't say much about what he's thinking a lot about. It's his way.'