We didn't take a minute to pull on our coats, which were hanging in the hall. I daresay I should never have thought of mine at all, if Clem hadn't reminded me, even though it was late in November and a cold evening. And as soon as we were outside and had set off at a good pace, I begged Clem to tell me what his idea was, and where we were going to look for Peterkin.
'It's the parrot,' he replied; 'the parrot in Rock Terrace.'
'I don't know what you mean,' I said. 'I never heard of a parrot, and I don't know where Rock Terrace is.'
'Nonsense,' said Clem, stopping for a moment. 'You must have forgotten.'
'I haven't indeed,' I said.
'Not about the parrot that Peterkin has been dreaming of ever since we passed it on Saturday, when we were out with mamma—next door to old Mrs. Wylie's?' Clem exclaimed.
'No,' I repeated. 'I wasn't with you that day, and——'
'No more you were,' said Clem.
'And,' I went on, 'I don't know where Mrs. Wylie lives, though I've often seen her herself at our house. And you know, Clement, that's just like Peterkin. If he's got anything very much in his head, he often doesn't speak of it, except to any one who knows about it already.'
'He hasn't said very much about it, even to me,' said Clement. 'But, all the same, I know he has got it tremendously in his head.'