“I taught them, to be sure,” said a hoarse voice overhead.
The children looked up, startled, and were astonished to see that the voice came, apparently, from a long-tailed green parrot, with a hooked beak and round, solemn eyes.
“They come from all parts of the world,” the parrot resumed, “for me to teach them. Of course, you needn’t call it a school if you don’t want to.”
He whistled shrilly, and the birds and beasts came scampering back and stood round in a respectful circle. The children tried to talk to them, but they looked bashful and would not say a word.
“Perhaps they’d like to hear some rhymes,” J. M. suggested. “Go ahead, Amos and Ann.”
“My stars!” said Ann, and Amos added: “How in the world can I start off quite suddenly—”
Just then a cuckoo rushed out from a clock somewhere and cuckooed eleven times, and the twelfth time Amos said:—
“Quite suddenly, a speckled trout
Down in the swift, clear river
Began to bustle all about,
His fishy chin a-quiver.
“He raised so big a foam and fuss
The fishes all assembled.
Why, at a hippopotamus
He’d scarcely so have trembled!