Among the boy’s other possessions was a parrot, which the admiral asserted was the smartest bird in the world.  She was a highly educated parrot, and much time had been spent on her training, and she was usually very willing to show off to company all her various accomplishments.  Occasionally she assumed an air of offended dignity when asked to display her talents, and no amount of threats or coaxing could change her purpose.  At such times she impatiently flapped her wings and croaked “No, no” in her harshest tones.

Her favorite retreat when her temper was ruffled was on the back of an armchair, where she would sit with her bill in the air and her head cocked disdainfully on one side, pretending not to hear or see any one.  In her affable moods, however, no one could be more complaisant and entertaining than Bessie.

Her name was an uncommon one for a parrot.  Strangers usually accosted her as Polly, at which mistake she was greatly displeased.

“No, no—­not Polly; call me Bessie,” she would scream, so angrily that it always made people laugh, which angered her still more.

Bessie could sing a verse of an old-time song, at least she thought she could.  The admiral said nothing could have induced him to sing for company if his voice had been as harsh and cracked as hers, but he said it was a fact that everybody seemed to enjoy her noise more than his music; that when she took up her position on top of the piano to sing, they crowded around and called her “nice Bessie,” “nice lady,” and praised her, and gave her bits of sugar, as if she were the finest singer in the world.  The admiral thought they showed very poor taste, for her music was simply horrid and couldn’t compare with the warblings of the woods birds.  It is well, however, to make allowance for the admiral’s opinion, for musicians are proverbially jealous of each other.

The song the parrot sang was “Listen to the Mocking Bird,” to which Mrs. Morris played a little gliding accompaniment on the piano.  Great hand-clappings always followed the performance.  These Bessie accepted with an air of studied indifference.  But if for the purpose of teasing her they did not applaud her performance, she shrilly screamed:  “Bessie’s a good bird, a good bird I tell you,” raising her voice higher and higher at each repetition.

Then she would wait a moment for some one to assure her that she was indeed a very good bird, quite the smartest bird that ever breathed.  But if these soothing assurances were not quickly forthcoming, she would retire to the back of her favorite chair and, elevating her bill to show her disdain, sulk in silence.

“Did she like you?” I asked the admiral one day when he was telling us about her funny tricks.

“No, she was a little bit jealous of me; yet she was not unfriendly, except when Johnny or some other member of the family paid me attention.  She always wanted to be the center of attraction herself, which showed she was a vain creature.  No matter how silent she had been or how firmly she might have refused to talk only the minute before, if Johnny came to my cage and called, ’Hello, Admiral! you’re a daisy,’ Bessie immediately struck up such a chattering as would almost deafen one.