In a little enclosure by the side of the kitchen garden was Grip's home.
He was kept at night, for safety, in a large wooden cage with open bars,
something like a hen-coop; but in the day he had his liberty--although
he did not wander far away, for he was very tame.

"He knows all the sounds of the poultry-yard," said Charley, "only I
expect he won't show off when we want him to do so. One morning, he had
not been let out of his cage, and he wanted his breakfast. He called
'Cluck, cluck, cluck,' just as a hen calls her chickens. In fact some
chickens really thought it was their mother calling them, and they ran
to Grip! I am sorry to say he helped himself to one of them; the others
were frightened and made their escape. Ever since then Grip has been in
his present quarters; he was too near the poultry-yard before. Many a
time has he cackled like a hen that has laid an egg, so that the maids
have gone out to look for the egg. He will get up into that elm-tree
there and crow so exactly like a cock that he will set off all the cocks
in the poultry-yard; and, in fact, all the cocks in the neighborhood
that are within hearing will start crowing."

"He knows we are talking about him--Don't you, old Grip?"

Grip gave a croak, as much as to say "Yes," and turned his wise-looking
old head, first on one side then on the other, in a very knowing
fashion.

The boys were just going, when there was a long loud crow from Grip,
exactly like a cock's, which made them all turn round.

"Before we had Grip we had a jackdaw," said Charley. "He was a very