was carrying. "She'll walk right up to any strange dog and make friends
with it, no matter how savage-looking it is. And there's Polly, so old
and cross that she screams and scolds dreadfully if any of us go near
her. But Lloyd dresses her up in doll's clothes, puts paper bonnets on
her, and makes her just as uncomfortable as she pleases. Look! that is
one of her favourite amusements."

The Little Colonel squeezed the parrot into a tiny doll carriage, and
began to trundle it back and forth as fast as she could run.

"Ha! ha!" screamed the bird. "Polly is a lady! Oh, Lordy! I'm so happy!"

"She caught that from the washerwoman," laughed Mrs. Sherman. "I should
think the poor thing would be dizzy from whirling around so fast."

"Quit that, chillun; stop yo' fussin'," screamed Polly, as Lloyd grabbed
her up and began to pin a shawl around her neck. She clucked angrily,
but never once attempted to snap at the dimpled fingers that squeezed
her tight. Suddenly, as if her patience was completely exhausted, she
uttered a disdainful "Oh, pshaw!" and flew up into an old cedar-tree.

"Mothah! Polly won't play with me any moah," shrieked the child, flying
into a rage. She stamped and scowled and grew red in the face. Then she
began beating the trunk of the tree with the old broom she had been
carrying.

"Did you ever see anything so much like the old Colonel?" said Mrs.
Tyler, in astonishment. "I wonder if she acted that way this morning."

"I don't doubt it at all," answered Mrs. Sherman. "She'll be over it in