WO weeks later they took possession of me. They did it with so much friendliness that at the end of a month it was as though we had always lived together. Even the furniture fitted into all my odd nooks and angles as if it had been made especially for me. And, indeed, it might have been, for most of it was created in the reign of Queen Anne, at which period my walls were, as one might say, feeling their legs. It was very pleasant when night had settled down and everyone was sleeping, to listen to the conversations which were carried on between the new-comers and my own floors and stairs. One grandfather's clock was particularly interesting in his reminiscences. He had told the time to Dr. Johnson and had ticked away the great lexicographer's last hours. On this account he was inclined to be amusingly self-important; it was a permanent source of grievance with him that, so far as the present generation was concerned, his pedigree was unknown. There were times when he would work himself into such passions that his weights would drop with a bang. He was always sorry for it next morning and ashamed to face the little lady. As she came down to breakfast, she would catch sight of his hands and say, “So the poor old clock has stopped again! The old fellow's worn out. We shall have to send him to the mender's.” Perhaps it is hardly fair to repeat this gossip about one piece of the furniture, for everything, myself included, was old; whether we were tables, chairs or stair-cases, we all had our crochets and oddities. But, however much we differed among ourselves, we were united in adoring the youth of the little lady and her children. More than any of us the whispering parrot adored her. The whispering parrot was a traveller. He had come from Australia fifty years ago. He played so indispensable a part in producing the happy ending that he deserves an introduction. He had been the gift of the children's grandfather, a retired General. His plumage was Quaker grey, all except his breast and crest which were a wonderful rose-pink. He had black beady eyes which took in everything; what they saw, he invariably remembered. He had a confidential, hoarse way of speaking, that never rose above a whisper. When you heard him for the first time you supposed that he had a bad sore throat. He had a favorite question which he asked whenever he thought he was not being paid sufficient attention, “What shall we talk about?” He would ask it with his head cocked on one side, while he rubbed his feathers up and down the bars. “What shall we talk about?” he would ask the little lady as she sat sewing beneath the lamp of an evening. She was always by herself when the children had been put to bed. She had no callers and never went anywhere. “Talk about Polly!” she would say. “I don't know, you good grey bird. Did you think I was lonely? Well, let's see! Who loves Mummy best? Can you answer me that?”