Louisa coloured in her turn, and answered--'My boots hurt me, that's all.'

That's all!' said Sarah. 'That's enough, I should think. I would not be lamed for the sake of wearing new boots. I'd sooner have them ever so old, and enjoy myself. I don't believe you have had any fun at all to-day, Louisa, for all your fine clothes."

What Sarah said was quite true, and sensible for a little girl, had she stopped there; but she was not wise enough to stop; and still feeling vexed with Louisa for her fine clothes and her rich grandpapa, Sarah took up a piece of dirt which lay near and rubbed it on Louisa, saying—'Here's for your fine silk frock, you vain thing!'

At this Louisa got very angry, so as to forget even her tight boots. She jumped up and slapped at Sarah, and knocked off her hat. Sarah paid her back again by pulling off Louisa's, and tossing it into a tree over their heads. Sarah's hat was a plain straw, with dark-blue ribbon, which would not show the dirt even if tossed about; but with Louisa's white ribbons and feather it was a very different thing. She felt ready to cry at seeing her hat thrown into the tree, and I expect she would have done so in another moment, if some rude voice near had not called out

'Go it, Sally! pitch into her!'

Sarah Brown had never been used to being called Sally, and she thought it very rude of whoever called her so. She stopped to look about for the person who had spoken, but could see no one. Presently she heard a loud rude laugh from the trees above, and looking upwards, both she and Louisa saw Tom Jackson sitting across the bough He had placed Louisa's hat upon his head, and was bowing and making faces like an idiot.

of a tree.

'Give me my hat!' shrieked Louisa. Give me my hat directly, will you ?'

Tom waved it over his head, and then, picking a branch of green leaves, he stuck it in amongst the blue feathers.

'It is not half smart enough,' said he. 'I wonder you will condescend to wear such a shabby thing, with such a rich grandpapa as you have.'

'Give me my hat!' again screamed Louisa. 'You will spoil the feathers, you nasty boy!'

Will you have it now? or will you wait till you get it?' asked Tom, sticking bits of green all the way round, to Louisa's horror.

'Oh dear! oh dear!' said she. He will quite spoil the ribbon.'

'You should wear a more fashionable hat,' said Tom Jackson. 'Don't you know that open work is all the rage?' and as he spoke, he tore a large hole in the brim, and thrust his great big hand through the crown. Louisa was in despair; she could only wring her hands and cry. Even Sarah felt sorry for her, and sorry that she had in her fit of temper thrown the hat into the tree.

'Do give her her hat, Tom,' said she. 'Don't tease her any more.'

You shut up!' answered Tom, with his usual politeness. Mind your own business; you threw the hat to me, and I shall do as I like with it, now I have got it.'

Then he pulled the ribbon off and retrimmed it, as he said, tying it in great ugly bows, and leaving on the white ribbon smears and marks from his dirty fingers; for Tom Jackson, meet him when you would, never had clean hands. Next he picked out the feathers, and stuck them in his own old shabby hat; and he was preparing for more damage, only stopping to think how he should do it, when there came a howl like some one in pain; and the next moment, a great chattering, Pretty Polly! poor Polly! what's o'clock ? how d'ye do? who are you? poor Polly! all right! hallo! here we are; how d'ye do? get

along; all right! what's 'o'clock?' and a great deal more; and then loud screaming and chattering, which meant nothing; and next, Bob Jackson, running to the place where the three others were, with blood dripping from his fingers.

We know already that Bob Jackson was a coward. He quite howled now as he ran, holding his fingers in the other hand. It certainly was a very bad bite, and I have no doubt hurt him very much. Parrots bite very badly indeed, and Polly had made her beak meet in Bob's hand.

CHAPTER XII.

POLLY THE PARROT.

HAT'S the matter?' asked Tom, jumping down from the tree. 'What

a row you are making! What have you done to your hand? Here! have a basin to catch the blood!' and he held Louisa's hat under Bob's hand, thus finishing the spoiling of it, by splashing it all over with blood.

'Matter enough!' growled Bob. Leave off your nonsense, will you? Here's that brute of a parrot been and bit my hand. I'll pay him off some day.' 'Squark!' went Polly from the tree above, as if she had understood what Bob said, and answered, ' That she wouldn't be paid off!' 'What did you do to her ?' asked Sarah. 'We left her quiet enough in the waggon.'

'I pulled her tail for her,' said Bob; ' and I'll do it again, the first time I catch her.'