laughed with all his might. I looked at the other boys and they
were laughing, too. Presently, I heard again, "Beautiful Joe,
Beautiful Joe." The sound was close by, and yet it did not come
from the cabin boy, for he was all doubled up laughing, his face as
red as a beet.

"It's the parrot, Joe!" cried Ned. "Look at her, you gaby." I did look
at her, and with her head on one side, and the sauciest air in the
world, she was saying: "Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe!"

I had never heard a bird talk before, and I felt so sheepish that I
tried to get down and hide myself under the table. Then she began
to laugh at me. "Ha, ha, ha, good dog sic 'em, boy. Rats, rats!
Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe," she cried, rattling off the words
as fast as she could.

I never felt so queer before in my life, and the boys were just
roaring with delight at my puzzled face. Then the parrot began
calling for Jim. "Where's Jim, where's good old Jim? Poor old dog.
Give him a bone."

The boys brought Jim in the parlor, and when he heard her funny,
little, cracked voice calling him, he nearly went crazy: "Jimmy,
Jimmy, James Augustus!" she said, which was Jim's long name

He made a dash out of the room, and the boys screamed so that
Mr. Morris came down from his study to see what the noise meant.
As soon as the parrot saw him, she would not utter another word.
The boys told him though what she had been saying, and he
seemed much amused to think that the cabin boy should have