Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1894-09-06
By GRaNTALl@Na

malS eHhn, we are all so tar from
Paris.'
Muriel didn't dare to undeceive him
as to her meaning, lest he should re-
fuse to sing in real earnest, and the
chance of learning the parrot's secret
might slip by them irretre vably. ''Oh,
monsieur she cried fitting herself to
his humor at once. and speaking as
tremendously as if she were assisting
at musical party in the avenue Vic
tor Hugo, don't decline, [ beg of you,
on those accounts We are both most
anxious to hear your song. Don't dis
appoint lls, pray. Please begin imme-
diately."
'tAh, mademoiselle, the Frenchman
said, who could resist such an appeal?
You are altogether too tlatterlng."
And then. in the same CHEEKY voice
that Felix had heard on the first day
he visited the King of the Birds hut,
M. PeyrOn began, in very decent style,
to pour forth the merry sounds of his
rolllcking song:
"Quand on conspi-re
Quaud sans frayeur
On peut SO dire
Conspirateur
Pour tout le monde
ii fault avoir
Perreque blonde
He had hardly got as far as the enl
of the first stanZa. however, when Me-
thuse ali, listening, with his ear cooked
up most knowingly. to the French
mans song, raised his head in opposi
ton, and, sitting bolt upright on his
perch, began to scream forth a voluble
stream of words in one unbroken food,
so fast that Muriel could hardly fol-
Ia I'D h;
and very harsh voice, and, what was
and extremely peculiar North Country
accent. SIN the nineteenth year Of
the reign Of h is most gracious ma estv,
King Charles the Second" he blurte1
out viciously, with au angry look at
the Frenchman. 81, Nathaniel Cross,
of the borough of Sunderland, in the
County of DOorham, in England, an
able-bodied mariner, then sailing the
South Seas in the good lark Martyr
Prince, of the port Of Great Grimsby,
whereof one Thomas Wells, gent,
under God, was MUSTER
"Oh, hush, hushn' Muriel cried, I'M
able to catch the precious words
through the emulous echo of the
F'renchman's music "Whereof one
Thomas Wells, gent, under God, was
master go on, Polly"
"Eerruque blonde
Et Colet Loir.
the Frenchman repeated, with a half
offended voice, finishing his stanza.
Blu Just as he stopped Methuselah
stopped too. and, throwing back his
head in the air with a triumphant look,
stared harl at his vanquished and 81
fenced opponent out of those blinking
gray eyes of his II thought I'd be too
much for you." he seemed to say wrath
fully.
''Whereof one Thomas Wells, gem,
under God, was MASTER Muriel sug
gested again. all agog with excite
ment 60 on, good bird. Go on,
pretty Polly
But Methuselah was evidently put
Off the scent now by the unreasonable
interruption. Instead of continuing,
he threw back his head d second time
with triumphant air and laughed
aloud boisterously. pretty Polly,'
he cried. Pretty Polly wants nut.
Tu-Klla-kia marco! Pretty Poll.
Pretty Polly"
Sing again, for Heavens sake"
tated mood, explaining briefly to the
Frenchman the full significance of the
words Methuselah had just begun to
utter.
The Frenchman struck up his tune
afresh to give the bird start; but all
to no avail Methuselah was evidently
in no humor for talking just then He
listened with callous, uncritical air,
bringing his white eyelids down slowly
and sleepily over his bleared gray
ewes Then he nodded his head slowly.
mo use." the F'renchman murmured,
pursuing his lips up gravely. THE
bird won't talk It's going Off to sleep
now. Methuselah gets visibly older
every day, monsieur and maoemoiselle.
You are only just in time to catch his
last accents
CHAPTER XNIII.