life,” she continued, removing the pink mountain from her head, while Laurie seated himself astride of a chair. “Yesterday, when aunt was asleep, and I was trying to be as still as a mouse, Polly began to squall and flap about in his cage; so I went to let him out, and found a big spider there. I poked it out, and it ran under the bookcase; Polly marched straight after it, stooped down and peeped under the bookcase, saying, in his funny way, with a cock of his eye, ‘Come out and take a walk, my dear.’ I couldn’t help laughing, which made Poll swear, and aunt woke up and scolded us both.”
“Did the spider accept the old fellow’s invitation?” asked Laurie, yawning.
“Yes; out it came, and away ran Polly, frightened to death, and scrambled up on aunt’s chair, calling out, ‘Catch her! catch her! catch her!’ as I chased the spider.
“That’s a lie! Oh lor!” cried the parrot, pecking at Laurie’s toes.
“I’d wring your neck if you were mine, you old torment,” cried Laurie, shaking his fist at the bird, who put his head on one side, and gravely croaked, “Allyluyer! bless your buttons, dear!”
“Now I’m ready,” said Amy, shutting the wardrobe, and taking a paper out of her pocket. “I want you to read that, please, and tell me if it is legal and right. I felt that I ought to do it, for life is uncertain and I don’t want any ill-feeling over my tomb.”
Laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the pensive speaker, read the following document, with praiseworthy gravity, considering the spelling:—
“I, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, do give and bequeethe all my earthly property— viz. to wit:—namely