'Polly put the ket--' cried Grip, and his master was broad awake again.
At length Barnaby slept soundly, and the bird with his bill sunk upon his breast, his breast itself puffed out into a comfortable alderman-like form, and his bright eye growing smaller and smaller, really seemed to be subsiding into a state of repose.

Now and then he muttered in a sepulchral voice, 'Polly put the ket--' but very drowsily, and more like a drunken man than a reflecting raven.
The widow, scarcely venturing to breathe, rose from her seat.

The man glided from the closet, and extinguished the candle.
'-- tle on,' cried Grip, suddenly struck with an idea and very much excited.

'-- tle on.

Hurrah! Polly put the ket-tle on, we'll all have tea; Polly put the ket-tle on, we'll all have tea.