Great-grandpapa and grandmamma were alive then.

But now Aunt Emma lives there quite alone.

Except for one creature, at least, an old gray poll-parrot, that chatters away, and behaves as if it were quite sensible, and knew all about everything." "Hasn't she got any pussies, mother ?" asked Olly.
"Yes, two I believe; but they don't get on with Polly very well, so they live in the kitchen out of the way--" "I like pussies better than pollies," said Olly gravely.
"Why, what do you know about pollies, old man ?" "Pollies bite, I know they do.

There was a polly bited Francis once." "Well, and pussies scratch," said Milly.
"No, they don't, not if you're nicey to them," said Olly; who was just then very much in love with a white kitten, and thought there were no creatures so delightful as pussies.
"Well, suppose you don't make up your mind about Aunt Emma's Polly till you've seen her," said Mrs.Norton.

"Now sit down on the rug there and let us have a talk." Down squatted the children on the floor opposite their mother, with their little heads full of plans and their eyes as bright as sparks.
"I'll take my cart and horse," began Olly; "and my big ball, and my whistle, and my wheelbarrow, and my spade, and all my books, and the big scrap-book, and--" "You can't, Olly," exclaimed Milly.