At such times she impatiently flapped her wings and croaked "No, no" in her harshest tones.
Her favorite retreat when her temper was ruffled was on the back of an armchair, where she would sit with her bill in the air and her head cocked disdainfully on one side, pretending not to hear or see any one.
In her affable moods, however, no one could be more complaisant and entertaining than Bessie.
Her name was an uncommon one for a parrot.

Strangers usually accosted her as Polly, at which mistake she was greatly displeased.
"No, no--not Polly; call me Bessie," she would scream, so angrily that it always made people laugh, which angered her still more.
Bessie could sing a verse of an old-time song, at least she thought she could.

The admiral said nothing could have induced him to sing for company if his voice had been as harsh and cracked as hers, but he said it was a fact that everybody seemed to enjoy her noise more than his music; that when she took up her position on top of the piano to sing, they crowded around and called her "nice Bessie," "nice lady," and praised her, and gave her bits of sugar, as if she were the finest singer in the world.

The admiral thought they showed very poor taste, for her music was simply horrid and couldn't compare with the warblings of the woods birds.

It is well, however, to make allowance for the admiral's opinion, for musicians are proverbially jealous of each other.
The song the parrot sang was "Listen to the Mocking Bird," to which Mrs.Morris played a little gliding accompaniment on the piano.