CHAPTER II.
"The lady with the gay macaw." LONGFELLOW.
My sisters are much like other fellows' sisters, excepting Lettice.
That child is like no one but herself.
I used to tease the other girls for fun, but I teased Lettice on principle--to knock the nonsense out of her.

She was only eight, and very small, but, from the top row of her tight little curls to the rosettes on her best shoes, she seemed to me a mass of affectation.
Strangers always liked Lettice.

I believe she was born with a company voice in her mouth; and she would flit like a butterfly from one grown-up person to another, chit-chattering, whilst some of us stood pounding our knuckles in our pockets, and tying our legs into knots, as we wished the drawing-room carpet would open and let us through into the cellar to play at catacombs.
That was how Cocky came.

Lettice's airs and graces bewitched the old lady who called in the yellow chariot, and was so like a cockatoo herself--a cockatoo in a citron velvet bonnet, with a bird of Paradise feather.

When that old lady put up her eye-glass, she would have frightened a yard-dog; but Lettice stood on tip-toes and stroked the feather, saying, "What a love-e-ly bird!" And next day came Cocky--perch and all complete--_for the little girl who loves birds_.
Lettice was proud of Cocky, but Edward really loved him, and took trouble with him.
Edward is a good boy.