Mabel Howard, my little heroine, was not exactly an English girl, though she was the daughter of English parents. She was born in India, in Calcutta, where her father, Colonel Howard, was stationed for several years with his regiment. Mabel was not, I am sorry to say, a bright and blooming little maiden, though she had a sweet, intelligent face, and very endearing ways. From her birth, she had been pale, slight, and feeble. The climate was very bad for her; and, though all possible pains were taken with her health, she did not gain strength, but grew weaker and weaker. At last, when she was about nine years of age, it was resolved to send her to England, to stay with her grandparents, who lived in London. Neither her papa nor her mamma could go with her; but Katuka, her ayah, or native nurse, a kind, faithful woman, would go and stay with her always, and a friend of Colonel Howard, an officer returning home, would take charge of them both till they should reach London.
Poor Mabel's loving little heart was almost broken at the thought of being sent so far away from her papa and mamma and baby-brother; but she knew it was all meant for her good, and did not complain.
Of all Mabel's pets, she loved best a beautiful red and white cockatoo, that her papa had given her on her seventh birthday.
Bobby—for so this favorite was called—was a very knowing bird indeed—talking fluently, if not wisely, in both English and Hindostanee; and though somewhat vain of his beauty and accomplishments, and a little too selfish and fond of good living, never arrogant or surly, but the most gracious and amiable of cockatoos.
Bobby had a fine gilded cage, which hung in a shaded veranda, where the family sat in the cool morning and evening hours; so, when not talking, or talked to himself, he picked up a good deal of knowledge by listening to the conversation of others.
Everybody liked Bobby, he was so clever and comical; but Mabel not only liked and petted him, but cared for him constantly; patiently ministered to his dainty appetite, and tried always to teach him good and useful things. Indeed, I am afraid that, if it had not been for his young mistress, Bobby would have been a wicked little heathen, like other Hindoo cockatoos.
When Mabel was told that she must go to England, almost the first words which she sobbed out were, "May I take Bobby?"
"Of course, darling," said her papa; "Bobby shall go with you."
But on the morning when Katuka and her young mistress sailed, lo, Bobby was nowhere to be found! He had been stolen in his cage from the veranda, and carried away during the night, by some straggling native; and poor little Mabel was obliged to go away with a new grief weighing down her tender, childish heart. All through the long voyage, she missed and mourned for her lost pet, and, when she reached London, her good grandmamma could give her nothing that would quite take its place.
Everybody was kind to the lonely little girl, and much was done to make her well and happy. Every day her grandmamma or her good ayah took her to drive or walk in Hyde Park, or Kensington Gardens, or out on the open, breezy heaths; and Mabel soon grew better, healthier, and stronger, and a soft color stole into her pale cheeks, and deepened and brightened, day by day, like the flush of an opening rose.
Mabel dearly loved her kind English friends, but there were sometimes chill wintry days, or dull rainy evenings, when she was very homesick, and cried to see again her far-off Indian home, her papa and mamma, and little baby-brother.
At such times, she would often say to her kind ayah, who wept with her, "Ah, Katuka, if I only had poor Bobby here, it would be some consolation."
One day, when Mabel had been about six months in England, her grandmamma took her to the Zoological Gardens. She was greatly interested in seeing the animals, though she shrank away with a shudder from the tigers, of whom she had heard fearful stories in India. At last, they entered a long, beautiful gallery, all hung with bright gilded cages of gorgeous birds, mostly parrots, of many different species. As Mabel walked slowly along, admiring the pretty chattering creatures, but sadly remembering her lost Bobby, and thinking that no one of all these was half so beautiful as he, suddenly she heard, from a cage just before her, a joyous familiar cry: "Good morning, Miss Mabel!—come to bring Bobby dinner? Poor Bobby hungry!"
With a cry of delight, Mabel sprang forward and flung her arms about the cage, and kissed the crimson-tuffed head of a pretty cockatoo, thrust through the bars—Bobby's head—for it was indeed her own dear lost bird!
Sir John Howard, Mabel's grandfather, was able to buy Bobby of the Zoological Society, who had bought him of a sailor from Calcutta so Mabel had her pet again.
He seemed the same intelligent, affectionate bird as ever. He had forgotten nothing he had ever known; but he had learned some rather rough sayings of the sailors, on his voyage from India, which did not go very well with the good things his gentle little mistress had taught him. But for all that, he was a great comfort to her, and she never was homesick any more.
After a few years, Mabel's papa, mamma, and little brother came to England to live—never to return to India. Ah, there was a joyful meeting one morning, in Leicester Square. Sir John and Lady Howard were overjoyed to see their darling only son again; and he, bronzed and weather-beaten soldier as he was, felt as glad to get home as he had ever been when he was a homesick school-boy at Eton. Mrs. Howard was welcomed as a real daughter, and her beautiful little boy almost smothered with kisses. Mabel was half wild with happiness, and her parents were surprised and delighted to find her grown so healthy and handsome. The faithful Katuka kissed the hands of her master and mistress with tears of joy—while Bobby, grown impatient at not being noticed, called out sharply from his perch—"Avast there shipmates! what a hullabaloo! Bobby wants breakfast!"
More Grace Greenwood Short Stories
