"As for me, I'd prefer the life of a lark," cried Phil. "I'd sooner mount high than fly far; and I'd like to whistle my song from the clouds. To my mind, the little sky-lark is the merriest bird under the sun."
"If you were to be changed into a bird, Sophy, what bird would you be?" asked Clara of a rather affected little girl, who sat twirling the bead bracelet which she wore on her arm.
Sophy drooped her head a little on one side, as if it rather troubled her to give an opinion,—and she thought herself too much of a fine lady to join in so childish a game. She glanced up, however, at the splendid rose which Clara held in her hand, and thinking that it would look very pretty in her own hair, prepared to answer the question.
"What bird would you be?" repeated the boys, who were growing a little impatient.
"The nightingale," said Sophy in an affected tone, again looking down, and twirling her beads.
"You must give your reason for your choice," observed Clara.
"Every one admires the nightingale's sweet notes," said Sophy, glancing up at the rose.
"Oh, ho! There's a fine reason!" laughed Phil. "I'd sing like the lark in the joy of my heart, with the sunshine about me; but Sophy would sing for other folk to admire her trills and her shakes, and cry out, 'I never heard anything so fine!'"
Sophy looked vexed at the remark, for Phil had hit on her weakness; the vanity which is always seeking for praise. Clara, who liked all to be peace and good-humour, turned at once the attention of the little party in another direction, by addressing Annie, the only one of the circle who had not yet been questioned.
"What bird would you be, dear?" asked she.