"Not worth it," and he shook his head decisively. "And the wing too. Yes, that's shot."
Laverne patted the poor thing, who screeched and tried to rise. How soft the feathers were and snowy white, except about the neck that had the faintest shade of blue. Then, suddenly, she picked it up in her skirt, though it struggled. How light it was for such a large thing. She had taken off her shoes and stockings while she was paddling in the stream, and she ran down to the house not minding the rough path.
"Oh, see this poor gull!" she cried. "It just dropped down—out of the clouds, I guess. There were no others around."
She laid it down on the patch of grass Miss Holmes took great pains with for a bleachery.
"Poor thing!" said the lady pityingly.
"Better end him," and Pablo took hold of his neck.
"No, no, no! You shall not kill him. Poor fellow!" she cried.
He was gasping now, and then he lay quite still, exhausted.
"You could splint up his leg," said Miss Holmes. "You did the duck, you know."