This time it plainly came from the rafters over Bridget’s head. She looked up, but there was nothing there except the little yellow owl, who was sitting in his cage, with his eyes very round and bright.
“How wise you look!” said Bridget aloud; “I wish you could help me.”
What was her astonishment when the owl at once replied, in the same stifled voice:
“What do you want?”
Bridget paused. What did she want? Then she remembered that as the owl could talk, it must certainly be a fairy, and could do anything, so she said:
“I want to be very graceful.”
The owl did not answer immediately, and Bridget kept a watchful eye on her arms and legs, almost expecting them to be changed into models of grace at once. Nothing of the sort happened, however; and the owl sat as though in deep thought. At last it said:
“I can tell you a way, but it is difficult.”
“I don’t care how difficult it is,” cried Bridget, now very much excited, “if you will only tell me what it is I will do it.”
“Try,” said the owl solemnly.