“That’s another good idea,” approved the Stork. “But don’t walk far, as I might fall before you returned.”
So Buddie placed her hands against the bird’s side and steadied him while he drew up one leg; and when she thought he was properly balanced she stepped back a little. But the Stork, like Jill, came tumbling after, and Buddie had to push him back. This operation was repeated a dozen times, until Buddie’s patience was exhausted and her arms were tired.
“If you began by holding up your foot just a little way,” said she, “you could put it down as quick as a wink when you felt yourself falling.”
“That’s the best idea yet,” said the bird. “We’ll rest a bit, and go at it again later.”
The Stork’s idea of resting was to plant himself firmly on both legs, with his feet wide apart and one foot a little in advance of the other. Standing thus there was no danger of falling. But Buddie’s notion of a breathing-spell was quite different. She sat down in the grass with her chin on her knees and her hands clasped around them.
“So I look like four in your picture-book?” remarked the Stork. Buddie nodded. “It’s ridiculous to put such books in the hands of children. It gives them false ideas of natural history. They’re as bad as fairy tales; and I’d no more give a fairy tale to a child of mine than I’d stand on my head.”
“You came near standing on your head a little while ago,” said Buddie, mischievously. The Stork ignored the remark, and continued:
“Take the story of The Three Bears. I dare say you’ve read that.”
Buddie nodded eagerly.
“I like that story best of all,” said she.