“What’s the use of contradicting?” Buddie reflected. “Everything in this queer wood is wrong-end-to. Won’t you come down?” she invited, stretching out one hand. But the bird cocked his little head on t’other side and answered:
“A bird in the bush is worth two in the hand.”
“But I won’t hurt you, dearie,” coaxed Buddie, in such a sweet voice that Snowfeathers flew down from the balsam and perched on her shoulder.
“I’ve heard my papa say, You might as well try to catch a white blackbird,” said Buddie, stroking him; “but I’ve caught you, haven’t I?”
“And what did your papa mean by that, pray?” asked Snowfeathers.
“Why—I suppose—that there wasn’t any such thing. It’s perfectly ’diculous for a blackbird to be white.”
“Did you ever see any green or red blackberries?”
“BUT I’VE CAUGHT YOU”
Buddie was somewhat taken aback by this question. “But they weren’t ripe, you know,” she said, after thinking a bit.