At length the topmost twigs of the privet-tree hit his foot, and he folded his hands across his chest and dropped.
Instantly the most tremendous hubbub of bird voices broke out, and the clapping of thousands of wings.
‘That’ll do,’ they all shouted. ‘It’s silly to have any more examination, especially since we’re all so busy. He’s a real lark, and as a lark’s a bird, he’s a bird-boy, and he can fly just as larks fly, so give him his certificate. Well done, David,’ and a whole cloud of birds began settling all over him.
‘Lift him up,’ they all chirped. ‘Don’t fly, David; we’re going to carry you. Keep your legs and arms still, or we’ll peck you. Carry him up. One, two, three—away we go. Lord, what a weight a boy is!’
Some took hold of his hair with their beaks, others grasped his clothes in their claws, others took hold of his bootlaces, and with David lying back, laughing partly from joy, and partly because they tickled, they hoisted him up into the top bough of the elm again.
Canon Rook had already got out the flying certificate, and was signing his name to it, and when he had signed it he flapped his wings over it till the ink was dry.
‘David Blaize,’ he said. ‘I have the pleasure of presenting you with a first-class bird-flying certificate. The meeting is adjourned.’
‘Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah,’ sang all the committee, and they rose in the air together, with the noise as of a gale blowing. ‘Good-bye, David Blaize, you bird-boy. Don’t forget your flying. Practise every day, old man!’
‘Caw—about that stick,’ said Mrs. Rook. ‘I want it crossways, and crossways I’ll have it, or I’ll knock down the whole thing! Caw, caw, caw!’
