“There are a number of things that little boys would never have thought of,” said the peewit. “Besides,” he went on, “however well a bird may sing, all he means by his singing is that he is very happy. That is what the lark means when he sings high up in the blue sky; and it is what the nightingale means when he sings all night long by his nest. And that is what I mean, too, when I sing, ‘Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!’ So if you look at it in that way, my song is just as good as theirs, or any other bird’s.”
Tommy Smith did not think the peewit was right in this opinion of his, but he thought that he had better not contradict him so early in the conversation. So he only said, “Then, I suppose, you must always be happy, Mr. Peewit, for you are always saying ‘Pee-wee-eet’?”
“I am always happy as long as people don’t shoot me, or take away my eggs,” said the peewit. “Why should I not be? It is very pleasant to be alive.”
“And the grass-snake said he was happy too,” thought Tommy Smith. “Then, are all animals happy, Mr. Peewit?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” the peewit answered, “they all enjoy their life. That is why it is so wrong to kill them. For when you kill an animal, you take some of the happiness that was in the world out of it, and you can never put it back there again, however much you try.”
“I never will kill animals any more,” said Tommy Smith. “But now, Mr. Peewit, won’t you tell me something about yourself? Do you do any clever things as well as the other animals that I have spoken to?”
“Why, haven’t you seen the way I tumble about in the air?” said the peewit. “And don’t you think that that is very clever? You couldn’t do it yourself, however much you were to try.”
“No,” said Tommy Smith, “but then I have not got wings, you know. Perhaps if I had got wings, I would be able to do it as well as you.”
“Do you think so?” said the peewit. “That is only because you are very conceited. Why, even the swallow can’t do it. He is a splendid flier, and goes very fast. But, though you were to watch him for a whole day, you would not see him do such funny things in the air as I do. As for the other birds—well, look at the cuckoo. What do you think of the way in which he flies? Why, he just goes along without doing anything at all. Do you think he could turn head over heels or make the noise with his wings that I do? If he can, then why doesn’t he? I should just like to know that.”
“Are you playing a game in the air when you fly like that, Mr. Peewit?” asked Tommy Smith.