“Then I suppose you are a father peewit?” said Tommy Smith.
“Oh yes,” the peewit answered. “You have seen how I can tumble. And besides, look how long my crest is. The crest of the mother peewit is not nearly so long.”
“Where is the mother peewit?” asked Tommy Smith—for he thought he would like to see her too.
“She is not far off,” the peewit answered, “and she is sitting on her eggs.”
“Oh! I should so like to see them,” cried Tommy Smith. “May I?”
“If I show you them,” said the peewit, “will you promise not to take them away.”
“Oh yes, I promise not to,” said Tommy Smith. “I will only look at them—unless you would be so kind as to give me one,” he added.
“Give you one!” cried the peewit. “I would rather give you the bright green feathers from my back, or the beautiful crest that is on my head. Give you one, indeed! No, no; they are not things to be given away. But come along. You have promised that you will not take them, and I know you will not break your word.” Then the peewit spread his wings, and rose into the air again, and began to fly along in front of Tommy Smith, who had to run to keep up with him. “Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!” he cried. “Come along. Come along.”
“Oh, but you go so fast!” said Tommy Smith, panting. “I wish I had wings like you.”
“I don’t wonder at your wishing that,” the peewit said. “I should think it dreadful if I could only walk and run.” All at once the peewit flew down on to the ground again. “Here they are,” he said, as Tommy Smith came up; “and what do you think? Why, one of them has hatched already; a day earlier than I expected.”