No sooner did the thought occur to her than the Bird was ready with a story. He fluttered down to the road, hunted a small brush from under his left wing and scrubbed carefully at the feathers covering his crop. "Now I can make a clean breast of it," he announced.
"Oh, you're going to tell us how you got the lump?" asked Gwendolyn, eagerly.
The feathers over his crop were spotless. He nodded—and tucked away the scrubbing brush. "Once upon a time," he began—
She dimpled with pleasure. "I like stories that start that way!" she interrupted.
"Once upon a time," he repeated, "I was just an ordinary sparrow, hopping about under the kitchen-window of a residence, busily picking up crumbs. While I was thus employed, the cook in the kitchen happened to spill some salt on the floor. Being a superstitious creature she promptly threw a lump of it over her shoulder. Well, the kitchen window was open, and the salt went through it and lit on my tail," (Here he pointed his beak to where the crystal had been). "And no sooner did it get firmly settled on my feathers—"
"The first person that came along could catch you!" cried Gwendolyn, "Jane told me that."
"Jane?" said the Bird.
"The fat two-faced woman that was my nurse."
The Bird ruffled his plumage. "Well, of course she knew the facts," he admitted "You see, she was the cook."
"Oh!"