From force of habit, Fred took up a stone and threw it after the birds, not with any prospect of hitting them, for they were a couple of hundred yards away.
“Wish I could fly like that,” said Scarlett. “Look at them; they’re going right over the Rill Head.”
The two boys stopped and watched until the birds glided out of sight, beyond the lion-like headland, an object, however, which grew less lion-like the nearer they drew.
“What would be the good?” replied Fred. “It would soon be very stupid to go gliding here and there.”
“But see how easy it would be to float like that.”
“How do you know?” said practical Fred. “I dare say a bird’s wings ache sometimes as much as our legs do with running. I say, Scar.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go and have a look at the caves.”
“What caves?”
“Down below the Rill. Now, only think of it; we were born here, and never went and had a look at them. Samson says that one of them is quite big and runs in ever so far, with a place like a chimney at one end, so that you can get down from the land side.”