“You mind what you’re doing; you’ll have the boat over. Keep the tiller as I showed you.”
Max hastily complied.
“That isn’t his tail,” continued Kenneth, watching the heron, which was far out of shot. “Those are his long thin legs stretched out behind to balance him as he flies.”
Max said “Oh!” as he watched the bird, and came to the conclusion that he was being laughed at, but his attention was taken up directly after by a couple of birds rising from the golden-brown weedy shore they were gliding by—birds which he could see were black and white, and which flew off, uttering sharp, excited cries.
“What are those?”
“Pies.”
“Pies?”
“Yes; not puddings.”
“I mean magpies?”
“No; sea pies—oyster-catchers.”