"Don't guess I'se got any wings," sighed Gladys, "'cause they don't f'y me a bit."
Willie and Larry were racing around the orchard, swinging their arms in the air until they looked like animated wind-mills. Gladys trotted after them, striving to imitate their motions until her little legs and arms grew very weary. Then she stopped and stood watching them disconsolately.
"I don't fink you games any fun at all," she exclaimed, in an aggrieved tone, as the boys ran up to her puffing and panting from their exertions. "You don't f'y a bit like birdies, any more nor I do."
Willie eyed her with great scorn.
"Oh, you're only a baby. Course you can't do anything."
"You said I was most principal," Gladys reminded him, with quivering lips.
"Oh, I say," Larry broke in, "I'll tell you what we'll do, Will. We'll play she's a baby bird, an' then we'll teach her to fly. We must put her up in a tree, an' then pretend to shove her out of the nest, just the way the mamma bird does."
Gladys' face brightened, and she smiled sunnily.
"P'r'aps," objected tender-hearted Willie, "she might tumble herself an' break her wings."
Larry scouted the idea.