"You're a regular muff, Will. Gladys ain't afraid; are you, Gladys?"
"Course I aren't," cried Gladys stoutly.
After an exciting and somewhat heated discussion, the boys finally arrived at a satisfactory decision as to the best way of getting Gladys up into a tree, and, in the midst of much chaffing and some wrangling, a rustic bench was drawn to the foot of a gnarled old apple tree, and the difficult task was begun. "Oh, dear!" ejaculated Willie, very red and very warm, "She's a terrible heavy bird."
They were in a perilous position, and Gladys' burst of laughter nearly brought them all to the ground.
"Guess I eated too many worms," she said.
When at last she was safely perched on a projecting branch, Willie clambered down and drew away the bench, and Larry, sitting astride another branch, assumed the rôle of master of ceremonies.
"Now, little bird," he said authoritatively, "I ain't goin' to bring you any more worms to eat, an' you just got to learn to fly yourself. You must flap your wings like this, an' when I count three you must fly away."
Gladys' first attempt to follow these instructions nearly upset her, but she regained her balance and gripping tight hold of an overhanging limb turned a troubled face toward her brother.
"I guess my wings is gwowed w'ong."
"Cause there ain't any feathers on 'em, I s'pose," giggled Larry.