She was afraid of losing Chubbins, so she flew after him, feeling rather queer herself, and a moment after was safe in the tall tree, clinging with her toes to a branch and looking in amazement at the boy who sat beside her.
Chubbins had been transformed into a pretty little bird—all, that is, except his head, which was Chubbins' own head reduced in size to fit the bird body. It still had upon it the straw hat, which had also grown small in size, and the sight that met Twinkle's eyes was so funny that she laughed merrily, and her laugh was like the sweet warbling of a skylark.
Chubbins looked at her and saw almost what she saw; for Twinkle was a bird too, except for her head, with its checked sunbonnet, which had grown small enough to fit the pretty, glossy-feathered body of a lark.
Both of them had to cling fast to the branch with their toes, for their arms and hands were now wings. The toes were long and sharp pointed, so that they could be used in the place of fingers.
"My!" exclaimed Twinkle; "you're a queer sight, Chubbins!"
"So are you," answered the boy. "That mean old thing must have 'witched us."
"Yes, we're 'chanted," said Twinkle. "And now, what are we going to do about it? We can't go home, for our folks would be scared nearly into fits. And we don't know the way home, either."
"That's so," said Chubbins, fluttering his little wings to keep from falling, for he had nearly lost his balance.
"What shall we do?" she continued.
"Why, fly around and be gay and happy," said a clear and merry voice beside them. "That's what birds are expected to do!"