"Dulcie, Dulcie," he cried. "Wherever are you? Come back at once when I tell you!"
Nothing stirred in the stillness except the waving branches of the tall trees—and a little bird that came and perched upon his shoulder and began softly to trill into his ear what meant nothing to him. He stroked its smooth plumage. His hand touched something hard around its throat. He parted the feathers and found—a golden circlet set with catseyes, one of which was missing.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "It's her!"
He was too flustered to talk grammar. "How fearfully quick the change came about—only just a slight hint like that! I say! We shall have to look out! I wonder how you like it, you pretty little bird! I wish I could understand those chirping sounds!"
Instantly he became like her—a lark. He understood her at once, and the pair flew away, singing gaily as they rose together, fluttering up and up, soaring high and ever higher into the blue azure of the cloudless sky.
Never was there such a blissful sensation as that, flying heavenwards to the music of their own making. Dancing at a party to the accompaniment of a piano was mere ordinary child's play compared to the invigorating delight of this new experience. The earth looked like a map, and they realised now what was meant by a "bird's-eye view." After a time, still singing, they dropped quickly down to earth. Then Cyril led the way into the Wood, where they perched in one of the highest trees; and they hopped about, scanning their surroundings, and awaiting the visits of other little feathered inhabitants whose acquaintance they expected to make. In the meantime they gleaned various scraps of news from certain twitterings in the adjoining branches, some of which they clearly overheard.
And it came as a shock that these twitterings were mostly complaints about the scarcity of provisions; about starvation among the weak birds who could not compete against the strong; about the unfair scrambling for tit-bits which caused grievous bodily hurt. Then a painful rumour was discussed about poor little Mother Starling, who had been taken unawares by a wild beast with terrible whiskers who was seen to pounce upon her and carry her off—and her husband, who still went about vainly calling his mate and would not be comforted. They heard how, in the hospitals under the hedges, things were in a bad way—how one patient was down with a broken wing, with no hope of getting well in time to migrate; and of others incurable, and resigned.
All this so depressed the two joyous young larks that they flew some distance away, when through the leaves they discovered in the tree next to them nothing less than the beautiful Bird-Fairy reclining asleep in the branches with her retinue of little sprites in various attitudes all around her, their shining eyes wide open, on guard.
The absolute silence proved too monotonous for our lively pair. So away they flew again—miles and miles away into the open country, enjoying to the fullest freedom found at last, feeding in the sun-gilded fields, drinking from the pools, bathing in the sandy roads, and flying for all they were worth in their youthful spirits. Life like this was life indeed!
Their happiness seemed complete, when a sudden sense of horror struck them both at the same moment, and hardly had they realised it when they noticed something very large which had been poised above swooping towards them, striking terror into their souls as it came. It was a sparrow-hawk, and death was upon them. Instinctively they swerved out of its terrible course, and commenced a series of short, zig-zag flights, their eyes starting nearly out of their little heads with fright. The enemy was strong on the wing and remorseless in purpose. The poor larks, with hearts fluttering wildly, were becoming feeble and less alert. The next second the hawk would seize one of its prey. The little bird gave an agonised chirp, dropped like a stone to the ground, and changed into Dulcie, affrighted and panting for breath. She looked anxiously upwards. Her pursuer, baulked, turned and darted upon its second quarry. Too late! Cyril had taken the strong hint, had also Wished, and now stood in safety on the ground beside her.