“Of course, if I knew—”
“Said you did,” pouted Tavia, before Nat had a chance to finish the sentence.
“Now, did I?”
“Well, you said you thought—”
“And I still think. It’s a habit I have. And, by the way, little girl,” (Nat always called Tavia “little g-ir-l” when he wanted to tease) “it’s a great thing to think. Try it some time.”
“Well, if I ever get at it, I’ll begin on you,” and Tavia’s Psyche knot almost fell over on her left ear in sheer indignation.
“Do. I shall be de-lighted. But to be exact,” and he drew from the pocket of his sweater two feathers, one white and the other copper color. “Do you recognize these?” and he held the little quills out to the girls.
“That white one is from a fantail,” declared Tavia promptly.
“And the other—that is certainly from an Archangel,” exclaimed Dorothy, taking the pretty bit of fluff in her hand, and examining it closely.
“Well, I found those—”