“Oh, oh!” screamed Phronsie in delight. “And he did, and up jumped the little fat bird,” said Polly, tossing her hands out with a whir; “and in he came flopping oh, so quickly, into the big bag of Mr. Father Kangaroo. ’Twas just as nice, Phronsie, oh, you can’t think!”
“’Twas just as nice,” cooed Phronsie happily; “the little bird in the big bag. Tell some more, Polly, do.”
“Well then, you see, the big Mr. Father Kangaroo didn’t know what to do with the little fat bird; so he said, ‘Now, my dear, don’t you want to fly out of my bag and go home?’ And the little fat bird huddled down into the darkest corner of the bag and he piped out, ‘Oh, I haven’t any home, Mr. Kangaroo. A great cross old squirrel came up to my nest this morning, and ate up all my brothers and sisters, and I flew away and tumbled into the bramble-bush.’”
“Oh, dear!” cried Phronsie in dismay.
“But wasn’t it good that Mr. Father Kangaroo found the fat little bird?” cried Polly in her cheeriest fashion.
“Yes,” said Phronsie, “it was good, Polly.”
“Well, so Mr. Father Kangaroo said, ‘I’ll take you to my home.’ He didn’t know what in all the world he should do; for he had six—no, seven hungry little kangarooses, and not a bit to give them for dinner. But he couldn’t leave the poor little fat bird to starve, you know.”
“He was a good Mr. Father Kan—what is it, Polly?” declared Phronsie, clasping her hands.
“Kangaroo. Yes, wasn’t he Phronsie? So he looked down into the bag, and he said, ‘Now don’t you cry, little bird, and you shall go home with me where the cross old squirrels cannot catch you;’ for he thought he heard the little fat bird sobbing down in the dark corner.”
“And was he?” cried Phronsie.