"Why, I never noticed that yours were gone," she said. "Dear me! how sad! Do you not find it very uncomfortable and awkward?"
"No; why should we?" snapped the Puralka. "Wings are really not much use when you once get accustomed to doing without them. Dancing is much better."
"But why cannot one have both?" asked Kari.
"Simply because," said the old Puralka crossly. "We do not know why these things are, and we never ask foolish questions about them. But if you wish to learn our beautiful dancing, you must give up your wings first."
"Give up my wings! I could never do that," cried Kari.
"Well, dancing is better. But it is for you to say," said the old Puralka.
As she spoke, she made a sign to the others, and they began to dance, swaying forward until they almost touched Kari, and then backwards again. Then the line broke up into circles and figures, and they danced round the Emu until her head grew dizzy with their movements, and she felt that to dance so well was even better than to have wings. To and fro they went, faster and faster, until she could scarcely distinguish one from another, and their long thin legs she could hardly see at all. Then, quite suddenly, they all stopped; and Kari blinked at them, and could not speak.
"Well?" asked the old Puralka, watching her closely. "Do you not think that wings are only a small price to pay for such dancing?"
"Could you teach me?" Kari asked.
"Easily, if you give up your wings."