“Razor-bills and willocks,” said the old man. “There’s plenty of them here; but I have a notion the birds will not mind him any more than the dog did.”
“What queer names for birds,” cried Agnes; “I never heard those names before. How I should like to see the birds!”
“Come here, miss,” said the old man, “and I’ll show them to you;” and giving her his hand he helped her down some of the rocks, and lifted her over others, till he placed her in a situation where she distinctly saw a large guillemot or willock, as the man called it, sitting by itself on the bare ledge of the rocks.
THE GUILLEMOT
“Oh! dear,” cried Agnes, “what a curious bird that is. I never saw anything like it in all my life.”
“And those are young ones,” said the man, pointing down to some little creatures, looking like young ducks, dabbling in the sea beneath.
“But how can they ever get there?” cried Agnes, astonished at the almost immeasurable height at which the old bird appeared to sit above the young ones.
“The old ones carry them down on their backs,” said the old man.
This appeared perfectly incomprehensible to Agnes; but she had already learnt by her travels not to laugh at things because she did not comprehend them; and she therefore said nothing, while the man helped her back to the place where her mother was waiting for her.