'All right—we're off now,' Waldo called out, and at once, with a steady swing, the queer ship rose into the air.
'But godmother,' exclaimed Maia, 'where is she? Isn't she coming with us?'
'I am with you, my child,' answered godmother's clear, well-known voice. But where it came from Maia could not tell.
'Godmother is steering us,' said Silva softly, 'but we can't see her. She doesn't want us to see her. But she'll take care of us.'
'But where are we?' asked Maia bewildered. 'What is this queer ship or balloon that we are in? What makes it go?'
'Look closer, and you'll see,' said Silva. 'Look at the sails.'
And Maia looking, saw by the bright moonlight something stranger than any of the strange things she had yet seen in Christmas-tree land. The sails were made of an immense collection of birds all somehow or other holding together. Afterwards Silva explained to her that they were all clinging by their claws to a great frame, round which they were arranged in order according to their size, and all flapping their wings in perfect time, so as to have much the same effect in propelling the vessel through the air as the regular motion of several pairs of oars in rowing a boat over the sea. And gradually, as Maia watched and understood, a soft murmur reached her ears—it was the waft of the many pairs of wings as they all together clove the air.
'Oh, the dear, sweet birds!' she exclaimed. 'They have planned it all themselves, I am sure. Oh, Silva, isn't it lovely? Have you ever had a sail in the air like this before?'
'Not exactly like this,' said Silva.