He seized hold of the string that was tied around the parrot’s leg and began to haul in hand over hand. The poor bird fluttered and struggled indignantly but all to no avail. He was quickly pulled along until he was at John’s feet when George grabbed him and held him securely.
“Now how can we cut his wings?” demanded Fred. “We have no scissors.”
“We have knives, haven’t we?” exclaimed George.
“But are they sharp enough?”
“Mine is.”
“So am mine,” said Sam. “It suttinly done fix dat sha’k all right.”
“I’m afraid it’s a little too big for a parrot though,” laughed Grant. “Don’t you think so?”
“P’raps it am,” admitted Sam. “It’s sho’ a good knife dough.”
“Spread his wings out on the rock here,” directed John. “I’ll cut the tips off his feathers so he can’t fly away.”
“Don’t hurt him.”