“Not a bit,” was the answer. “I never knew such a bird as Pipi. Of course I pointed out to him that we were in great danger, and that we couldn’t hope to hold out much longer—and what do you think he said? ‘Twinkle,’ he said, ‘think of your first nest last year. Don’t you remember those sunny days in the meadow by the brook, and the excitement as the hatching days drew near?’ Can you imagine such folly as to talk of hatching when we were sitting in a place like that, hardly able to hold on for the wind?”
Flip thought he knew why Pipi had said that, but he did not interrupt this time.
“Well,” continued Twinkle, “he went on like that, and told me to cheer up, and said we couldn’t be far from land, for the ship was only a fishing-smack caught in a storm, and they never venture very far from shore; and at last I got very angry with such nonsense, and told him nothing should make me leave go except the wind. So Pipi declared at last that he was going on, and I had better come too; but I wouldn’t, so he opened his wings, and just as he left the rope, somehow or other I did so too.”
“Why,” said Flip, unable to suppress himself this time. “I thought you said Pipi was the last bird in the world you would obey!”
“I didn’t obey Pipi,” said Twinkle, indignantly. “I went of myself.”
But Flip knew better, for Pipi had a wonderful influence over the other birds, and they all knew that Twinkle in particular could always be led by him.
“Well, there we were again at the mercy of this horrible south-easter. Pipi was a little ahead of me, and kept up his call-note continuously: I kept on answering it as well as I could. We had not been flying long, when suddenly, at no great distance, a light burst out in the darkness. ‘Land and the lighthouse!’ called out Pipi, and on we went at a tremendous speed, for the gale was now almost behind us, roaring furiously. In another moment the light went out as suddenly as it had begun, and then I knew that it was one of those revolving lights that we have sometimes seen in our travels, and I guessed that it was that one on the headland yonder, where we arrived a year ago, that beautiful calm night with the gentle westerly breeze.”
“Oh, dear, dear!” said Flip, “I remember that it puzzled Pipi dreadfully that night, and he declared he would find out all about it some day.”
“Well,” said Twinkle, “his wish has been gratified this year. I was almost too faint and tired to fly any farther, and my pace had slackened, so that Pipi was some way in front, when out came the light again, a great deal bigger than before, and just ahead of us. As I reached it, and was sinking down on the land exhausted, I saw Pipi fly right up to it, and heard a loud tap of his bill against something hard; and then he fell down on the balustrade in front of the light, and there he lay, as dead as a thrush’s snail, as I said before.”
Flip was silent, and put his head under his wing to hide his grief. “Did you go and look at him?” he said at last.