"It sounds like a hyena," remarked the stranger solemnly, "but it can't be, for hyenas eat—" He put his hand to his forehead and seemed to be puzzling it out. "Aha!" he cried at last. "I have it. A giraffe!"
"No!" Charlie shouted. "I'm aren't a giraffe. I'm a saw-horse."
And he straddled his legs far apart and his arms far apart, and he looked as much like a saw-horse as he could. That isn't saying much.
At this last announcement of Charlie's, Sally exploded in a series of chuckles so sudden and so violent that she almost fell out of the tree.
An answering titter came from the other side of the wall and a pair of hands appeared, trying for a hold on the top stones; then the head of a very pretty little girl followed, until her chin was on a level with the top of the wall and she could look over it into Charlie's eyes.
The strange young man had looked up into the tree. "Hello!" he exclaimed. "If there isn't another! Is that a saw-horse, too?"
Charlie had considered himself the person addressed. "Yes," he replied, "it is. It's a flying one."
"Mercy on us!" cried the young man. "A flying saw-horse! What a lot of saw-horses you have about here; very interesting ones, too."
"Yes," said Charlie importantly, "we like to be 'em."
"It must be most exciting to be so extraordinary a thing. Do you suppose you could get that flying one to come down where we can see it? Do you know, I never have seen a flying saw-horse in all the nineteen years that I have lived."