BIRD STORIES 



all this. A roof had settled down over his world while he 

 napped. It was white as sea foam, and soft and dry and, 

 oh, so very cosy, as it spread over him. The roof to 

 Larie's second world was his mother's breast. 



The storm and the night passed, and the sun and the 

 fresh spring breeze again came in at the top of the nest. 

 Then something very big stood near and made a shadow, 

 and Larie heard a strange sound. The something very 

 big was his mother, and the strange sound was her first 

 call to breakfast. When Larie heard that, he opened his 

 mouth. But nothing went into it. His brother and sister 

 were being fed. He had never had any food in his mouth 

 in all the days of his life. To be sure, his egg-world was 

 filled with nourishment that he had taken into his body 

 and had used in growing; but he had never done any- 

 thing with his beak except to knock with the knob at the 

 end of it against the shell when he pipped his way out. 

 What a handy little knob that had been — just right for 

 tapping. But, now that there was no hard wall about 

 him to break, what should he use it for? Well, nothing 

 at all; for the joke of it is, there was no knob there. 

 It had dropped off, and he could never have another. 



Never mind: he could open his beak just as well 

 without it; and by-and-by his mother came again with a 

 second call for breakfast, and that time Larie got his 

 share. After that, there were calls for luncheon and for 



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