Towards evening her brothers and sisters came home and settled over the island like a wide-spreading mantle of wings.

For some time the little Chinese seabird remained perfectly still and quiet. She kept saying to herself, “Why should I care? Why should I care?” But as she did care, she suddenly let fall the bright red cord and opened and closed her beak several times.

“What is all that noise?” inquired the eldest seabird.

“Dear brother,” returned the little Chinese seabird, “I hope I have not disturbed you; but is not this a very lovely night? See how radiant the moon.”

“Go to sleep! Go to sleep!”

“Did you have an enjoyable flight today, brother?”

“Tiresome little bird, go to sleep, go to sleep.”

It was the little Chinese seabird’s eldest sister that last spoke.

“Oh, sister, is that you?” replied the little Chinese seabird. “I could see you last of the flock as you departed from our island, and I did so admire the satin white of your under-wings and tail.”

“Mine is whiter,” chirped the youngest of all the birds.

“Go to sleep, go to sleep!” snapped the eldest brother.

“What did you have to eat today?” inquired the second brother of the little Chinese seabird.

“I had a very tasty worm porridge, dear brother,” replied the little Chinese seabird. “I scooped it out of the ground beside me, because you know I dared not move any distance for fear of making worse my broken wing.”

“Your broken wing? Ah, yes, your broken wing!” murmured the second brother.

“Ah, yes, your broken wing!” faintly echoed the others.

Then they all, except the very youngest one, put their heads under their own wings, for they all, except the very youngest one, felt a little bit ashamed of themselves.

But the little Chinese seabird did not wish her brothers and sisters to feel ashamed of themselves. It embarrassed her, so she lifted up her little voice again, and said:

“But I enjoyed the day exceedingly. The sea was never so lovely nor the sky either. When I was tired of watching the waves chase each other, I could look up and watch the clouds. They sailed over the blue sky so soft and white.”

“There’s no fun in just watching things,” said the youngest of all the birds: “we went right up into the clouds and then deep down into the waves. How we splashed and dived and swam! When I fluttered my wings after a bath in silver spray, it seemed as if a shower of jewels dropped therefrom.”

“How lovely!” exclaimed the little Chinese seabird. Then she remembered that if her brothers and sisters were to have just as good a time the next day, she must tell them a story—a true one.

So she did.

After she had finished speaking, there was a great fluttering of wings, and all her brothers and sisters rose in the air above her, ready for flight.

“To think,” they chattered to one another, “that if we had remained an hour longer, those wicked boys would have come with lighted torches and caught us and dashed us to death against stones.”