in a very bad temper, and if there was one thing it hated and despised it was the air. A more tricky, unsubstantial stuff it had never, in all its days, encountered. Rotten! that was the word for it.
It stretched its scrawny little neck; it seemed to stand on tiptoe in order to be heard the better. Not a doubt but it was seriously concerned about itself, and very angry with its parents. These, from neighbouring bushes, their voices harsh with emotion, shrieked reproof, advice, gloomy prophecy. The young one piped his sauce back at them from the ground-level.
"Oh!" the mother was crying, very probably. "Oh! naughty child. I told you not to, you know I did. How could you be so wilful and headstrong? This will break my heart."
"Bother your heart," the chick seemed to make answer. "I've pretty near broke my neck. What a thud! And it's all your fault, going away and leaving me like that!"
Then the old cock would scream: "Don't you dare to answer your mother so. I won't have it, do you hear? Conceited little fool! I've no patience with you. Look what a trouble you're causing us. You and your half-inch wings!" He spread his own ample pinions and flew gracefully to another bush.
