He was a fine, big, overgrown fellow, and his wings, with quills of
jetty black, gleaming with bronze, were so strong they almost lifted his
body. He had three inches of tail, and his beak and claws were sharp.
His muscles began to clamor for exercise. He raced the forty feet of his
home back and forth many times every hour of the day. After a few days
of that, he began lifting and spreading his wings, and flopping them
until the down on his back was filled with elm fiber. Then he commenced
jumping. The funny little hops, springs, and sidewise bounds he gave
set Freckles and the Angel, hidden in the swamp, watching him, into
smothered chuckles of delight.
Sometimes he fell to coquetting with himself; and that was the funniest
thing of all, for he turned his head up, down, from side to side, and
drew in his chin with prinky little jerks and tilts. He would stretch
his neck, throw up his head, turn it to one side and smirk--actually
smirk, the most complacent and self-satisfied smirk that anyone ever
saw on the face of a bird.
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