“I love this He,” she said, pressing her paws happily to her white breast.

“Love?” mocked the magpie. “Love is hardly the right word.” As she spread her wings, she asked, “Why are you alone?”

“I’ve lost my mother.”

“Then find her! Be careful, but don’t be afraid. Here’s something you have to learn: it’s lovely to be alive.”

After this warning the magpie flew off. Her dark blue wings glinted magically in the light; her white coverts made a bright design on the dark gray of her wings, and her long tail made her slender figure larger.

“How much she knows! How much she’s seen!” Perri thought she had learned a great deal—but still she had tried none of it out.

Images

Chapter Three

PERRI WAS HANDSOME, AND, LIKE all animals, most beguiling in her babyhood. Her weak body showed promises of growth, of perfection yet to come. Her thick fur, soft and pliable as velvet, was lustrous as a new-blown flower. Her tail, which was almost longer than her body, was already splendid and luxuriant, though it had not yet got its full bushiness. Perri’s red coat was like the deers’, although they wear theirs only in summer, while she had this bright, furry splendor the whole year. The white down on her breast made her look solemn and gracious. Her long, bushy ears gave her little face an alert expression. Her face was wild and kind, full of shyness, gaiety and caution. Perri moved like lightning; she had the quickly changing moods of all little creatures, and especially of her own family. In every gesture, in sitting, in running, in spectacular leaps, she had an instinctive grace, unaffected, unconscious. Anyone who saw her now—or later when she grew up—hurrying through the treetops, whisking, racing, balancing adroitly on thin, swaying twigs, swinging like an acrobat from tree to tree—anyone who saw her thus could not help feeling that it was simply the dance and play of a happy creature.

Perri was happy; she grew more and more blissful as she moved through the caressing leaves. Her courage grew until it never occurred to her that she was brave. No danger seemed to be present; in fact danger seemed not to exist. It was magnificent to flash through the thick green, through shadow and sunlight.

A jay screeched in alarm. Instantly Perri sat quiet. She was badly startled.

“Oh, it’s only Perri,” grumbled the jay, turning away in relief.

“Who are you?” asked Perri, recovering her gaiety.

“I’m I,” replied the jay haughtily. “I don’t introduce myself to brats like you.”

“How handsome you are!” said Perri, admiring the fine, bright-blue, black-striped feathers of his wings.

“I don’t like your looks at all,” said the jay contemptuously.

“Is your voice always so ugly?” Perri asked.

“Impudent thing!” snorted the jay. “My voice is the loveliest in the whole forest!”

“Out of my way!” cried Perri, suddenly charging off.

With a loud outcry the jay fluttered upward.

Perri raced on. The green, scented world of leaves, the tracks and paths in all directions, the sunlight and the warmth, filled her with joy.

For a second she remembered the magpie. Yes indeed, she could be happy! In her youthful enthusiasm she wished for a sort of happiness which she imagined only vaguely—not being chased, moving freely, seeing the splendor of life, and loving everyone. She thought fleetingly of the jay. The ill-bred good-for-nothing lout!

A maple held out its branches enticingly. Hop! She was over. Here it looked different from her oak—different, but lovely in its way. She whipped through the broad crown, intent on making the acquaintance of still other trees. Now the old ash invited her, and hop! she was over in a bound. It was wonderful how the little leaves here were regularly spaced on the long, swaying twigs.