Bn

The young seagull was

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alone on his ledge. His

two brothers and his

sister had already flown

away the day before. He

had been

afraid to fly

with them.

Somehow, when he had

taken a little run

forward to the brink of the ledge and attempted to flap his

wings, he became afraid. The great expanse of sea

stretched down beneath, and it was such a long way down

— miles down. He felt certain that his wings would never

support him; so he bent his head and ran away back to

the little hole under the ledge where he slept at night.

Even when each of his brothers and his little sister, whose

wings were far shorter than his own, ran to the brink,

flapped their wings, and flew away, he failed to muster up

courage to take that plunge which appeared

to him so desperate. His father and mother

had come around calling to him shrilly,

scolding him, threatening to let him starve on

his ledge, unless he flew away. But for the life of him, he

could not move.

That was twenty-four hours ago. Since then, nobody had

come near him. The day before, all day long,

he had watched his parents flying about with

his brothers and sister, perfecting them in the

art of flight, teaching them how to skim the

waves and how to dive for fish. He had, in fact, seen his

older brother catch his first herring and devour it,

standing on a rock, while his parents circled around

raising a proud cackle. And all the morning, the whole