ing with his beak. On the end of it was a queer little knob. With
this he knocked against the hard smooth wall.

"Tap! tip tip!" went Larie's knob. Then he would rest, for it is not
easy work hammering and pounding, all squeezed in so tight. But he kept
at it again and again and again. And then at last he cracked his
prison-wall; and lo, it was not a very thick wall after all! No thicker
than an eggshell!

That is the way with many difficulties. They seem so very hard at first,
and so very hopeless, and then end by being only a way to something
very, very pleasant.

So here was Larie in his second world. Its thin, soft floor and its
thick, soft sides were made of fine bright-green grass, which had turned
yellowish in drying. It had no roof. The sun shone in at the top. The
wind blew over. There had been no sun or wind in his eggshell world. It
was comfortable to have them now. They dried his down and made it
fluffy. There was plenty of room for its fluffiness. He could stretch
his legs, too, and could wiggle his wings against his sides. This felt
good. And he could move his head all he cared to. But he did not begin
thumping the sides of his new world with it. He tucked it down between
two warm little things close by, and went to sleep. The two warm little
things were his sister and brother, for Larie was not alone in his
nest-world.

The sun went down and the wind blew cold and the rain beat hard from the
east; but Larie knew nothing of all this. A roof had settled down over
his world while he napped. It was white as sea foam, and soft and dry
and, oh, so very cosy, as it spread over him. The roof to Larie's second
world was his mother's breast.

The storm and the night passed, and the sun and the fresh spring breeze
again came in at the top of the nest. Then something very big stood near
and made a shadow, and Larie heard a strange sound. The something very
big was his mother, and the strange sound was her first call to
breakfast. When Larie heard that, he opened his mouth. But nothing went
into it. His brother and sister were being fed. He had never had any
food in his mouth in all the days of his life. To be sure, his egg-world
was filled with nourishment that he had taken into his body and had used
in growing; but he had never done anything with his beak except to knock
with the knob at the end of it against the shell when he pipped his way
out. What a handy little knob that had been--just right for tapping.