a chap for life, this is. I'm glad
it was only wings, though. I'd rather see the birds as aren't there, and
couldn't be, even if they pretend to talk, than some things as I could
name."

He got up slowly and heavily, and went indoors, and he was so nice to
his wife that day that she felt quite happy, and said to herself, "Law,
whatever have a-come to the man!" and smartened herself up and put a
blue ribbon bow at the place where her collar fastened on, and looked so
pretty that he was kinder than ever. So perhaps the winged children
really did do one good thing that day. If so, it was the only one; for
really there is nothing like wings for getting you into trouble. But, on
the other hand, if you are in trouble, there is nothing like wings for
getting you out of it.

This was the case in the matter of the fierce dog who sprang out at them
when they had folded up their wings as small as possible and were going
up to a farm door to ask for a crust of bread and cheese, for in
spite of the plums they were soon just as hungry as ever again.

Now there is no doubt whatever that, if the four had been ordinary
wingless children, that black and fierce dog would have had a good bite
out of the brown-stockinged leg of Robert, who was the nearest. But at
its first growl there was a flutter of wings, and the dog was left to
strain at his chain and stand on his hind-legs as if he were trying to
fly too.

They tried several other farms, but at those where there were no dogs
the people were far too frightened to do anything but scream; and at
last, when it was nearly four o'clock, and their wings were getting
miserably stiff and tired, they alighted on a church-tower and held a
council of war.

"We can't possibly fly all the way home without dinner _or_ tea," said
Robert with desperate decision.

"And nobody will give us any dinner, or even lunch, let alone tea," said
Cyril.

"Perhaps the clergyman here might," suggested Anthea. "He must know all
about angels"--

"Anybody could see we're not that," said Jane. "Look at Robert's boots
and Squirrel's plaid necktie."

"Well," said Cyril firmly, "if the country you're in won't _sell_
provisions, you _take_ them. In wars I mean. I'm quite certain you do.
And even in other stories no good brother would allow his little sisters
to starve in the midst of plenty."

"Plenty?" repeated Robert hungrily; and the others looked vaguely round
the bare leads of the church-tower, and murmu