rfly waved its wings and
fluttered through the air into the gulch below.

Then the girl started up the hill and the Stone rolled slowly beside
her, groaning and grumbling because the ground was so rough.

Presently she noticed running across the path a tiny Book, not much
bigger than a postage-stamp. It had two slender legs, like those of a
bumble-bee, and upon these it ran so fast that all the leaves fluttered
wildly, the covers being half open.

"What's that?" asked Twinkle, looking after the book in surprise.

"That is a little Learning," answered the Stone. "Look out for it, for
they say it's a dangerous thing."

"It's gone already," said Twinkle.

"Let it go. Nobody wants it, that I know of. Just help me over this
bump, will you?"

So she rolled the Stone over the little hillock, and just as she did so
her attention was attracted by a curious noise that sounded like "Pop!
pop! pop!"

"What's that?" she inquired, hesitating to advance.

"Only a weasel," answered the Stone. "Stand still a minute, and you'll
see him. Whenever he thinks he's alone, and there's no one to hear,
'pop' goes the weasel."

Sure enough, a little animal soon crossed their path, making the funny
noise at every step. But as soon as he saw that Twinkle was staring at
him he stopped popping and rushed into a bunch of tall grass and hid
himself.

And now they were almost at the berry-bushes, and Twinkle trotted so
fast that the Rolling Stone had hard work to keep up with her. But when
she got to the bushes she found a flock of strange birds sitting upon
them and eating up the berries as fast as they could. The birds were not
much bigger than robins, and were covered with a soft, velvety skin
instead of with feathers, and they had merry black eyes and long,
slender beaks curving downward from their noses, which gave to their
faces a saucy expression. The lack of usual feathers might not have
surprised Twinkle so much had she not noticed upon the tail of each bird
one single, solitary feather of great length, which was certainly a
remarkable thing.

"I know what they are," she said, nodding her head wisely; "they're
birds of a feather."

At this the birds burst into a chorus of laughter, and one of them said:

"Perhaps you think that's why we flock together."

"Well, isn't that the reason?" she asked.

"Not a bit of it," declared the bird. "The reason we flock together is
because we're too proud to mix with common birds, who have