This answered perfectly. He had been learning to swim lately, and made a bob with his head, and spread his arms in front of him. Next moment he was within a foot or two of the ground, and kicked downwards again to bring himself up. ‘Now I’ll float,’ he said, ‘and see what happens.’ He spread his arms and legs out like a starfish, drew a long breath, and looked at the sky, as his father had taught him to do. This, too, succeeded, and he found himself motionless in the air, perhaps drifting a little in the morning wind. ‘I’ll go higher now,’ he said. ‘I’ll just wander up to the top of the elm trees, and see what’s going on there.’ [Illustration: How Canon and Mrs. Rook quarrelled over a stick] He had calculated his distance pretty well for a beginner, and a few downward kicks in the air brought him brushing against the topmost boughs of the elm that stood on the far side of the lake beyond the garden. It seemed to be spring-time, for there was a great commotion among the rooks, as he pushed the young green leaves aside and looked in. A pair of them were quarrelling as to which way a particular stick ought to be laid, one wanting it laid crossways, the other straight. They had lived for years before they came here in a cathedral close, and were always known as Canon and Mrs. Rook. But when they saw him, they stopped arguing. ‘Why, bless me, you’ve remembered it at last,’ said Canon Rook. ‘And it doesn’t make you feel giddy, does it?’ ‘Not a bit,’ said David. ‘It’s the loveliest thing that ever happened. Why didn’t you tell me before how to do it?’ ‘Bless you, we were telling you all day long,’ said Mrs. Rook, ‘but you always pretended to forget.’ Suddenly it struck David that he had known how to fly all his life, but had merely forgotten.’ ‘Why, of course, I knew all along,’ he said. ‘And shall I always be able to fly now?’ ‘Until the next time that you forget. But boys _are_ forgetful creatures, you know,’ said Mrs. Rook. ‘So are girls,’ said David. ‘But I won’t forget this time. And may I try to pass my flying certificate at once?’ ‘Why, certainly,’ said Canon Rook, ‘if we can get a committee together. Birds are a bit busy now that it’s building time, but it’s not every day that a boy comes up for his flying certificate, and I shouldn’t wonder if they came. I’ll go and call them.’ He flew up to the very topmost twig of the elm, and balanced himself there. ‘Urgent call—caw, caw,’ he shouted. ‘A young gentleman has just come up here to try for his flying certificate, if the committee will kindly attend. Urgent—caw, caw, caw,’ he repeated.