She flew up to her mother, who was in a very happy and contented frame of mind, having brought up her young so prosperously in the midst of plenty and comfort. “Mother,” she said, “will you please tell me why we all wag our tails?” The prudent mother was rather taken aback; but after taking a little run and flight, to collect her mind, she returned answer very decidedly, “We don’t wag our tails. Who’s been putting such fancies into your head?” “A big man on the other side of the lawn said he should like to know why we wag our tails!” “Men are blockheads,” said the mother. “Don’t you go near them, Kelpie, on any account. They know nothing about us. I tell you we don’t wag our tails, and I won’t be contradicted. Go away, child, and look for beetles.” Kelpie went away, but she could not throw herself into the beetle-catching with the same ardour as before. Whenever she looked up she saw some one’s tail moving, and she got more and more puzzled over it. At one moment she thought she was rid of the puzzle: “Mother says we don’t,” she reflected, “so of course, at least I suppose, it’s all my fancy;” and she began to search for food. But the next minute she felt that her own tail was going up and down, and back came all the puzzling thoughts as lively as ever again. At last she lost all confidence in her mother, and resolved to ask her father’s opinion. “What does my little Kelpie want?” said he, as the young one came flying up. “I want to ask a question, father. Mother says we don’t wag our tails, but a man I heard talking said we did. Which do you think is right?” “Your mother’s sure to be right, my dear,” said he; “I never, never knew her wrong. Never,” he said with warmth, and wagging his tail to emphasize his words. “Believe all she says, and do everything she tells you.” “But father, dear, you’re wagging your own tail now as fast as you can!” cried Kelpie. “I do it sometimes when I am a little excited,” he said, taken by surprise. “But don’t you think any more about it, Kelpie, there’s a dear; it would vex your mother so, you know. And promise me you won’t say anything about it to your brothers and sisters. Will you promise? All sorts of dreadful things might happen, you know, if one went about asking questions like that.” Worse and worse for poor Kelpie! Her mother had plainly told her an untruth; her father had half admitted it to be so, and had seemed quite frightened at the idea of such questions being asked. What could the mystery be? Kelpie’s little mind was all in a flutter. She went on as usual however from day to day, and said nothing to the rest of the family about the troubles of her mind. At last however it struck her that she might question other birds, though it was clearly no good consulting her own kith and kin. A thrush who frequented the lawn, and always looked very wise, seemed likely to be a friend in need; so she took an opportunity one day, when the others were out of hearing, of asking him her question.