The thrush put his head on one side, and listened very attentively while Kelpie was speaking. “Now,” thought she, “I shall get an answer. Oh, what a relief.” She stood quite still and waited patiently. “Ah,” said the thrush, quite suddenly, “I thought I heard it!” And he made a quick dig into the earth with his bill, and pulled out a long worm by the tail. Kelpie watched while he swallowed it,--it did not take more than a few seconds--and then said timidly, “If you please, sir, I don’t think you heard me, I--” The thrush again put his head on one side, stood quite still in an erect attitude, and seemed absorbed this time in Kelpie and her troubles. “I asked you a question, sir,” said she again; “I’m very much afraid I’m troubling you, but I do _so_ want to find out the answer.” “I’ve found it,” said the thrush, as suddenly as before; and he darted his bill into the ground again, pulled out another worm, and this time flew away with it. Kelpie was left alone, a sadder but not a wiser bird. She was greatly disheartened for a time. At last however she determined to try once more. An old jackdaw, with a very gray head, used to come very early of a morning on to the lawn when no one was about except a few starlings. Kelpie didn’t think the starlings looked very promising, they were so restless, and there were so many of them together. But the jackdaw, she had heard her parents say, was the wisest bird in the whole garden; so she watched her chance, and approached him one morning very modestly. “I fear, sir,” she said, “that you will think me very bold, but I have heard of your great wisdom, and I thought you would be good enough to explain something to me.” The jackdaw looked at her, not unkindly. “Have you asked your parents?” he said. “Yes, sir, but they won’t explain it to me.” The jackdaw shook his head. “Probably they couldn’t,” he replied. “Wagtails are very ignorant birds. But I’ll give you a bit of advice. If anything puzzles you, go and listen in chimneys. There are no fires there now, and you can hear what men and women say. That’s how my family has come to be so wise. But you must get into the habit of it, you know; you must spend a good deal of time there; it may be years before you get an answer to your question.” “But perhaps _you_ could answer my question,” said Kelpie; “because, you see, you might have heard the answer yourself in a chimney.” “No doubt, no doubt,” said the jackdaw gravely. “But, my dear child, what would be the use of knowledge if we were always giving it away, like the lecturers we hear from these Oxford chimneys? No, no; you go and listen in chimneys (you’re black and gray, like us, and it wouldn’t spoil your feathers), and when you find out the answer to your question keep it safe and don’t part with it. That’s the way to get wise.”