“Well, don’t be in too great a hurry,” said Twinkle. “Consider what self-denial it is to me to tell you such a story: it’s nearly as bad as going through it all again. When I succeeded in getting lower down, and could see the white foam of the waves, I suddenly saw a light below me, and a little in front, twinkling like a great hawk’s eye, and--” “The lighthouse!” cried Flip, with a pang, for he felt sure that the worst part of the story was coming. “No, not the lighthouse,” said Twinkle. “Don’t interrupt. You’re a most unpleasant bird to tell a story to, stopping one just in the most exciting part: it quite spoils the pleasure of story-telling.” “Why, I thought--” Flip was going to have reminded him that it was such _self-denial_, but he thought better of it, and swallowed his impatience with another fly. “And down I went,” continued Twinkle, “to get a rest; for where there is a light, there must be something to perch on. Well, in a minute or two I found myself clinging with all the strength of my poor claws--” (here he looked at them compassionately for a moment, and gave them a peck or two with his bill, to clear away some tiny particles of salt that still adhered to them). Flip could hardly help making an angry dash at him, and indeed ruffled his feathers indignantly, but the other was too much occupied with himself to see it. “Clinging with my poor claws,” said Twinkle, slowly and sadly, “to the rigging of a ship, and trying to get my breath. I hadn’t been there very long, when I heard a voice I knew, and who should seize hold of the same rope but Pipi himself!” “Was Pipi very bad and tired too?” asked Flip. “Not a bit,” was the answer. “I never knew such a bird as Pipi. Of course I pointed out to him that we were in great danger, and that we couldn’t hope to hold out much longer--and what do you think he said? ‘Twinkle,’ he said, ‘think of your first nest last year. Don’t you remember those sunny days in the meadow by the brook, and the excitement as the hatching days drew near?’ Can you imagine such folly as to talk of hatching when we were sitting in a place like that, hardly able to hold on for the wind?” Flip thought he knew why Pipi had said that, but he did not interrupt this time. “Well,” continued Twinkle, “he went on like that, and told me to cheer up, and said we couldn’t be far from land, for the ship was only a fishing-smack caught in a storm, and they never venture very far from shore; and at last I got very angry with such nonsense, and told him nothing should make me leave go except the wind. So Pipi declared at last that he was going on, and I had better come too; but I wouldn’t, so he opened his wings, and just as he left the rope, somehow or other I did so too.” “Why,” said Flip, unable to suppress himself this time. “I thought you said Pipi was the last bird in the world you would obey!” “I didn’t obey Pipi,” said Twinkle, indignantly. “I went of myself.”