And the quarrel-bird mother said, "I was passing by the camphor tree when I saw the little ones alone, and I asked, 'What are you doing here?' And they said, 'Eating nuts!'
"'Do you hke nuts?' I asked.
"'Oh yes, very well.'
"'Where did you come from?' I said.
"'We came from the yellow-bird family.'
"'But you do not look like the yellow birds.'
"'No, and we did not talk nor eat as they did.'
"'Where is your home now?'
"'We have no home.'
"'Why do you not live with the yellow-bird mother?'
"'We were not happy there. The others do not eat nor drink, nor sing as we do. We are not fond of them, nor they of us.'
"'You are like me and mine,' I told them. And we looked at each other and saw the same feathers and the same color. Then they asked me where my home was and I told them under a rock of the Wu-Toa Mountain. So they went with me, and my house and my food were pleasant to them. In some way—though we could not tell how—we knew in our hearts that we belonged to each other. And we were happy, happy."
The eagle mother thought long about the story of the quarrel-bird, and the next morning she left her nest
