“Hey, Marge, look at this!” Nick bent down to pick up something that had fallen out of a fat old beech tree.
Marjorie saw that her brother was holding a long-handled wooden spoon. She stared up into the branches overhead. “Hello!” she called. “Is anybody up there?”
There was no answer.
Nick handed Marjorie the spoon. “Maybe somebody left it in the tree.”
Marjorie felt the smooth wood. “The wind must have blown it down.”
“It’s such a big spoon,” Nick said. “We could dig with it at the beach.”
“Mother doesn’t like us to take things that don’t belong to us,” Marjorie reminded him.
“But if we leave the spoon here in the park,” Nick said, “somebody else will pick it up. Then the person who owns it will never get it back.”
Marjorie thought for a minute. “We can keep it safe in case we find out who lost it.” She tucked the big spoon under her arm.
“I’m getting hungry,” Nick said.
Marjorie looked at the blue sky. “I wonder what time it is.”
“We’d better not be late for supper again.” Nick began to walk along the narrow path that went through the woods on Lookout Mountain.
The two children had spent the afternoon in Prospect Park. Now they went around the big hill until they came to the road that went through the park. Marjorie took a look at the traffic. “It must be rush hour.”
While they waited for the light to turn green, Nick and Marjorie heard a clear, high whistle.
Nick looked around. “What was that, Marge?”
“It’s that bird, there. Come on. The light’s changing.” Marjorie walked quickly across the road.
Nick ran after her. “Marge,” he said, “the bird followed us.” He pointed to the lowest branch of a chestnut tree.
Marjorie laughed. “What makes you think it’s the same bird, Nick?”
“It looks exactly like the one that was whistling at us on the other side of the road,” Nick said.
“That’s a starling,” Marjorie told him. “There are lots of them in Brooklyn. And they all look alike.”
The bird was about as big as a robin. It was fat and had a short tail. In the sunlight its black feathers gleamed with purple and green lights.
Marjorie nodded. “I never really looked hard at a starling before.” She took a step toward the bird.
The starling flapped up into the branches of the chestnut tree.
“You scared it, Marge,” Nick said.
“I only wanted to get a better look,” Marjorie told him.
“Well, if all starlings look alike, you’ll have another chance.” Nick started running toward the park gate.
Marjorie raced after him.