'I think it very likely,' I said.

'Men's voices are so rough mostly and women's voices are so sharp
mostly, that it's sometimes a little hard to love 'em as you love the
birds.'

'It is,' I said.

'Don't you think the poor birds must sometimes feel very much
distressed at hearing the voices of men and women, especially when
they all talk together?'

The idea seemed so original and yet so true that it made me laugh; we
both laughed. At that moment there came a still louder, noisier
clamour of voices from the villagers.

'The rooks mayn't mind.' said the little girl, pointing upwards to
the large rookery close by. whence came a noise marvellously like
that made by the field-workers. 'But I'm afraid the blackbirds and
thrushes can't like it. I do so wonder what they say about it.'

After we had left the rookery behind us and the noise of the
villagers had grown fainter, we stood and listened to the blackbirds
and thrushes. She looked so joyous that I could not help saying,
'Little girl, I think you're very happy, ain't you?'

'Not quite,' she said, as though answering a question she had just
been putting to herself. 'There's not enough wind.'

'Then do _you_ like wind?' I said in surprise and delight.