“Nice!” croaked the Stork, “I should say as much!  What can you be thinking of, Miss?  I to give up my comfortable home on the house-top, close by the warm chimney, and go to live in that disgusting mushy-squshy bog of yours!  Ha-ha!  That is really too ridiculous!  I bid you good morning.”  And with an elaborate bow he turned his back and flew away.

Miss Heron flounced back to her swamp, mortified because she had left it to propose terms to so ungallant a fellow.  But hardly had she begun her tardy supper when once more Mr. Stork’s shadow darkened the mirror before her, and once more she heard his apologetic croak.

“Ahem, ahem!” he began.  “I hope I find you well, Miss Heron?  I have been—­ha hum!—­considering your last most condescending words, and I find that I have been hasty.  You are so good as to express a belief that I should make a pleasant companion.  So I should! so I should!  And as for you,” he bowed gallantly, “one can readily imagine the charm of your society.  Come, then, Miss Heron, why should we not make a happy couple, if we can only arrange this one little foolish matter?  Be my wife:  come live with me in my lovely nest.”

But at this word Miss Heron uttered a little scream and cried, “Be off with you, you villain!  Leave my premises instantly!” and she waved her wings so fiercely that once more Mr. Stork took to his and flapped away to his home.

Now when he had gone Miss Heron found that she had been bad-tempered, and she thought how pleasantly they might have arranged the matter if only she had been more moderate.  So she spread her beautiful blue wings and flew to the housetop where Mr. Stork lived, and, perching on the chimney, she said,—­

“Oh, Mr. Stork, I was bad-tempered and impolite, and I beg your pardon.  Let us be friends once more.  Leave this hot old stupid house-top and come live in my cool, moist, wady-shady swamp, and I will be your very loving little wife.”

But the Stork arose in his nest, flapping his wings crossly, and cried, “Be off, you baggage!  Don’t come here to insult my beautiful house.  Be off, I say, to your mushy-squshy, rheumaticky bog.  I want no more of you!”

So the Heron flew back disconsolately to the watery swamp, where she began to feel very lonely indeed.  And the Stork, too, began to feel very lonely indeed; and he was sorry that he had been rude to a lady.  Presently, once more he came flapping to the mushy-squshy marsh, where he found Miss Heron just ready to go to sleep.

“Oh, dear Miss Heron!” he cried.  “I made a great mistake, and said things for which I am truly sorry.  Do come to be my loving wife, as you promised, and we will live happily ever after on the chimney-top, far above the other birds.  And I will never be cross again.”

But the Heron answered, “Away with you!  I want to go to sleep.  I am tired of your croaking voice.  Leave me alone!” So the Stork flew away in a huff.