What is it, Grace, darling?
What sort of bird are we?
I think that we are called, ‘starlings’, my dear.
Is there a problem, Grace?
No. I just wanted to grow up and be a kingfisher.
Ah, the fisher king – such a fine colouring, almost as beautiful as yours, Grace.
Beautiful? I am a dull shade of slate grey.
Not when you are in the sunlight, Grace; then you are without doubt the most beautiful of all birds.