The stone bird never moved, not even a tiny
bit, but Eliza loved it. She slipped it into her
pocket and set it next to her plate at mealtimes.
Wherever she went, her stone bird went too.
Her mother said, “Where did you get that thing?”
“It’s not a thing,” said Eliza. “It’s a bird.”
Her mother smiled, “It’s too hard to be a bird.”
“Well, then,” said Eliza, “it’s a hard bird.”
