House of Wings by Betsy Byars

just at the edge of the water by grabbing a small tree. He lowered himself to the bank and sat. His old boots with the sides cut out were dug into the sand. He smoothed his mustache with his fingers, his eyes on the crane. Sammy waded over and sat down beside him.
    The crane moved farther out into the stream. He dropped into the water and immersed himself. Only his head and neck were above the water, and then he rose and shook himself. He went in the water again. He paddled for a moment, swimming like the geese. Then he moved to the opposite shore and began dipping his bill into the bank.
    “He’s after something,” Sammy’s grandfather said.
    Feeling with his beak, the crane probed the bank and began working a root out of the damp soil. “There’ll be insects around the bottom of them roots,” Sammy’s grandfather said. “I reckon that’s what he’s after.”
    The crane probed and dug, worked out the root, ate the grubs that came with it, and then ate the root itself. He dug several inches, exposed another root, and ate it. Then he began drilling with his beak into the muddy creek bottom.
    “He’s going to make it,” Sammy said. It was the first time he had said this and really believed it. He looked at his grandfather for confirmation.
    He waited while his grandfather took off his hat, scratched his head, and put the hat back on. “He’ll make it,” his grandfather said.
    Sammy let all the air go out of his body, and when the new air came in, he felt very good. He said, “I’ll try to find him another frog.” He got up and began wading up the creek. “You catch some fish for him and I’ll be in charge of the frogs.”
    As Sammy walked through the water, he suddenly thought about his parents. They were probably in Detroit now. He looked back at the crane, who was pulling roots out of the bank again. Then he looked at his grandfather. The shade from the trees made a lacy pattern on his dusty clothes.
    Sammy waded out in the deeper water and stood for a minute. He looked down at his wet clothes, and he suddenly had a pleasant thought. He thought that when he went to Detroit to join his parents, all his clothes would still be in the suitcase, folded and clean, just the way they were now. He would wear this same outfit all summer and clean it in the creek. It would be a nice surprise for his mother.
    He glanced down the creek to where the geese were resting in the green shadows of a low tree. He looked back at his grandfather, who was doing something to his fishing pole. He said, “You want to see me swim, Papa?”
    His grandfather set his fishing pole down and looked at him. “Go ahead, boy.”
    Sammy stood in the water. He kept looking at his grandfather. He blinked and shaded his eyes with one hand so he could see his grandfather a little clearer.
    Suddenly Sammy wanted his grandfather to know him the way he knew his birds. He wanted his grandfather to be able to pick him out of a thousand boys the way he could pick out the blackbird, the owl, the wild ducks. He wanted his grandfather to include him in his losses one day. He wanted his grandfather to say, “The blackbird’s gone out into the world. The owl’s gone. The crane flew off one day. The wild ducks are gone.” Then he wanted his grandfather to add in the same sad voice, “Sammy’s gone too.”
    Sammy kept looking at his grandfather in a funny way. He didn’t know how it was possible to hate a person in the middle of one morning, and then to find in the middle of the next morning that you loved this same person.
    His grandfather said, “Go ahead, boy, I’m looking.
    Sammy cleared his throat. He said, “My name’s Sammy.”
    His grandfather nodded. “Sammy,” he said. “Go ahead, Sammy, let’s see you swim.”
    Sammy remained without moving for a moment. He was intense. He breathed deeply. He stretched out his arms. He took another deep breath. Then he pushed himself off, and in a blaze of water he began to slap his arms, to