“But it’s spring!” Sophia said. “They don’t die now; they’re brand new and just married—that’s what you said!”
“Well,” Grandmother said, “it did die now, all the same.”
“How did it die?” Sophia yelled. She was very angry.
“Of unrequited love,” her grandmother explained. “He sang and scolded all night for his scolder hen and then along came another and stole her away, so he put his head under the water and floated away.”
“That’s not true,” Sophia screamed. She started to cry. “Long-tails can’t drown. Tell it right!”
So Grandmother told her he had simply hit his head on a rock. He was singing and scolding so hard that he didn’t look where he was going, and so it just happened, right when he was happier than he’d ever been before.
“That’s better,” Sophia said. “Shall we bury him?”
“It’s not necessary,” Grandmother said. “The tide will come in and he’ll bury himself. Seabirds are supposed to be buried at sea, like sailors.”