I dreamed Miss Swan went gliding along the sparkling water, white and sinuous and effortless, and as she came by Mr. Stork she gave a demure and graceful bob of her head.

Mr. Stork, he bowed.  His stilt legs pushed back and his stilt body pushed forward.

And just like from her, from him I had an impression of great beauty.  In his own way.  It was not curved and elegant.  It was angular.  But it was a real bow with real grace–his body lent itself to the essence of bowing–and it was distinctly like a stork.

Moral: achieve the glory that is yours.

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