It's actually the boy who loved getting up into the trees the most at first. But when she saw her brother up there, cackling at us, refusing to come down, she decided that she too wanted to climb some trees. I read her Frost's poem Birches before she fell asleep last night and she wanted to know why the swinger of birches is a boy. So tonight I'll change it: screw Robert Frost.
But it's true that this boy could spend all day up there, laughing at us.