"
Christabel did not see nor hear. She had gone forward with a boy on
either side of her, and Susan walking backwards in front, all telling
the story of a cuckoo,--or gowk, as Sara called it in Purday's
language,--which they had found in a water-wagtail's nest in a heap
of stones; how it sat up, constantly gaping with its huge mouth,
while the poor little foster-parents toiled to their utmost to keep
it supplied with caterpillars, and the last time it was seen, when
full-fledged, were trying to lure it to come out of the nest by
holding up green palmers at some little distance before it. This was
in the evening; by morning it was gone, having probably taken flight
at sunrise.
Miss Fosbrook listened with all the pleasure the boys could desire.
She had read natural history, and looked at birds stuffed in the
British Museum, or alive at the Zoological Gardens, on the rare days
when her father had time to give himself and his children a treat;
and her fresh value and interest in all these country things were
delightful to the boys.
It was a lovely summer evening.
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