Miss Fosbrook was rather shocked at
the tearing out the nest, and asked if the old bird would not have
another brood there; but it was explained that a thrush would never
return to a forsaken nest; and when Sam came down with it in his
hand, she was delighted with the wonderful cup that formed the
lining, so smooth and firm a bason formed of dried mud set within the
grassy wall. She had thought that swallows alone built with mud, and
had to learn that the swallows used their clay for their outer walls,
and down for their lining, whereas the thrush is a regular plasterer.
Sam promised her another thrush to make up for her disappointment,
and meantime conducted her to a very untidy old summer-house, the
moss of whose roof hung down loose and rough over a wild collection
of headless wooden horses, little ships with torn sails, long sticks,
battered watering-pots, and old garden tools. She was desired to
look up to one of the openings in the ragged moss, and believe that
it housed a kitty wren's family of sixteen or eighteen; but she had
to take this on trust, for to lay a finger near would lead to
desertion; in fact, Sam was rather sorry to be able to point out to
her, on coming out, the tiny, dark, nutmeg, cock-tailed father kitty,
popping in and out of the thorn hedge, spying at the party.
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