"
The fanning wind wafts across the road the voice of the old horse-
chestnut, who also has a word to say about the birds'-nests.
"When my blossoms were fresh, white pyramids, came a swift flutter of
wings about them one day, and a dazzlingly beautiful little bird thrust
his long, delicate bill among the flowers; and while he held himself
there in the air without touching his tiny feet to twig or stem, but
only by the swift fanning of long, green-tinted wings, I offered him my
best flowers for his breakfast, and bowed my great leaves as a welcome
to him. The dear little thing had been here before, while yet the sticky
brown buds which wrap up my leaves had not burst open to the warm
sunshine. He and his mate, whose feather dress was not so fine as his,
gathered the gum from the outside of the buds, and pulled the warm wool
from the inside; and I could watch them as they flew away to the maple
yonder, for then the trees that stand between us had no leaves to hide
the maple, as they do now.
"Back and forth flew the birds from the topmost maple-branch to my
opening buds; and day by day I saw a little nest growing, very small and
round, lined warmly with wool from my buds, and thatched all over the
outside with bits of lichen, gray and green, to match what grew on the
maple-branches about it; and this thatch was glued on with the gum from
my brown buds. When it was finished, it was delicate enough for the
cradle of a little princess, and the outside was so carefully matched to
the tree by lichens, that the sharpest eyes from below could not detect
it.
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