'the busy birds with nice selection cull

soft thistle-down, gray moss, and scattered wool;

far from each prying eye the nest prepare,

formed of warm moss and lined with softer hair.'

peggy and bobby sat at the top of a high apple-tree in a cunning little seat just where one bough crossed another, and, bending up, formed a kind of armchair with a back to it. below them the pink apple-blossom spread like a rosy cloud against the bluest of skies, and a blackbird in a neighbouring bush was trilling his loudest.

easter had fallen late, so that the children's spring holidays were not yet over when the first early delightful days of may brought a foretaste of the coming summer. peggy and bobby were out the whole day long, following their father about the farm, riding on the slow plough-horses, helping to drive the sheep, or bringing home the cows from the pasture, sowing seeds in their little gardens, and generally revelling in the delicious freedom.

sometimes lilian would join them, but more often she was busy indoors, helping her aunt and nancy, the maid, and learning the mysteries of housekeeping and dairy-minding; for she was growing quite a nice little[13] companion to aunt helen, and becoming so useful that nancy declared they should scarcely know what to do without her when the term began again.

'what shall we do this afternoon?' said bobby, leaning back among the branches in a way that would have brought aunt helen's heart to her mouth if she had not long ago come to the conclusion that small boys have nine lives, like a cat.

'i don't know,' replied peggy, idly picking off bits of twig, and throwing them at the old gander, which had strayed underneath.

'then let's go birds'-nesting. you can't think how dreadfully i want to find a cuckoo's egg. arthur hill has one at school, and he's so proud of it, he wouldn't change it though a boy offered him five sticks of mint-rock and a pea-shooter. i'm sure we ought to get one about here: i've heard such lots of cuckoos lately. we'll look in every nest we find.'

'all right, we'll go down the meadows by the river into the hazel-wood.'

'no, no! up the hill, over the gorse common, and down the yew-tree lane.'

'you won't find any nests up there!'

'yes, i shall!'

'i tell you you won't!'

'and i tell you i shall!'

'you were only eight last january, and i shall be twelve in november, so i ought to know best!' said peggy crushingly.

'i don't care if you're a hundred!' replied bobby with scorn. 'joe was up there last night, and he found twelve nests, and, what's more, he told me just where they all are.'

'then, why couldn't you say so at first? are you sure you can find them?'

[14]'certain; and one of them's a long-tailed tit's, with ever so many eggs in it. do you want to go down by the river now?'

'no,' replied peggy, giving in graciously. 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and if joe really found the nests up there, it's worth while going to see.'

bobby climbed down in triumph, for peggy so generally took the lead that it was sweet for once to get his own way. he was rather a gentle little boy, ready as a rule to follow at peggy's bidding, and to make a lively second to any scheme she might have in hand. aunt helen sometimes thought the two must have got changed, and that peggy should have been the boy and bobby the girl; for though the latter was not without courage, it was certainly peggy who had the most of that enterprising spirit which is generally thought a characteristic of the masculine mind.

though she would not have minded being a genuine boy, peggy had the greatest objection to be called a tomboy—a term of reproach that had been hurled at her head from her earliest infancy by indiscriminating friends.

'if they meant anything nice by it, i shouldn't care,' she complained. 'but they don't, for a tomboy is a horrid, rough sort of creature who isn't fit to be either a boy or a girl. it's too bad that i can't even do useful things without people howling at me. mrs. davenport looked perfectly shocked when i harnessed the pony, though i told her joe was milking, and there was no one else to come and do it; and when old mr. cooper saw me help father to drive cows down the pasture, he popped out with "miss tomboy" at once, though he did say afterwards i was the right sort of girl. people didn't call joan of arc and grace darling tomboys,[15] though they did other things besides stay at home and darn stockings. why can't i climb trees and jump fences, and enjoy myself like boys do, and yet be a thorough girl all the same?'

to do peggy justice, i think she was right, for though she delighted in outdoor life, she was in no sense a rough or ill-mannered child, and loved pretty things and dainty ways as well as quieter lilian; but it was a case of a dog with a bad name, for however indignantly she might remonstrate, people had got into the habit of dubbing her 'tomboy,' and at that valuation she seemed likely to remain.

the walk which bobby had proposed this afternoon was somewhat of a scramble, for the country rose behind the abbey into undulating hills, which were fairly steep, though not so high as the welsh mountains, and were covered for the most part with gorse and rough grass, where the sheep and young bullocks were turned out to graze. it was rather a stiff pull up to the common, but the vaughans were as accustomed to climbing as mountain goats, and would have thought it far more wearisome to walk the length of a london street.

half-way up was a spot very dear to the children's hearts. at a turn of the road a great slab of welsh slatestone lay at a sloping angle, shelving down for a distance of about twenty feet, and with its surface so flat and even, and so smooth and polished by the weather, that it made a natural sliding-board, down which it was delightful to toboggan at full speed. it seemed expressly formed for the enjoyment of small boys and girls, for as it lay across a corner, you had only to walk up the road to get to the top, then settling yourself firmly with feet straight in front, you let go, and slid like a bolt from an arrow down—down—till[16] you found your feet on the road again, and could climb up once more and repeat the performance.

of course, it was not very nice for the backs of boots and knickerbockers, and frocks and pinafores were apt to get sadly torn if they caught on a projecting angle; but what child ever thought of clothes when a twenty-foot slide might be enjoyed? certainly not peggy or bobby, whose well-worn garments were generally made of the stoutest and most serviceable materials.

they spent quite half an hour at this enthralling pastime, till a very persistent cuckoo in a little copse over the hedge recalled them to the principal object of their ramble.

'come along!' shouted peggy. 'we're wasting time!'

'let's take the short cut,' cried bobby, hopping nimbly over the fence into the meadow, where the kingcups were lying, such a bright mass of gold in the sunshine that you might have thought the stars had fallen from the sky and were shining in the fields instead. little rabbits scuttled away before them into the hedgerows, and a cock pheasant, disturbed in his afternoon nap, flew with a great whir into the coppice close by. two fields brought them out on to the common, where the gorse was a blaze of colour and the bees were busy buzzing among the sweet-smelling blossom.

'joe said there was a yellowhammer's nest just there, close by the elder-bush,' said bobby.

'all right,' said peggy; 'you take one side of the tree, and i'll take the other.'

a few minutes' search resulted in a delighted 's'sh!' from bobby, for on a little ledge of rock under an overhanging tussock of grass was the cosiest, cunningest nest in the world, and the yellowhammer herself sat on it, looking at them with her bright little eyes,[17] half undecided whether to stay or to fly away in alarm.

peggy crept up as quietly as a mouse. though the children were very anxious to find nests, it was not in any spirit of ruthless robbery. mr. vaughan was a keen naturalist, and had taught them to watch the birds in their haunts, but disturb them as little as possible, taking an occasional egg for their collection, but only when there were so many in the nest that it would not be missed.

'isn't she stunning?' whispered bobby. 'and how tight she sits!'

but a human voice was too much for the yellowhammer, and she flew like a dart into the gorse-bushes.

'five eggs,' said peggy, 'but not one of them a cuckoo's. you don't want one, do you, bobby?'

'no, i've got three at home. i had five, but i swopped two of them with frank wilson for a redstart's.'

'come along, then; she'll soon fly back when we're gone; i believe she is watching us out of the elder-tree. where did joe say the long-tailed tits had built?'

'right in the middle of a gorse-bush, just on the top of the mound where the goat was tethered last year. he calls them bottle-tits, but it's just the same thing, father says. whew! isn't the grass scratchy on your legs!'

'horrid! my boots are full of prickles. i shall have to take them off soon. it's so deep here, it's scratching my very nose. oh, look, bobby! there goes one of the tits! i saw just where she flew from. oh, here it is! see, isn't it just the prettiest little nest that ever was?'

the tit's nest would certainly have gained the prize if all the birds had been asked to take part in a building[18] competition. it was made of the softest moss and lichens, fashioned together in the shape of a bottle with the neck downwards; for the tit must have some place in which to bestow her long tail, and she builds her home to suit her person.

peggy thrust a cautious finger through the tiny opening in the side.

'it's full of eggs!' she exclaimed; 'i should think there must be seven or eight. i'll take two, one for you and one for me. they're the smallest you ever saw, and so warm. i hope they'll blow easily.'

bobby had brought a box full of sheep's wool in his pocket, to hold anything they might find, so peggy laid the eggs in with great pride, for bottle-tits were rare in that neighbourhood, and they had long wished to find such a treasure. joe had certainly not misled them, and bobby's memory, though defective as regarded latin declensions and historical facts, was unerring where it was a case of locating birds'-nests.

he found three thrushes' nests low down in the elder-bushes, all filled with gaping yellow mouths, the pretty little chaffinch's up in the ivy-tree, with only two speckly eggs as yet, and jenny wren's household, hidden away in a bank, full of so many children that she surely resembled the old woman who lived in a shoe, and it was a marvel how she could remember which little chirping atom she had fed last. the robin had built early and her brood had flown and left the empty nest; but two blackbirds were sitting in the hawthorn-hedge, and flew away with cries of indignation and distress.

the cuckoos were still calling loudly in the distance.

'tiresome things!' said bobby; 'if they would only build nests like other birds, one might have a chance of finding them.'

[19]

'"in april the cuckoo comes,

in may she'll stay,

in june she changes her tune,

in july she prepares to fly,

come august, go she must,"'

quoted peggy.

'but you haven't said it all,' put in bobby.

'"and if the cuckoo stays till september,

it's as much as the oldest man can remember."'

'i wish the rhymes would tell us where she lays her eggs,' said peggy.

she was poking about in the mossy bank as she spoke, when a hedge-sparrow flew out from the low bushes above almost straight into her face. it did not take peggy long to find the neat little nest of twisted twigs and grass woven into the fork of a branch. there were four lovely blue eggs inside, and a slightly larger one of a greenish-gray colour. peggy flushed all over with excitement.

'bobby, bobby!' she screamed, 'come here, quick! i do believe i have found a cuckoo's egg!'

there seemed little doubt about it, for the egg really looked quite different to the others; so the treasured find was safely put away in the small box, to be shown to joe, who was wise in such lore, though he only knew the birds by their country names, and had never heard of such a science as ornithology. quite elated with their success, the children hunted down the lane, searching in every bush and hedgerow, but they found nothing but a few last year's nests, full of acorns and dead leaves.

they came out by betsy owen's cottage—a little low, whitewashed, tumble-down building, standing in the midst of a neglected garden, with a very forlorn and deserted air about it.

[20]'joe says no doubt there'd be lots of nests in the ivy there,' confided bobby, peeping through the hedge. 'but he wouldn't go in and see, not if you gave him five pounds for it.'

'why not?' demanded peggy.

'because old betsy's a witch, and you never know what she might do if you made her angry. john parker and evan williams took some sticks from her hedge last autumn, and she came out in a rage, and crossed her fingers at them, and in six weeks john broke his leg, and evan had sore eyes all the winter. and once joe and another boy were coming home very late at night past the cottage, and they saw a bright light, and just as they reached the gate it went out, and they heard a most fearful shriek, and they were so frightened they ran all the way home.'

'what nonsense!' said peggy. 'i expect the old woman was blowing out her candle to go to bed, and a screech-owl flew over their heads. joe would have run away from his own shadow. but if you're afraid, stay outside in the lane, for i'm going in to see if there's a nest in that ivy; it looks such a likely place. i don't believe anyone's in the cottage, either, for the door's shut.'

but bobby much resented such a slur on his manly courage, and insisted upon being the one to climb the ivy-covered chimney. he crept quietly round to the back of the cottage, and swung himself up by the thick stems, feeling in every little hole where he could lay his hand. the large old chimney was so wide at the top that he found he could peep right down it, as if he were looking into a well, and could see a good piece of the hearth underneath, with a small fire of sticks burning under a large, three-legged iron pot, and the old woman sitting close by on a low stool, smoking a short clay pipe.

[21]betsy owen was a withered, cross-grained old dame, who by dint of the knowledge of the uses of some simple herbs and a good deal of cunning, had contrived to establish a reputation something between a witch and a quack doctor. people came to her from remote farms to have warts charmed away or the toothache cured; she dressed burns and wounds, and concocted lotions for sore eyes and bad legs. her one room was hung all round with plants in various stages of drying, and she was always ready to prescribe a remedy for an ailing cow or a sick child, generally at much profit to herself, whatever might be the benefit to the sufferer. she was bending over her iron pot now, stirring the concoction with a long-handled spoon. bobby could see her quite plainly in the fire light, and could catch the curious aromatic smell which rose up from the smouldering wood. i do not know what prompted him—probably the love of mischief which dwells in all small boys—but he picked up a loose piece of mortar which was lying on the roof, and dropped it suddenly down the chimney. it fell plump into the iron pot with a loud, hissing sound.

out rushed betsy from the cottage, scolding furiously. down dropped bobby from the chimney, and was through a hole in the hedge and away down the lane as fast as his sturdy legs could carry him. peggy had been waiting in the garden, and, before she could realize what had happened, she found herself seized and shaken violently by the angry old woman.

'i'll larn yer to come into other folk's places and drop stones down decent body's chimleys!' shrieked betsy. 'be off with yer, yer ill-mannered young good-for-naught; and if ever i catch yer here again, yer'll get such a hidin' yer won't forget it for a month!'

peggy was so amazed by the suddenness of the attack[22] that for the moment she offered no resistance; but, finding a storm of blows descending on her head like hail, she managed to squirm out of betsy's ungentle grasp, and fled after bobby down the lane, followed by a shower of epithets from the gate, where the old woman stood shaking her fist until long after the children were out of sight.

when they judged themselves to be at a safe distance the pair sat down on a fence to get their breath, and talk over their adventure.

'we're in for it now,' laughed peggy. 'she was so fearfully angry i'm sure joe would say she'd bewitched us!'

'yes, he'll be in a great state of mind when we tell him. he'll quite expect us to break our arms or legs or necks or something before long!'

'you'll do that without her if you try to swing head downwards on one leg like that,' said peggy; for bobby was executing some marvellous gymnastics on the top rail of the fence.

he came down feet foremost, however, and they sauntered off along the road to the old water-mill, where the miller's man was slinging a sack of flour on to a patient donkey who stood, with drooping ears, eyeing the burden which he must carry up far into the mountains, while his mistress, a little black-eyed welshwoman, poured forth a torrent of gossip in high-pitched tones.

the wheel was standing idle, and the children went down the slippery steps to the pool below. it was cool and dark there, for the trees grew low over the stream, and the water, escaping from the race above, poured down by the side of the wheel in a foaming cataract. a dipper was hopping about from stone to stone in the centre of the stream, pruning her sleek feathers, and[23] calling her lively 'chit, chit' to her mate. peggy grasped bobby by the arm.

'keep still,' she whispered. 'let us watch her. perhaps she may have a nest somewhere close by.'

all unconscious of her audience, the little bird jerked her short tail, dived rapidly into the water, and, emerging at the other side of the pool, flew suddenly into the green, moss-grown wall which overhung the mill-wheel.

'that's her nest,' cried bobby. 'oh, don't you see it? it looks just like a great lump of moss; you can hardly tell it from the wall, only i see a little round hole at the bottom. what a shame it's in such a horrid place! we can never get it up there.'

'yes, we can,' replied peggy stoutly. 'i'm going up.'

'but how?'

'up the mill-wheel, of course, stupid! no, you're not coming too. you climbed the chimney, and it's my turn. just hold my hat, and i'll manage all right, you'll see!'

it was a slippery climb, for the wheel was green with slime, and it needed a long step to get from one blade to the other; but peggy was utterly fearless, and she had soon pulled herself to the top. balanced there, she could easily reach to the nest, which was only a few feet away from her. out flew the dipper in a panic, and in went peggy's fingers.

'three eggs, bobby—lovely white eggs! look! i think i shall take this one, at any rate.'

she held out her hand to show her prize, but at that instant the mill-wheel began to turn, and she was whirled from the dizzy summit down—down—into the dark pool below.

bobby's agonized shrieks brought out the miller's man, who, dashing into the stream, caught the child[24] just as she rose to the surface, and before she had drifted into the swifter current further on. it was a very forlorn and draggled peggy which he laid upon the bank, but she was game to the last.

'i haven't broken the egg,' she gasped out, with the water streaming from her hair.

'better thank the lord you're not drowned, miss,' said the miller's man, looking ruefully at his own wet garments. 'let me take you into the house, and mrs. griffiths'll get you some dry clothes to your back; you'll catch your death of cold sitting there.'

peggy essayed to get up and walk, but she was such a very water-logged vessel that to hasten matters her rescuer picked her up in his arms, and bore her off like a sack of flour.

stout old mrs. griffiths was sitting knitting in the chimney-corner, but she jumped up in a hurry when john carried in his dripping burden.

'sakes alive!' she screamed, 'what is it? is she dead? lay her out on the parlour sofa. sarah grace, run for the parish nurse and the rector—quick!'

but peggy's voluble tongue assuring her that she was very much alive, and only in need of drying, she soon hustled that young lady upstairs, and out of her wet clothes. ten minutes later peggy sat on the settle by the kitchen fire, an odd little figure, attired in sarah grace's sunday jacket over mrs. griffiths' best red flannel petticoat, and a steaming glass of hot elder wine in her hand.

'just to keep you from catching cold, miss; and master bobby must have one too, bless his heart! he's as white as my apron, and small wonder, after seeing his sister half drowned!'