Part 4 (2/2)

”For shame, William, I--”

”O Frances, take care what you say, tell no falsehoods; I will tell one truth, and say you are a greedy girl.”

Frances began to cry again, ”For shame, William, to call me names.”

”I call no names, I only say what I think, and how can I help it, when it is only just now you cried so, because you said mamma had given me a larger piece of cake than yourself; for you must know,” he continued, turning to Mary, ”we have both had one piece before, and she half of mine to make her quiet; and then she cried again because a piece was put by for you and Anne, and she cannot be contented now, though Anne shares hers amongst us. If this is not being greedy, I do not know what greedy means. It is no names, it is only saying what a thing is.”

”Now I know another thing,” said Anne; ”when mamma called me to receive my piece of cake, she said, 'And you shall take a piece also to Mary,' but when she unfolded the paper, there was only _one_ piece; mamma did not say anything, but I think she _thought_ something.”

At this remark, Frances redoubled her crying, but, for the sake of a share of the present feast, did not attempt to leave the party. No more was said, and the feast was concluded in good humor by all except the conscious greedy girl, and they then all went into the garden together to finish their hour's recreation before they were called again to their lessons.

There was a little plantation of young fir-trees at one corner of the garden, intended to grow there for shelter from the north-west wind: the gra.s.s was so high amongst them, that the gardener had orders to go and carefully mow it down. He was engaged in the business when the children ran out to see him work.

”Hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+” he exclaimed, as they approached, ”I have just cleared a bough from the gra.s.s, and see what's there!”

All curiosity, they went forward on tip-toe, and were directed to something lodged on the spreading branch of a young larch.

”A bird's nest!” said William.

”A bird's nest!” they all repeated. ”But what is in it, I cannot tell.”

”Look steadily,” said the gardener, ”and you will find out.”

It was difficult to trace what it was; something all in a heap, brown naked skin; alive, as might be known by the heaving breathing.

William putting his finger to touch them, immediately four wide mouths stretched open, with little tongues raised, and the opening of their throats extended to the utmost.

”Look at the little things,” said William; ”they thought their mother was come when I touched the branch, and they have opened their mouths to be ready to receive what she would put in.

”They are _blind_!” said William.

”Yes, they cannot have been hatched more than two days.”

”Will they take what the mother gives them?” asked William.

”Yes,” said the man, ”they trust her, and swallow down what she puts into their mouths.”

”I wish the mother would come,” said Anne.

”But she will not whilst we are here,” William replied.

”Touch it again, William,” said Frances.

William touched the edge of the nest ”See!” said he, ”they think the mother is come, they stretch, their months still wider.”

”Hark!” said Mary, ”what an impatient noise they make: they look ready to stretch themselves out of their nest, and as if their little mouths would tear.”

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