I was greatly taken with the thought, and, dropping my hand-axe,
hurried into the house and wrote a note to her at once, which I
thereupon tied to the end of the pole by a short string. But as I
started for the garden this arrangement looked too much like catching
Georgiana with a bait. Therefore, happening to remember, I stopped at
my tool-house, where I keep a little of everything, and took from a peg
a fine old specimen of a goldfinch's nest. This I fastened to the end
of the pole, and hiding my note in it, now felt better satisfied. No
one but Georgiana herself would ever be able to tell what it was that I
might wish to lift up to her at any time; and in case of its being not
a note, but a plum--a berry--a peach--it would be as safe as it was
unseen. This old house of a pair of goldfinches would thus become the
home of our fledgling hopes: every day a new brood of vows would take
flight across its rim into our bosoms.

Watching my chance during the afternoon, when the sewing-girl was not
there, I rushed over and pushed the stick up to the window.

"Georgiana," I called out, "feel in the nest!"

She hurried to the window with her sewing in her arms. The nest swayed
to and fro on a level with her nose.

"What is it?" she cried, drawing back with extreme distaste.

"You feel in it!" I repeated.

"I don't wish to feel in it," she said. "Take it away!"