Tom tried again to interest the rescuer in this little companion,
imprisoned within its own cozy little home, whom they were taking back
to camp. He could not comprehend how one who had performed such a stunt
as Hervey had just performed, and been so careful and humane, could
forget about his act so soon and take so little interest in the bird
which had been saved by his reckless courage. But that was Hervey
Willetts all over. His heart went where action was. And his interest
lapsed when action ceased.

"Somebody in a book called the oriole Orestes, because that means
dweller in the woods," Tom ventured.

"He dwells in a sky-scraper, that's what _I_ say," Hervey commented. "In
a hall bedroom upside down, twenty floors up."

Tom tried again. "What do you mean to do with her now that you've got
her?" he asked.

"I'm going to turn her over to you, Slady. You're the real scout; none
genuine unless marked T. S. You've got the birds all eating out of your
hands."

"You didn't tear the nest from the branch," Tom said. "You must have had
some idea."

"Well," said Hervey, "my idea was to stick it up in an elm tree down at
camp. Think she'd stand for it?"

"Guess so," Tom said.