Look at the nest for the last time now, and see the soft, lovely
lining of ducks' feathers and lambs' wool.

Why do you suppose it was made so velvet soft and fleecy? Why, for the
little birds that were coming, of course; and sure enough, one morning
after the tiny house was all finished, I leaned far out of the window
and saw five little eggs cuddled close together; but I did not get
much chance to look at those precious eggs, I can tell you; for the
mamma bird could scarcely spare a minute to go and get a drink of
water, so afraid was she that they would miss the warmth of her downy
wings.

There she sat in the long May days and warm, still nights: who but a
mamma would be so sweet and kind and patient?--but SHE didn't mind the
trouble--not a bit. Bless her dear little bird-heart, they were not
eggs to her: she could see them even now as they were going to be, her
five cunning, downy, feathery birdlings, chirping and fluttering under
her wings; so she never minded the ache in her back or the cramp in
her legs, but sat quite still at home, though there were splendid
picnics in the strawberry patches and concerts on the fence rails, and
all the father birds, and all the mother birds that were not hatching
eggs, were having a great deal of fun this beautiful weather. At last
all was over, and I was waked up one morning by such a chirping and
singing--such a fluttering and flying--I knew in a minute that where
the night before there had been two birds and five eggs, now there
were seven birds and nothing but egg-shells in the green willow-tree!

The papa oriole would hardly wait for me to dress, but flew on and off
the window-sill, seeming to say, "Why don't you get up? why don't you