“Twe—et! twe—et! Save my little ones,” piteously cried the mother bird.
Her head showed just above the border of the nest. Brave mother bird! she did not stir as the children came nearer. Out of the green twilighty hedge her watching eyes shone wistfully. Kitty thought they turned upon her. Their light seemed to burn into her heart.
“Twe—et! twe—et! Save my little ones! Save my little ones!” entreated the mother bird.
Then Kitty sprang from the children. She placed herself between them and that part of the hedge where stood the nest. She defended its approach with all her might. She waved her brave little arms like the sails of a windmill in a tempest, pushing down the children as they came. Pitiful little arms, eager to comfort, not to hurt. The father bird did his best to help in the battle. He flew against the invaders. He fluttered his wings in their faces. He pecked at their noses, at their hair.
“Twe—et, bu—urr, bu—urr! Shame, shame!” he cried louder and louder.
The mother bird kept up a piteous twe—et.
This touching little noise, that sounded between a sob and a prayer to be delivered from the cruel children, seemed to give Kitty strength. But what could she do against so many? Alone against a crew of spoilers! She shut her eyes as the children dragged her from the place she had defended. She heard them clambering through the hedge and the crack of the twigs. She heard the sorrow of all the birds—the screech of the father, the wail of the mother. Then came a wild hurrah! and she knew the children had their hands on the nest. The hurrah stopped all of a sudden.
Kitty looked up. Two severe-looking old dames, carrying birch rods, had suddenly appeared on the scene.
Whack! whack! went the rods.