“But they haven’t. Not once. Mother hated it so. But if you start——”
“My good kid, where’s the harm? Birds can’t count.”
She flamed up at him in her sudden way.
“Harm? How would you like having your insides blown out before you’d ever been born?”
He chuckled and took up his cap.
“Oh, rot! Come on!”
She shook her head.
“Oh, all right then!” and he ran downstairs whistling.
She sat on the window-seat, her leg tucked under her and watched him swing across the lawn and dive into the wood, and still sat there, twiddling the latch and thinking things out. After all, did it matter?... Birds had so many children.... Birds couldn’t count.... If Justin began collecting eggs again he would be in the woods all day.... Would it—could it matter just going with him?... If one didn’t take eggs oneself?...
But the facts were too clear for her. Birds-nesting was cruel.... Mother never let you.... There was nothing—nothing to be done....