“Of course I do,” said the mother woodpigeon. “We sleep in trees. They are the only beds we should care to trust ourselves to.”
“Aren’t they rather hard?” said Tommy Smith.
“Not at all,” said the woodpigeon. “You see, we have our own feathers, so that makes them feather-beds. They are soft enough and warm enough for us, you may be quite sure.”
“But it must be very windy up in the trees,” said Tommy Smith.
“That is the great advantage of the situation,” said the mother woodpigeon. “Our beds are always well aired, so we need never feel anxious about that. However much it rains they can never be damp, for how can a bed be damp and well-aired at the same time?”
Tommy Smith couldn’t think of the right answer to this, and the woodpigeon went on, “So, now, I have told you how we pass the day. What a happy, happy life! He must have a cruel heart who could put an end to it.” (And Tommy Smith thought so too.)
“But is that what you always do?” he asked.
“Of course, when there are eggs and young ones it makes a difference,” said the mother woodpigeon; “and in winter we keep different hours. But that is our usual summer life, and I think it a very pleasant one.”
“Oh, so do I!” said Tommy Smith. “Thank you, Mrs. Woodpigeon, for telling me. Now I must go to my lessons, and I will tell them all about it at home.”