"It's awfully small!" said Chubbins.
"Chut-chut!" twittered Policeman Bluejay. "Remember you are not children now, but skylarks, and that this is a thrush's nest. Try it, and you are sure to find it will fit you exactly."
So Twinkle and Chubbins flew into the "house" and nestled their bodies against its soft lining and found that their friend was right. When they were cuddled together, with their slender legs tucked into the feathers of their breasts, they just filled the nest to the brim, and no more room was necessary.
"Now, I'll mark the nest for you, so that everyone will know you claim it," said the policeman; and with his bill he pecked a row of small dots in the bark of the limb, just beside the nest. "I hope you will be very happy here, and this afternoon I will bring some friends to meet you. So now good-bye until I see you again."
"Wait!" cried Chubbins. "What are we going to eat?"
"Eat!" answered the bluejay, as if surprised. "Why, you may feast upon all the good things the forest offers—grubs, beetles, worms, and butterfly-eggs."
"Ugh!" gasped Chubbins. "It makes me sick to just think of it."
"What!"
"You see," said Twinkle, "we are not all birds, Mr. Bluejay, as you are; and that makes a big difference. We have no bills to pick up the things that birds like to eat, and we do not care for the same sort of food, either."
"What do you care for?" asked the policeman, in a puzzled voice.