“I want her to give me some of the pretty brown eggs.”
“Well, go right down there by the sea-path, and you'll find her, as likely as not.”
“Very well,” answered Nora. Slinging her basket on her arm, she started for her walk. As soon as she was out of sight she began to run. Presently she stopped and began whistling “The Wearing of the Green,” which was responded to in a moment by another voice, sweet as that of a blackbird. She looked to right and left, and presently saw a pair of laughing black eyes looking down at her from beneath the shelter of a huge oak tree.
“Here I am. Will you climb up?” said the voice of Bridget Murphy.
“Give me a hand, and I'll be up with you in a moment,” said Nora. She tossed her basket on the ground; a very firm, little brown hand was extended; and the next moment the girls were seated side by side on a stout branch of the tree.
“Well, and what has brought you along here?” said Bridget.
“I came with father and mother in the dog-cart,” replied Nora. “Father let me drive Black Bess. I had a jolly time; but she did pull a bit—my wrists are quite stiff.”
“I am glad you have come,” said the other girl. “I was having a concert all by myself. I can imitate the thrush, the blackbird, and most of the birds round here. Shall I do the thrush for you?”
Before Nora could speak she began imitating the full liquid notes of the bird to perfection.
“I declare you have a genius for it,” said Nora. “But how are you yourself, Biddy?”