Boy. And do they get it?
Mother. The old birds fly far and near to fetch it. You saw one with some in its bill.
Boy. I see a bird now with some in its mouth.
Mother. Do not make a noise, lest you fright the poor thing.—Hush! hush!—let us creep gently, and see the bird go to her nest.
They saw the bird alight on a bush just by: she hopped from twig to twig till she got to the nest: she gave the little worm which she had in her beak to her young, and then flew away in search of more.
Boy. Now may I talk?
Mother. Yes, my dear;—are you not pleased to see the birds?
Boy. Yes, mother.—When will the little ones fly?
Mother. When they have got all their feathers.
Boy. How will they learn?