She had two secrets now to keep from her sisters, and strangely enough, they were both connected with Roger Madison. Victoria felt that life had become very complicated within the last few months. She found her eldest sister sitting on a rustic bench under the trees, with her work in her hands. She was making a dress for Sophy, who was playing with her doll, but who was so deeply interested in Peter’s occupation that the doll was frequently neglected. Peter was lying back in his chair while he held an opera-glass to his eyes and gazed up into the branches of the tree above him. No one had spoken for some time, and when Victoria drew near, her brother held up his hand with a gesture of warning. “Hush!” he whispered. Victoria sank quietly upon the grass and waited. It gave her time to think over her aunt’s disturbing speeches, and for this she was not sorry. The silence lasted for some minutes, and then Peter put down his glass. “It’s a robin’s nest,” said he. “I thought it was, from the shape. I bet if we could see into it, we’d find it was lined with mud. Robins’ nests always are. The young ones are getting quite big, and one is terribly greedy when the old ones come. I daresay it is a cowbird.” “But you said they were robins, Peter,” said Sophy. “I know I did, but that doesn’t prevent a cowbird being there too, does it? That is just what those hateful cowbirds do. They are too lazy to build nests of their own, but they go and lay their eggs in other birds’ nests whenever they get a chance, and never go near them again. Then the cowbird’s egg gets hatched with the robin’s or the catbird’s eggs, or whatever nest it happens to have been laid in, and the little cowbird is awfully greedy and snatches all the food, and grows up to be just like its parents. Oh, they are hateful birds! I was reading about them to-day in a book Mr. Madison lent me on birds. It said there that no self-respecting American bird will have anything to do with cowbirds. English sparrows are the only birds that will go with them. I thought that was pretty good, for every one knows that an English sparrow hasn’t much self-respect. I’m sure that is a cowbird up there, poking its head so far out and snatching, every time the old robins come with the worms.” “Oh, Peter, I wish you would let me look!” said Sophy, in pleading tones. Peter hesitated. He was very much interested in the proceedings in the tree; the opera-glass was adjusted to exactly the right point for his eyes, and in all probability Sophy would move it—she always did. Then, again, Sophy would never be able to locate the nest, and much valuable time would be wasted for nothing.