“I have had that good fortune,” said his uncle, “and even now I am strangely moved whenever I think of those twenty little heads stretching up from the bottom of the nest, trembling and with open beaks as if their mother had come. I looked for a moment through the opening of the nest at the tiny creatures, and then withdrew. The parents were already at hand, ruffling their feathers with anxiety. Fear nothing, little birds, so watchful of your family; Uncle Paul is not one to commit the crime of touching your nest.” “Nor Emile, either,” chimed in the boy. “Nor yet Jules or Louis,” added the last-named. “I hope not, indeed; for otherwise Uncle Paul would tell you no more stories. “The penduline’s nest is still more remarkable. This titmouse is found hardly anywhere except along the banks of the lower Rhone. It hangs its nest very high, from the tip of some swaying tree branch by the waterside, so that its young are gently rocked by the breeze from the water. The nest is a sort of oval purse about as large as a quart bottle and pierced on the side near the top by a narrow opening that would hardly admit a man’s thumb. To enter its nest the tomtit, small though it is, must stretch the elastic wall, which yields a little and then contracts again. This purse-shaped abode is made of the cotton-like fluff that flies off in May from the ripe catkins of poplars and willows. The bird gathers this material and then weaves it together with a warp of wool and hemp. The resulting fabric resembles the felt of a coarse hat. “I am at a loss to understand how the bird manages to weave with its beak and claws a stuff superior to any that the unaided human fingers could produce; and yet it does this with no instruction, with no hesitation, and with no hints from the work of others. At its very first attempt the titmouse puts to shame the studied art of our weavers and fullers. The top or roof of the nest includes in its structure the tip of the branch from which it hangs and also the little twigs growing out of that tip end which serve as a framework for the vault; but the foliage emerges from the sides of the nest and furnishes shade from the sun’s heat. Finally, to secure the nest more firmly, cordage of wool and hemp binds the upper part to the branch and below is worked into the woof of the felt. The inside is lined with poplar fluff of the best quality. It takes a pair of pendulines three weeks of the hardest work to make this marvel.” “Doesn’t the rain ever get through the covering of the nest?” Emile inquired. “No; the felt is so thick and so closely woven that even with the hardest rain not a drop of water can leak into the cotton-lined interior.” “How comfortable the little birds must be in their snug nest! The wind rocks them gently over the water, and from their little window they can see the river flowing below. What is this clever penduline like?”