“Not much here,” he commented disgustedly. “Sparrows and chaffinches and robins. Bellew would hoot.” He laughed. “That’s the right word. He’s like a bird himself, you know. All the birds that ever were, rolled into one. Cocks his eye at you before he speaks and ruffles up his hair like a parrot when he’s keen. I never knew such a man. They say South Kensington would give its ears for his collection. And he can tell you every blessed thing every blessed bird in England thinks, or says, or does, from the egg on. You should hear him doing the notes. Hear that blackbird in the wood? You can’t tell whether that squawk is temper, or a worm gone down the wrong way, or a love affair. Nor can I. But if you got hold of Bellew——” Laura sniffed. She was sorry, but she did not like Mr. Bellew, and she didn’t care who knew it. “It’s squawking at Tom. He’s always under that nest. He got two of the babies last year. And it’s not a blackbird, it’s a garden warbler. They always build in that tree.” “A garden warbler? How do you know?” “_British Feather Folk._” Laura twinkled. And then—“Mother loved birds.” He scanned his trays. “What luck! I haven’t got a garden warbler. And it’s stopped raining. Come on and show me the nest.” “Justin, you’re not going to take the eggs?” “Well, what do you think? I tell you I’m going in for it again—seriously. Come on.” She made no movement. He glanced up at her, surprised by her silence into an observant glance. “What’s up, Laura?” She turned a distressed face to him. “If you start—Wilfred and James will think they can too. And it’s been so difficult to stop them.” He laughed. “If you think you can stop kids taking eggs——” “But they haven’t. Not once. Mother hated it so. But if you start——” “My good kid, where’s the harm? Birds can’t count.” She flamed up at him in her sudden way. “Harm? How would you like having your insides blown out before you’d ever been born?” He chuckled and took up his cap. “Oh, rot! Come on!” She shook her head. “Oh, all right then!” and he ran downstairs whistling. She sat on the window-seat, her leg tucked under her and watched him swing across the lawn and dive into the wood, and still sat there, twiddling the latch and thinking things out. After all, did it matter?... Birds had so many children.... Birds couldn’t count.... If Justin began collecting eggs again he would be in the woods all day.... Would it—could it matter just going with him?... If one didn’t take eggs oneself?... But the facts were too clear for her. Birds-nesting was cruel.... Mother never let you.... There was nothing—nothing to be done.... Justin had been gone ages.... She supposed he would be out all the morning now.... He had left the room in a most dreadfully untidy state.... Oh, well! She set to work. It was in a very damp heap, on a very tidy floor, that half an hour later a tactless maid discovered her. But Laura, scrambling to her feet, forestalled all comment.