After a short consultation, the pair of Blackbirds set off on an exploring expedition. First of all they carefully examined the ivy which covered an old wall near the stables: but they did not consider the stems of the ivy were quite strong enough to support their nest. They then looked at some laurel-bushes. But no, these would not do. The position was too exposed, the branches were much too far apart, their nest would soon be discovered. Then a very compact little evergreen bush on the lawn in front of the old house caught their eyes. It was thick and well grown, every branch was covered, so that a nest could not be seen by the passers-by. Yes, it was the very place for them, there they might build in security, and at the same time watch their dear little friends as they went out and about each day. They carefully inspected each bough of the said bush, and then, having chosen a spot at the lower end of a branch where it joined the main stem, they set to work to build in right good earnest. Small twigs, the waifs and strays of last autumn, strewed the ground in a little wilderness hard by, and thither the Blackbirds repaired. Hour after hour both might be seen flitting between the wood and their chosen bush, with twigs in their yellow beaks. These they neatly laid on the branch, and then twisted them in and out, and round and round each other, and then a little moss and a few soft fibres were added to the harder twigs. The whole fabric soon began to assume a round, nest-like appearance. It grew fair and shapely, and the exultant Blackbird paused to pour forth a "clear, mellow, bold song," as he alighted for a moment on the summit of the Deodor. Then he and his gentle partner, feeling the "keen demands of appetite," determined to go and refresh themselves with some food, and they repaired to a field not very far off. There they found the Rook hopping along the freshly-turned furrows, eagerly picking up the grubs which had been brought to the surface by the plough-share. The repast did not look very inviting,--those small, gray grubs! But it was the Rook's favourite food, and the farmers were not sorry that he and his feathered friends should make a meal of that same gray grub, for these insects sometimes destroy whole acres of grass. They bury themselves in the turf, and then it turns brown and dies. These grubs are mischievous indeed,--after remaining for some time in the grub state, they change into cockchafers, and even then they are by no means agreeable visitors. "Good morning, my friend," said the polite old Rook, "this is a very pleasant change of food after the hard winter berries, isn't it?" "Indeed, it is," replied the Blackbird, picking up a grub, "but I like better feeding near the hedgerows; however, this isn't bad after a hard day's work." "Oh, you are house building, are you?" said the Rook. "I hope you have chosen wisely, and got a good mate to work with you, one who is industrious and affectionate."