this bird's
nest, it looks so exactly like the part of a tree."

"Have you a blackbird's egg?" asked Jack. "I know his note, for it is
clear and louder than that of most of the other birds."

"Yes, here are some. You see they are of a bluish-green colour, with
dark blotches; and very pretty they are too.--Those blue eggs with a few
black spots on them belong to the thrush. You must have heard the
thrushes singing about grandpa's garden; there are plenty of them
there."

"I'm afraid you haven't a cuckoo's egg, Tom," said Annie.

"I am so lucky as to have one, Annie. It is very small for the size of
the bird, and not particularly pretty. You see it is a dull-looking egg,
whitish, with pale-brown markings. This particular egg was taken from
the nest of a hedge-sparrow; but cuckoos' eggs have been found in the
nests of many other birds--robin's, and skylark's, and chaffinch's,
linnet's, blackbird's, and wren's, and many more besides."

"Why does not the cuckoo build a nest for herself?" asked Annie.

"Nobody seems to know why she doesn't; but there's the fact. When the
cuckoo has laid an egg, she carries it in her wide, gaping mouth, and
puts it into the nest of another bird that she has chosen for it. When
the egg is hatched, the young cuckoo grows so fast that he wants all the
nest to himself. He turns the other young birds that have been hatched
with him out of the nest, and the true parents of these little birds
have to spend all their time in feeding the cuckoo. It takes a great
deal to feed him, because he grows so fast, and is so much larger than
they are. They don't seem to mind it though.--Those pale-green eggs with
dark-brown spots belonged to a rook's nest in the elm-tree at the bottom
of the garden. There's a curious story about those rooks down there, for
they have not been there long. There is an old rookery belonging to the
Rectory close by our house; and one day the rooks from there came to our
elm-tree. It was in the spring. At last they came frequently, and
chattered, and cawed, and flew round and round, as if they did not know
what to do about building their nests in it. By-and-by their visits
ceased, and they built their nests as usual in the Rectory trees. That
very summer, during one still night, a large branch, almost a third of
the elm-tree, fell to the ground. The rooks seemed to know that the
tree was not safe, and so they would not build in it. That was two years
ago; and this spring they ha