"_For he that hath his own world
Hath many worlds more._"
A boy, whom I knew very well, was once going through a meadow which was
full of buttercups. He sat down by an old hawthorn hedge which was
covered with blossoms, and took out a slice of plum-cake for his lunch.
While the boy was eating, he observed that this hedge was very high
and thick, and that there was a great hollow in the trunk of the old
thorn-tree, and he heard a twittering as if there was a nest somewhere
inside. So he thrust his head in, twisted himself around, and looked up.
After getting used to the dim light in the hollow of the tree, he saw, a
good way above his head, a curious nest. It was about three times as
large as a goldfinch's. Just then he thought he heard some little voices
cry, "Jack, Jack!"
"I must get near," said the boy. So he began to wriggle and twist
himself up, and just as he reached the top three heads which had been
peeking over the edge of the nest suddenly popped down again.
"Those heads had no beaks, and the things have no feathers," said Jack,
as he stood on tip-toe and poked in one of his fingers.
When he snatched one of them out of the nest, it gave a loud squeak, and
Jack was so frightened that he lost his footing, dropped it, and slipped
down himself. Luckily, he was not hurt, nor the "thing" either. It was
creeping about like an old baby, and had on a little frock and pinafore.