Sticks and roots and bark, straw and grass and locks
of dirty sheep's-wool, made up its bulk and its untidiness; and this
thing Sin held out with glee, declaring she had brought a real treasure
to add to Miss Craydocke's collection.
"Such a chance!" she said, coming in. "One mightn't have another in a
dozen years. I have just given Jimmy Wigley a quarter for it, and he'd
just all but broken his neck to get it. It's a real crow's nest.
Corvinus something-else-us, I suppose. Where will you have it? I'm going
to nail it up for you myself. Won't it make a nice contrast to the
humming-bird's? Over the bed, shall I? But then, if it _should_ drop
down on your nose, you know! I think the corner over the fireplace will
be best. Yes, we'll have it right up perpendicular, in the angle. The
branch twists a little, you see, and the nest will run out with its odds
and ends like an old banner. Might I push up the washstand to get on
to?"
"Suppose you lay it _in_ the fireplace? It will just rest nicely across
those evergreen boughs, and--be in the current of ventilation outward.
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