"Nonsense, children!" said a grave old Satin Bird, "your trifles are not
to be compared with that beautiful object I found to-day and arranged
along the top of the bower. The effect is splendid!"
As he spoke, Dot observed that, twined amidst the topmost twigs of the
construction was a strip of red flannel from an old shirt, a bedraggled
red rag that must have been found in an extinct camp fire, judging by its
singed edges.
The day Dot had lost her way she had been threading beads, and she still
had upon her finger a ring of the pretty coloured pieces of glass. She saw
the old Satin Bird look at this ring longingly, so she pulled it off, and
begged that it might be added to the other decorations. It was instantly
given the place of honour--over the entrance and above the piece of milk
tin.
This gift from Dot caused an immediate flow of conversation, because every
bird was pleased to have something to talk about. They all began to say
how beautiful the beads were. "Quite too lovely!" said one. "What a
charming little Human!" exclaimed another. "Just the finish that our
bower required," was a general remark, and a great many kept exclaiming,
"So tasteful!" "So sweet!" "How elegant!" "Exquisite!" "It's a love!"
"It's a dear!" and so on. A great deal more was said, but the oldest
bower bird, thinking that all the adjectives were getting used up, told
the frogs and crickets to start the music again, so as to keep the
excitement going, and all further observations were drowned in the noise.
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