BIRD STORIES 



and softly with dried grass, and made a comfortable 

 place to sit, no doubt. At least, Dot liked it; and Peter 

 must have had some fondness for it, too, for he slipped 

 on when Dot was not there herself. It just fitted their 

 little bodies, and there were four eggs in it of which any 

 sandpiper might well have been proud; for they were 

 much, much bigger than most birds the size of Dot could 

 ever lay. In fact, her little body could hardly have cov- 

 ered them snugly enough to keep them w^arm if they had 

 not been packed just so, with the pointed ends pushed 

 down into the middle of the rather deep nest. 



The eggs were creamy white, with brown spots 

 splashed over them — the proper sort of eggs (if only 

 they had been smaller) to tuck beneath a warm breast 

 decorated with pretty polka dots. But still, they must 

 have been her very own, or Dot could not have taken 

 such good care of them. 



Because of this care, day by day the little body inside 

 each shell grew from the wonderful single cell it started 

 life with, to a many-celled creature, all fitted out with 

 lungs and a heart and rich warm blood, and very slender 

 legs, and very dear heads with very bright eyes, and all 

 the other parts it takes to make a bird. When the birds 

 were all made, they broke the shells and pushed aside 

 the pieces. And four more capable little rascals never 

 were hatched. 



44 



