NESTS PRAT FAIRIES SIT IN 761 
women whose hearts the wicked little demon has 
frozen. 
Into hats! Ah, I think if one of those poor, 
frozen-hearted women could see a Humming-bird, 
sitting alive in its own little fairy nest, she would 
blush—yes, 4/ush—to think of it in her hat, even 
though she wore a pretty one and was pretty, herself, 
too. For I must tell you that the nests that 
Humming-birds make are so pretty and graceful and 
delicate that one might almost think they had been 
made by the fairies, and, indeed, the Indians say that 
the fairies do make them, and give them to the 
Humming-birds. But that is not really true. Hum- 
ming-birds make their own nests, like other birds, 
though I cannot help thinking that, sometimes, the 
fairies must sit in them. Yes, they sit and swing in 
them sometimes, I feel sure, in the warm, tropical 
nights, when the stars are set thick in the sky and 
the fire-flies make stars in the air. For they hang 
like little cradles from the tips of the leaves of palm- 
trees, or from the ends of long, dangling creepers or 
tendrils, or even from the drooping petal of a flower. 
They are made of the fine webs of spiders, all plaited 
and woven, or of down that is like our thistle-down, 
but thicker and softer and silkier. And you may 
think of everything that is soft and delicate and 
graceful and fragile and fairy-like, but when you 
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