She Patace in the Pig-pen 
under one of the cracks in the loose board roof. The 
nest was receiving its first linings when there came 
a long, hard rain that beat through the crack and 
soaked the little cradle. This was serious, for a great 
deal of mud had been worked into the thick founda- 
tion, and here, in the constant shade, the dampness 
would be long in drying out. 
The builders saw the mistake, too, and with their 
great good sense immediately began to remedy it. 
They built the bottom up thicker, carried the wall 
over on a slant that brought the outermost point 
within the crack, then raised the whole nest until 
the cup was as round-rimmed and hollow as the 
mould of the bird’s breast could make it. 
The outside of the nest, its base, is broad and 
rough and shapeless enough; but nothing could be 
softer and lovelier than the inside, the cradle, and 
nothing drier, for the slanting walls shed every drop 
from the leaky crack. 
Wet weather followed the heavy rain until long 
after the nest was finished. The whole structure was 
as damp and cold as a newly plastered house. It felt 
wet to my touch. Yet I noticed the birds were already 
brooding. Every night, and often during the day, I 
167 
