uld the eggs fall out and be broken? would the nest be robbed?

"One, two, three, four, five," counted the little boy slowly, while a
poor palpitating heart counted each moment. How long those moments
seemed!

The little boy still held the bough in his grasp, the nest was on one
side, he stretched out his eager little hand.

The Blackbird scarcely breathed. The boy's fingers were over the nest;
they nearly closed on one of the eggs. Then he suddenly drew back, "No,
no, Alice," he said, "Mamma says I must never rob the poor birds. We
won't rob our own Blackbird."

Then the branch was slowly released and returned to its place, and the
little fellow, who with no small amount of self-denial had conquered the
intense desire to take the eggs, stood still gazing at the bush. Little
Miss Alice now made signs that she wished to be lifted up to see into
the nest, and with no small difficulty her sturdy young brother obliged
her.

"Look, Alice, pretty eggs; but we mustn't touch, and we mustn't tell any
one."

At that moment the front door of the old manor house again opened, and
this time a voice called, "Master Willie, Miss Alice, wherever have you
got to?"

At hearing this sudden appeal, Willie dropped his little sister, both
because her weight was rather more than he could well support, and
because he was afraid that "Nanny" might find out what they were doing.
However, as Alice fell on the grass she was not hurt. Willie quickly
helped her up, and, as they ran towards the house, the Blackbird heard
Willie say, "We won't tell any one about our nest, will we? It's a great
secret."

It was some time before the poor bird recovered from his terrible
fright. His little heart beat very fast, and when his wife returned, and
he told her all about the children's visit, it was with bated and
often-interrupted breath.

That night his sleep was disturbed by very unpleasant dreams. He had
visions of numbers of little boys who kept coming to look at his nest,
and who pulled the bough down to the ground. Then he saw the eggs
rolling out slowly one after the other on to the lawn. And then he would
wake with a start to find that after all it was only a dream, and would
see the bright moonlight shining on the dewy grass, and hear afar off
the hoarse trill of the night-jar, or the boding screech of the great
white owl.

All that night he could not help feeling nervous, and he was very glad
indeed when the first streaks of dawn became