180 The Statue and the Birds.

The little Bird did not quite lose hope, how-
ever. ‘When the time comes, I am sure he will
not fail us,” she said.

Soon the man came, and placing his ladder
against the Statue, began his work.

‘Strike, strike, now is your time,” screamed
the Bird. But, alas, the Statue remained as before,
and no blow was struck to defend the little home.
His head was thoroughly cleaned, and I really
think he must have been, at heart, a pretty poor
sort of Statue, for he did not even resent this,
but sat there calmly, while the man soaped and
scrubbed his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. And
the nest was at last discovered.

“Well, well,” said the man, “a quare shpot
indade for to build a nist,” and he threw it away.

The poor birds were broken-hearted. But
their friend, the big Oak-tree, comforted them,
saying:

“To-night you, with the help of your friends,
can bring your nest up here and spend the summer
with me, after all.”

So when the darkness came, the birds called