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want them to bring up and keep in a cage. I'm going to transport them to the shed in the playground."
The first boy winced sharply at his companion's words, and the four lads present burst into a derisive laugh at his annoyance; but he smothered it down, and said quietly:--"Then you may as well leave them alone, for they're not blackbirds."
"Yes, they are, stoopid."
"No, they're not."
"How do you know?"
"Because I found the nest when it was first built, and saw the eggs and the old bird sitting."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Oh, I say, isn't he a nice, good little boy? He doesn't want me to take the young birds because he wants to steal them himself."
The others laughed in their thoughtlessness as their schoolfellow winced again, and Brian Green still hung on to the bank, sucking the scratches on his bleeding hand and grinning with satisfaction at the annoyance his innuendoes caused.
"I say, boys," he cried, "they don't transport people for life for stealing young blackbirds, do they?"
There was a fresh roar of laughter, and the boys watched Dominic Braydon, who stood frowning, to see if he would make some sharp retort, verbal or physical, and perhaps get thrashed again. But he concealed his annoyance, and said quietly:
"That's a thrush's nest."
"You don't know anything about it, Convict," said Green.
The boy winced again; but he went on:
"Well, I know that. Blackbirds make rougher nests, and they're not plastered inside so neatly with clay as that is. Then the eggs are different: blackbirds' are all smudgy, dingy green; those were beautiful blue eggs, with a few clear spots on one end. Yes, look," he cried; "there's half one of them."
As he spoke he leaped down into the ditch, and picked up a fragile, dried-up portion of an egg and showed it to his companions.
"Yah! Old Botany Bay don't know what he's talking about," said Green, dragging a hedge-stake from the top of the bank, and wrenching the upper part of the de