She had gone up and down several times before her hunger-sharpened eyes caught the gleam of white through the ferns growing thickly out of the moist mossy cracks which everywhere seamed the wall.

She pushed the ferns aside.

There was the nest, the length of her forearm into the dim seclusion of a deep hole.

She felt round, found the egg that was warm.

And as she drew it out she laughed softly and said half aloud: "Breakfast is ready!" No, not quite ready.