As the elms bent to one another, like giants who were whispering secrets, and after a few seconds of such repose, fell into a violent flurry, tossing their wild arms about, as if their late confidences were really too wicked for their peace of mind, some weatherbeaten ragged old rooks'-nests, burdening their higher branches, swung like wrecks upon a stormy sea.
'Where are the birds ?' asked Miss Betsey.
'The-- ?' My mother had been thinking of something else.
'The rooks--what has become of them ?' asked Miss Betsey.
'There have not been any since we have lived here,' said my mother.

'We thought--Mr.Copperfield thought--it was quite a large rookery; but the nests were very old ones, and the birds have deserted them a long while.' 'David Copperfield all over!' cried Miss Betsey.

'David Copperfield from head to foot! Calls a house a rookery when there's not a rook near it, and takes the birds on trust, because he sees the nests!' 'Mr.Copperfield,' returned my mother, 'is dead, and if you dare to speak unkindly of him to me--' My poor dear mother, I suppose, had some momentary intention of committing an assault and battery upon my aunt, who could easily have settled her with one hand, even if my mother had been in far better training for such an encounter than she was that evening.

But it passed with the action of rising from her chair; and she sat down again very meekly, and fainted.
When she came to herself, or when Miss Betsey had restored her, whichever it was, she found the latter standing at the window.

The twilight was by this time shading down into darkness; and dimly as they saw each other, they could not have done that without the aid of the fire.
'Well ?' said Miss Betsey, coming back to her chair, as if she had only been taking a casual look at the prospect; 'and when do you expect--' 'I am all in a tremble,' faltered my mother.