Happily, however, during that spring, they never, but once, got anything but empty nests, or eggs--being too impatient to leave them till the birds were hatched; that once, Tom, who had been with his uncle into the neighbouring plantation, came running in high glee into the garden, with a brood of little callow nestlings in his hands.

Mary Ann and Fanny, whom I was just bringing out, ran to admire his spoils, and to beg each a bird for themselves.
'No, not one!' cried Tom.

'They're all mine; uncle Robson gave them to me--one, two, three, four, five--you shan't touch one of them! no, not one, for your lives!' continued he, exultingly; laying the nest on the ground, and standing over it with his legs wide apart, his hands thrust into his breeches-pockets, his body bent forward, and his face twisted into all manner of contortions in the ecstasy of his delight.
'But you shall see me fettle 'em off.

My word, but I _will_ wallop 'em?
See if I don't now.

By gum! but there's rare sport for me in that nest.' 'But, Tom,' said I, 'I shall not allow you to torture those birds.