Listen!" Felix listened and heard nothing.
"A wren;" and, screwing up his lips, Tod emitted a sound: "Look!" Felix saw on the branch of an apple-tree a tiny brown bird with a little beak sticking out and a little tail sticking up.

And he thought: 'Tod's hopeless!' "That fellow," said Tod softly, "has got his nest there just behind us." Again he emitted the sound.

Felix saw the little bird move its head with a sort of infinite curiosity, and hop twice on the branch.
"I can't get the hen to do that," Tod murmured.
Felix put his hand on his brother's arm--what an arm! "Yes," he said; "but look here, old man--I really want to talk to you." Tod shook his head.

"Wait for her," he said.
Felix waited.

Tod was getting awfully eccentric, living this queer, out-of-the-way life with a cranky woman year after year; never reading anything, never seeing any one but tramps and animals and villagers.