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Updated: May 15, 2025
"I used to be as fond of birdsnesting as you are. I like brave boys, and I like you for wanting to enter the Royal Navy. Only, how can you if you do not learn? You must get the captains to pass you, you know. Somebody spoils you: Miss Dale or Mr. Whitford." "Do they?" sung out young Crossjay. "Sir Willoughby does?" "I don't know about spoil. I can come round him."
If a boy should climb up birdsnesting into the fork of it, thought I, he might go down feet first and hands overhead, and never be heard of again. How inexplicable too, as well as melancholy, such a disappearance would be! Before I had left the coachbox I had thought out 'Lost Sir Massingberd.
"Now I'm in for it, for there's Dobbs, I vow," exclaimed Percy to himself, in dismay; "he'll guess I've given Dave warning," and he tried to strike a careless attitude, picking off his glasses to hold them up and gaze long and earnestly through them into the nearest tree. "You can't come it," jeered Dobbs, from his window. "No birdsnesting, I promise you, Whitney; ha, ha!"
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