when they had their eyes open there was much to be seen. at least, they thought so. was there not the hollow in their dear, dry old tree, a hollow four or five times as high as they could reach? their mother had told them how their father and she had dug it out with their sharp, strong bills, making it roomy at the bottom, and leaving a doorway at the top just large enough for them to pass through. part of the chips they had taken away, as the mother had taken the broken shells, and part had been left in the bottom of the hollow for the children to lie on. "i don't believe in grass, hair, and down, as a bed for children," their father had said. "nice soft chips are far better."