suggested Judy.
The Nest Department lay under the shelter of a very old and twisted branch of the Tree that had fallen to the ground so many years ago that most of the bark was crumbling to pieces. The nests were arranged in neat piles, and each pile was labelled. Like this:
Nests. Top bough
Nests. Middle and lower boughs
Nests. Hedge
Nests. Eaves
Nests. Cuckoo-proof and Cat-burglar-proof
Nests. Ground floor
There was also a little catalogue hanging on a twig, with a label on the cover, bearing the words, ‘Nests, sites for …’
Judy had taken a great deal of trouble over these nests, and at first they had been a great success, because she had been able to supply the demand of almost any bird in the wood. Judy had only to go to the pile, find the right nest, and then turn to the catalogue to see what branches were ‘to let’. The index of the catalogue began with Acacias (white) and ended with Willows (weeping), and in a few moments she had found what was wanted.
But now, Judy was bound to admit, the nests did look rather dilapidated. She had been so busy in other departments that she had not had time to attend to them, and many of them were falling to pieces.
‘No self-respecting bird would buy any of these,’ said Mrs Judy. ‘Lots of them have holes in the floor so that the eggs would fall out.’
‘Oh dear! So they have!’ Judy picked one of them and turned it over in her hands. Then she had an idea. ‘Supposing I made some beautiful new ones, with a partition down the middle? Then we could put in a lovely advertisement: “Ultra-Modern Two-roomed Nests. Exclusive.”’
‘With central heating, I suppose,’ sniffed Mrs Judy sarcastically.
‘I don’t think we could quite run to that,’ replied Judy. ‘But I do think the two-roomed idea is a good one.’
Mrs Judy shook her head. ‘It’s downright pampering.’
‘But Grannie, we must move with the times.’
‘Very well. Have it your own way.’
*
Their next visit was to the Novelty Department, which was really Judy’s favourite. As they walked through it, she became so interested, and had so many new ideas, that for a time she forgot her troubles. She even forgot the wickedness of Sam.
There were all sorts of shelves and niches and pigeonholes, containing the strangest and most exciting objects, all at the most reasonable prices. For instance, if you had been looking over Judy’s shoulder, on that sunny morning, the first thing you would have noticed would have been a tiny hole labelled:
PORCUPINES – NEW QUILLS
And if you had pushed your finger into the hole, you would have pulled it out again very quickly, for it was stuffed full of the sharpest quills you can imagine. Mrs Porcupine used to say that she only wished she could meet a human when she was wearing them; she’d teach him a lesson!
Judy paused in front of a row of pale blue bottles labelled:
GARGLE FOR NIGHTINGALES
‘We haven’t sold much of this lately,’ she said, ‘although the nightingales have been giving concerts every evening. Do you think it’s too expensive?’
‘Can’t make it a penny cheaper,’ retorted Mrs Judy. ‘It takes ages to make. First I have to get a water lily and pour in an acornful of apple juice. Then I have to add thirty drops of liquid honey and the juice of nine nasturtium seeds. Then I have to collect three dew-drops off the petals of a yellow rose and drop them in, one by one, stirring it all the time with a corn-stalk. That takes time, I can tell you, apart from all the poetry I have to say.’
In a sing-song voice Mrs Judy repeated the following poem:
Here’s honey for the honey in your throat
To make it sweeter still.
Here’s dew as pure as every golden note,
Here’s magic – drink your fill.
Then to the starlight let your music float
But first – please pay the bill!
‘It’s very pretty indeed,’ said Judy. ‘And I don’t think the gargle is at all too expensive, not with the poem. But perhaps there are some things we might make cheaper. What about this Blackbeetle Polish?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Mrs Judy. ‘We can charge less for that. It’s only coal dust and olive oil.’
‘And then there’s the Ladybird Lacquer.’
‘We can’t charge less for that because it takes a thousand poppy petals to make a single drop.’
‘Couldn’t we make it not quite so strong?’
‘If we did, it would come out pink, and there’d be a scandal. Imagine a pink ladybird!’
‘It might be rather pretty,’ suggested Judy.
‘It might, but the ladybirds wouldn’t think so. They’re such snobs; they’d say it was “unladybirdlike”. And when they say anything’s “unladybirdlike”, that’s an end of it.’
‘What about the Food Department?’ asked Judy.
‘We can’t cut prices much more than we have done already.’
‘Still, we might think of some new ideas. For instance, Mrs Moth came in yesterday, but she flew away without buying anything.’
‘She was always a fussy one,’ sniffed her grannie.
Judy reached for a box on which were painted the words:
MENUS FOR MOTHS
She opened the lid and drew out a number of pieces of cloth, cut into neat strips, and bearing attractive labels. For instance, there was a square of old grey silk labelled ‘Delicious!’ And there was a piece of blue serge labelled ‘Very Nutritious’. And there were several pieces of hearthrug labelled, ‘Try them … they’re Tasty!’
‘Mrs Moth said they none of them had any vitamins in them,’ sighed Judy.
‘Stuff and nonsense! What does she want with vitamins? Her mother brought up a whole family on half an old sock, and she never complained about vitamins.’
‘All the same, we have got to give the animals what they want. I think I’ll cut up my red silk handkerchief.’
‘It would be a shame. Besides, they might not like it.’
‘Oh yes they would. Mrs Moth saw it yesterday and said it made her feel quite hungry.’
‘Very well.
