CHAPTER XV.
LIFE IN THE BIRDS' NEST.
Polly settled down in the Birds' Nest under the protecting wing of Mrs.
Bird, and a very soft and unaccustomed sort of shelter it was.
A room had been refurnished expressly for the welcome guest, and as Mrs.Bird pushed her gently in alone, the night of her arrival, she said, "This is the Pilgrim Chamber, Polly.

It will speak our wishes for us." It was not the room in which Polly had been ill for so many weeks; for Mrs.Bird knew the power of associations, and was unwilling to leave any reminder of those painful days to sadden the girl's new life.
As Polly looked about her, she was almost awed by the dazzling whiteness.

The room was white enough for an angel, she thought.

The straw matting was almost concealed by a mammoth rug made of white Japanese goatskins sewed together; the paint was like snow, and the furniture had all been painted white, save for the delicate silver lines that relieved it.

There were soft, full curtains of white bunting fringed with something that looked like thistle-down, and the bedstead had an overhanging canopy of the same.