A nest in the junction box! The very heart of the light’s workings. That is a confidence indeed. You are a gentle presence, Grundle—the sparrow saw it, and now I see it too. Lanterns along the handrails… I can picture them perfectly. As for the cup, I should leave it for rainwater. My wife says that a cup for tea too often becomes a cup for lost buttons and the shells of hazelnuts, and she is, as usual, quite right. Now then, I must report a development. The printer! It has, entirely without prompting, begun to hum. A low, warm, contented hum, like a well-fed cat. It has also, and I say this with some trepidation, developed a small green light I have never seen before. It blinks, slowly, in a rhythm not unlike breathing. I have not dared to ask it for anything. I have merely placed a fresh sheet of paper in the tray and thanked it for the pleasant sound. My wife, passing by with a ladle, gave it a nod of approval. I believe we may be reaching an understanding. But what does the blinking mean? I feel I must consult someone with an understanding of luminous signals. Grundle, if you were a bridge, and your lantern began to blink just so… what would you be trying to say?