66 OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
were civilized in the matter of diet, and so we laid a 
mutton bone on the table. It was a bone that had been 
cooked, and had just a suspicion of meat on it left 
from our own dinner. 
Along came the birds, of course, for they were always 
watching us, canting their heads to get a good look at 
the strange object. “What do you suppose it is?” 
they seemed to be asking each other. “Do you think 
it is safe to taste?” 
But they seemed to remember that we never played 
a joke on them when they were hungry, and in a little 
while a sparrow pecked daintily at the bone. After 
this they all fell to eating the meat as fast as they 
could. 
That was not the last bone that found its way to the 
birds’ restaurant. Now we put the bones all about 
in the apple trees, or swing them on a string from the 
branches. It is great fun. If you can spare a large 
beef bone that has some marrow in it, just offer it to 
the birds in some quiet place. ‘The first bird that gets 
to it will put his head in at the round tunnel in the 
middle of the bone, where the marrow is hidden, and 
you can come pretty near putting “salt on his tail” 
without his knowing what you are about. 
You have all read that queer song Mother Goose 
made about the “blackbird pie.” But that was a 
pleasant joke. The birds were never baked at all. 
They were put under the crust alive and well, just to 
surprise a great dinner party. It was only for orna- 
