OUR BIRDS’ RESTAURANT. 67 
ment, as we put flowers in a vase and set them on the 
table. Shut up in the dark, in a great earthen pot, 
with just enough air for breathing coming in at the 
small holes pricked in the crust, it was no wonder the 
’ 
“birds began to sing” when the cover was lifted. Of 
course they all began to fly around the room, they were 
so glad to be free once more and to find that they were 
not “baked in a pie” at all. 
It was a merry surprise for a great dinner party, and 
quite satisfactory, since there was plenty of food to eat 
besides blackbird pie. We never look at a field of 
blackbirds without thinking of the old rhyme and stop- 
ping to count the birds, just to see if there are exactly 
“twenty-four.” 
Here is a bit of rhyme in imitation of Mother Goose, 
which we fancy will fit very well when birds are bigger 
than boys and have pot-pie for dinner. 
Sing a song 0’ sixpence; 
A pocket full 0’ rye, 
Four and twenty little boys 
Baked in a pie. 
When the pie was opened 
The boys began to sing; 
Wasn’t that a dainty dish 
To set before a king? 
