136 OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
All the birds laughed, and then Mr. Mocker imitated 
the wax-wings, calling out in a saucy tone, “How 
much do you ask? How much do you ask?” The 
wax-wings were offended and flew away, the bit of red 
wax on the tip of their wing feathers showing very 
plainly in the sunshine. 
“As if we ever charge anybody anything for what 
they eat,” said Mr. Warbler. “I’m hungry myself.” 
Then Mrs. Towhee, who had really gotten up the 
garden party, called them to dinner. 
All the birds helped themselves. The hummers 
dipped away down into the honey-pot of a morning- 
glory, and the towhees and mockers ate worms and 
crickets in the damp grass; the warblers snatched gnats 
on the wing, and the bush-tits ran up and down on the 
tree boughs, in search of bugs so small nobody else 
could see them. Each bird took the sort of food it 
liked best, drinking at the hydrant and breaking the 
bottles of the raspberry vines. 
Suddenly along came Mr. Butcher-bird. “Go away, 
go away,’ all the birds cried. “Nobody invited you 
to our garden party.” , 
“But I am here,” said Mr. Butcher, in an impudent 
manner. “I should like to have a taste of that fat 
young hummer.” 
Mrs. Hummer screamed, and down swooped the 
butcher. Everybody thought he was going to make a 
meal of the baby, when he surprised them by grabbing 
up a great Jerusalem cricket and darting off with it. 
