Home Life 



A SIXTEEN HOUR WORKING DAY 



From that hour my preconceived ideas of bird 

 life were radically changed. Once I had shared the 

 popular notion of birds as rather idle creatures of 

 pleasure, singing to pass the time away, free from 

 every care while they iiew aimlessly about in the 

 sunshine, fed from the abundant hand of Nature. 

 But bringing up those four feathered waifs taught 

 me that birds doubtless work as hard for their living 

 as any creatures on earth. At about four o'clock 

 every morning sharp, hungry cries from the balcony 

 wakened me. Perhaps it was because I was only a 

 step-mother that I refused to go out on the lawn 

 then in search of early worms. Another nap was 

 more agreeably purchased by stuffing each little crop 

 full of the yolk of hard boiled egg and baked potato 

 mashed into a soft paste, the lumps washed down 

 with a tiny trickle of fresh water from a stylographic 

 pen-dropper. Such gaping yellow caverns as were 

 stretched aloft to be tilled while the little birds 

 trembled with excitement, jostled one another and 

 scrambled for first turn! Every hour regularly 

 throughout the long day those imperious babies 

 had to be satisfied. Ants' eggs from the bird store, 

 a taste of mocking-bird food mixed with potato 

 and an occasional cherry or strawberry agreed with 

 the little gourmands perfectly. A small boy, who 

 was subsidized to dig earthworms for them, called 

 the bargain off after one day's efl^ort to supply their 

 demand. Sixty worms had not been sufficient for 

 creatures which eat at least their weight of food 

 every twenty-four hours. 



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