THE TOM-TITS AND THEIR BOX 



I HAVE a pair of subtenants, and though they pay 

 no rent I take a great interest in their welfare. 

 A year ago they took up their quarters in a hole 

 in the wall of my domicile. It was a narrow hole, 

 but within its cavernous recess the subtenants, 

 being merely tom-tits, managed to rear a large 

 family, if not with comfort, certainly with security, 

 which is the chief thing a nesting torn-tit seeks. 

 This year, in the middle of a robustuous April, 

 they came upon the scene again, and to show there 

 was no ill-feeling on the landlord's part a lump 

 of suet was hung up for their favourable con- 

 sideration. 



Between the suet and the hole the pair passed 

 a hilarious day, and within a week they commenced 

 the business of furnishing. It was begun in no 

 very resolute fashion. Mrs. Tom-tit would 

 approach the aperture with a beak laden with 

 bedding material, warranted not to shrink, but as 

 often as not she would forget why she had gathered 

 it, drop it to the ground, and have some more 

 suet. Soon, however, business began in earnest, 

 and it was at this stage that the sense of my 

 duties as a landlord came home to me, and I 

 resolved to provide a box. The hole was mani- 



