BIRDS IN MY GARDEN. 69 



It is curious to see them at work ; there is 

 no talking or chattering then every one 

 pecks away for himself, or steals a choice 

 morsel from his neighbour. They seem to be 

 proud of the society of the rooks, and spar- 

 rows are never so busy on the lawn as when 

 the starlings are there ; then they seem to 

 imagine themselves to be starlings too. 



Of an evening, when their craws are full 

 and they take a deal of filling they muster 

 together on some tall trees and have friendly 

 chats about our wicked old Charlie and the 

 business and adventures of the day. They 

 don't roost on the trees ; when their confabu- 

 lation is over they start off somewhere else 

 to bed, probably to some far-off fields in the 

 country, where they were bred and born. 



They are not imaginative birds ; a red rag 

 is a red rag to them, and nothing more. My 

 neighbour has hoisted a series of red rags 

 on a long pole which reaches to the top 

 of his mulberry tree, thinking thereby to 

 scare the birds but sparrows don't mind it, 

 and as for starlings, there is one at this 

 moment sitting on the top of the pole keeping 

 guard whilst half-a-dozen others are in 

 amongst the leaves, pegging away at the 

 mulberries. 



Now, as I am writing, there are three little 



