and moles. One of the birds took a mole 

 to the wire fence near by and stuck it 

 on a barb. Then he flew away, leaving 

 it hanging there. He was going to catch 

 some young mice to eat just then and 

 save the mole for luncheon. 



His claws were not strong enough to 

 hold the mole while he could kill and eat 

 it, but if he hung it on the wire fence 

 he could use all his strength in tearing 

 it to pieces with his strong toothed bill. 

 Every one felt sorry for the poor mole, 

 but all were glad to be able to see how 

 the butcher bird gets his dinner. 



Time went by and soon Uncle Philip 

 was ready to move another bunch of corn- 

 stalks. Aunt Dorothy and the children 

 prepared to watch again, for the butcher 

 birds were still in the neighborhood and 

 waiting anxiously for a chance to secure 

 some more prey. This time there was a 

 rat under the cornstalks and a bold 

 butcher bird flew at him and tried to kill 

 him. The rat, however, got away from 

 his enemy in feathers. One of the 

 butcher birds caught a mole and stuck it 

 on a long thorn on a hawthorn tree. 



"Let us have something to eat as well 

 as the birds," said Uncle Philip. So he 



left Blotter and Little Gray standing in 

 the field — they were never known to run 

 away — and all went to a pleasant spot in 

 the meadow and ate the luncheon which 

 Mama Bryant had sent in the peach bas- 

 ket. Oh, how good those cookies tasted 

 to Leicester and Keren ! 



Those were happy passengers who 

 rode home that evening on the yellow 

 ears of corn. Keren had found one red 

 ear and she took it home and gave it a 

 place by the side of her pet playthings. 



At supper time Leicester told his papa 

 what they had seen the butcher birds do, 

 and Aunt Dorothy said : "You must tell 

 about it in school, Leicester ; it will make 

 a good Monday morning story." 



That evening after Uncle Philip and 

 Aunt Dorothy had gone home and the 

 children had said their little evening 

 prayer Leicester kissed his mother and 

 told her he would try to be a good boy 

 every day for a whole week. "And I 

 hope I will have as good a time next 

 Saturday as I have had to-day," said he. 



And all night long the little stars peep- 

 ing through the windows saw two happy 

 little faces asleep upon their pillows. 

 Mary Grant O'Sheridan. 



THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. 



I hear from many a little throat 



A warble interrupted long; 

 I hear the robin's flute-like note, 



The bluebird's slenderer song. 



Brown meadows and the russet hill, 



Not yet the haunt of grazing herds, 

 And thickets by the glimmering rill 



Are all alive with birds. 



— William Cullen Bryant. 



