A GIFT OF THE BIRDS 29 



would look at me steadily for a long time and then, 

 with a dart so quick that I had to watch myself 

 lest I shrink back and frighten them, they would 

 snatch the worm or berry held before them. 



At that time I sincerely thought that it was my 

 work to help those birds feed their young. Half 

 of my breakfast slipped into my apron pockets, 

 while I worked like the proverbial beaver searching 

 the bushes for bugs, hunting worms on the cab- 

 bages in the garden, digging them from the earth, 

 and gathering berries and soft fruits. I carried 

 with me grain from the bins in the barns, pounded 

 fine with the hamnaer and soaked until it was soft 

 for the young of the grain and seed eaters. Few 

 mothers were so careful about the food they fed 

 their children. I gave those nestlings only one 

 bite at a time, and never a morsel of anything until 

 I had watched what it was that the old birds were 

 giving them. Before the nesting season was over 

 they allowed me to take the most wonderful liber- 

 ties with them. Warblers, Phoebes, sparrows, 

 and finches swarmed all over me, perching indis- 

 criminately on my head, shoulders, and hands, 

 while I stood beside their nests, feeding their 

 young. 



When it was decided that I had reached a suit- 

 able age to attend a city school, I stoutly rebelled, 

 capitulating only when Father said the most 

 precious of my birds might go with me. These, of 

 course, were unfortunates that had fallen from 



