10 THE A-U DU BIO'N: BU LG eerie 
to me; I will sing you all these songs and add a few inventions of my own.” 
Then he fluffed his little throat, slightly drooped his wings, opened and 
spread his tail nervously and took all the solo parts in the opera, embroider- 
ing them with a colorature that made all the other singers sound second 
rate. Suddenly he paused and inserted a rapid ‘Rack-a-chicker, rack-a- 
chicker” like the squeaking of machinery; then as if amused with his 
experiment he went off in an ecstasy of trills and bubblings-over of pure 
merriment. That trait in my catbird that so many condemn as unprofes- 
sional, is one reason IJ love him so. It shows a fine sense of humor—and 
that is a saving sense. Nor is it to his discredit that he can meow like a 
cat, or that he calls mournfully for “Ma-ree” occasionally. What other bird 
can do it? 
For some time I have been engrossed in statistics of a lively sort and 
am now prepared to give some observations concerning the successful con- 
duct of a free lunch counter. On general principles I am opposed to giving 
something for nothing, but in this experiment my returns in satisfaction 
have more than equalled my output. My equipment for business required 
no great expenditure of money. From the woodpile I rescued an old 
carpenter’s sawhorse that could yet stand on its four legs. On one end of 
this I nailed a board two feet square, edged with a quarter round moulding. 
Near bushes and overhanging trees this stands about fifteen feet from my 
hammock on the screened porch. 
Here my patrons—which I may not have mentioned are the birds— 
help themselves in the order of precedence, a rule that is well recognized 
and maintained. All the kinds of food we have the birds have tried. 
It ought to interest you, Birdless One, that of all things offered the 
favorite dish is cottage cheese, which disappears first and quickest. As I 
can make very good cheese—if I DO say it as shouldn’t—plenty of left 
over milk keeps the lunch counter well supplied. Any new color or shape 
of food excites suspicion at first, but the daring bird that partakes gives 
cenfidence to the rest. One day I put out the remains of baked macaroni. 
A grackle lighting in his accustomed place jumped from the board as if 
ne had stepped on something dangerous. Eyeing the macaroni nervously, 
he finally gave it a peck and nothing happened. It tasted like more. So he 
ate it generously and flew off to his family with a bunch dangling on either 
side of his bill. 
Some unimaginative person may suggest that it is no kindness to the 
birds to cultivate tastes for food not normally supplied by Nature, but why 
deny birds occasional excursions into epicurean realms just because they 
are birds. The most generous meals are supplied early in the season when 
Nature is short and her pantry empty; through the summer, even cottage 
cheese is passed up for fruit and insects. 
The tyranny seen in our city English sparrows disappears here where 
they are outnumbered by larger birds, and it gives me particular satisfac- 
ticn to see them meekly picking up crumbs that fall from the table. 
Catbirds and thrashers divide honors, each driving the other away in 
turn. Robins seldom visit the table except through curiosity to see what is 
there and to drink from the dish. The towhee looks about on the table 
