When Aunt Bertha was younger than she is now she was a little English girl, and her American nephews and nieces are never tired of hearing about her English pets. Of her bird pets she tells the young listeners as follows:

"When I was alone at home with my parents, I used to amuse myself during my play-time, which I always spent out-of-doors, by trying to tame the wild birds. I nailed a little wooden tray against an oak that had twigs growing out of its trunk for the birds to perch on. It stood just inside a wood on one side of the drive, but not too much exposed to the view of the passers-by. Every morning regularly I filled the tray with bread-crumbs and bird-seed, with a little piece of raw meat now and then for a great treat. I watched anxiously to see what birds would come first, and in a few days had the pleasure of finding three tomtits hopping about my tree, and carrying off the crumbs and seeds. It was delightful to have these pretty, sprightly little fellows, with their bright yellow and black breasts and white cheeks, for my visitors, instead of the rather vulgar-looking sparrows, that are generally only too eager to secure any food that may be awaiting hungry mouths. The next birds that came were a pair of chaffinches: the cock never became very tame, but his little mate was soon a great pet with every one. After a time I had twelve birds that fed regularly at my box; they were a pair of tomtits, the chaffinches, a pair of nut-hatches, a pair of coal-tits, a pair of marsh-titmice, a robin, and a hedge-sparrow. In the cold weather my birds used to meet me as I came out of the house, and fly after me to the wood. They were not at all afraid of Carlo, my large dog, who generally accompanied me, and sat by the tree quite quietly, expecting his little share of the feast. In the spring the chaffinches built their nest in an oak-tree within sight of the box, and when their young ones were hatched, they carried off nice large crumbs to them.

"A robin that fed at the box used also to keep us company when we were out, and hop about on our feet as we sat on the lawn. The dear little thing came in-doors whenever he found a window open. He was particularly fond of flying into my mother's bedroom, in which he thought he had discovered a rival favorite. Day after day he attacked it most fiercely, but as the rival was his own reflection in the mirror, the poor bird only got a great many hard knocks against the glass in his efforts to revenge himself on his fancied enemy. The mirror was sometimes smeared with his blood."

[Begun in Young People No. 58, December 7.]