“Why, you see, ma’am, the ground and the bushes and the trees are all covered with frost and snow and ice, and they can’t find anything to eat in the woods or fields or lanes, and so they look for food about houses.”
“Poor little things! What do they eat, Pina?”
“Anything eatable, ma’am, that is small enough for them to swallow;—grains of rice, crumbs of bread, specks of meat——”
“Oh, throw out whole handfuls of rice for them,” said Drusilla.
“That would hardly do, ma’am. It would sink in the snow and be lost before the birds could get it. But if you will let me sprinkle food on all the window-sills around the house, you will see the little creatures come in scores to eat. And it will amuse you, like, ma’am, to sit and see the art of the little rogues, how one will watch from a bush to see the coast clear, and then notify the others to come and eat.”
“Oh, then,” said Drusilla, with all the eagerness of a child, “crumble up several loaves of bread, and sprinkle every window-sill of the house full as it will hold.”
“Would you like some traps set in the woods, ma’am?”
“Traps, what for?”
“To catch the birds, ma’am.”
“To catch the birds?”