stood a little way from its neighbors. It was tall and narrow, and in the middle of its high north wall was a small hole where a brick had fallen out.
Chummy pointed to it proudly. “There’s not a snugger sparrow bedroom in the city than that,” he said, “for right behind the open place is a hole in the brick work next the furnace chimney. No matter how cold and hungry I am when I go to bed, I’m kept warm till breakfast time, when I can look for scraps. Many a feeble old sparrow and many a weak one has died in the bitter cold this winter. They went to bed with empty crops and never woke up. We’ve had twelve weeks of frost, instead of our usual six, and this is only the fifth day of thawing weather that we’ve had all winter.”
“Everything seems topsy-turvy this winter,” I said. “Human beings are short of coal and food, and they’re worried and anxious. I am very sorry for them.
“But times will improve, Chummy. The old birds say that black hours come, but no darkness can keep the sun from breaking through. He is the king of the world.”
Chummy raised his little dark head up to the
sunlight. “I’m not complaining, Dicky. I wish every little bird in the world had such a snug home as mine.”
“How did the hole come in the wall?” I asked.
“Some workmen had a scaffold up there to repair the top of the chimney. When they took it down, they knocked a brick out.”
“Is it large enough for you in nesting time?”
“Oh, yes; don’t you want to come and see it? You’re not afraid?”