Before I have been in the house half-an-hour, I start making overtures to the birds, and they immediately respond. I proceed by way of the bird-board. This may need explanation. Outside one of the living-room windows I have established a board that projects about a foot beyond the wide window-ledge. At first I had it resting on the window-ledge, but I found that the birds were down out of sight, when they came up to feed, hidden by the sash and window-frame. Therefore I had it raised to bring it exactly on a level with the glass. It is fixed securely on supports, so that it won’t blow away, neither would a flock of jays and wood-pigeons overbalance it. A couple of stout bits of tree branches have been fixed upright at the sides; these are very popular, as they make the board look less bare, more tree-like and familiar to the birds. They love to alight on a branch, before going down to feed, and they often return to the branch when they have eaten their fill, saucing their relations and daring them to touch a morsel of the food, which each bird seems to consider its own exclusive property! Strips of narrow lath have been nailed to the outside edges of the board, projecting about an inch above the level of the board. This wooden rim saves the food from rolling off, or blowing away too easily; it also gives the birds a little perch that they love to stand on while they run their eyes over the menu. On this board—in times of plenty—go crumbs, seed, rolled oats, maize, peas, little bits of fat or suet, anything in fact that birds will eat; and if the weather be cold, a lump of suet will be lashed to each branch, for the tits to peck at, with occasional bunches of bacon rind, hanging like tassels. In war-time the birds just have to take what they can get. Within twenty-four hours of our arrival, the birds have re-discovered their food board, and over they come, from garden and adjoining orchards and woods, with such a whirring of wings, directly they hear the window being opened. In the apple tree, in the laburnum tree, in the damson tree they wait, and the moment I move away from the window, down they pounce, and such a squabbling and chatter and succession of arguments takes place. In a few days’ time, as they get more used to me, they flutter down before I have even spread out their meal, perching on the edge of the board and eyeing me with the most audacious nerve. The robin is positively impudent in his demand that I should hurry up! And it is not longer than a week before they come hopping right into the room, hunting all over the breakfast table if the window be left open, and I have not been down sufficiently early to meet their requirements. If the days are cold, and outside food scarce, they tap the window sharply with their beaks, to call attention to their needs, while plaintive, appealing little faces look anxiously at me. * * * * *