There was a pair of song-sparrows that had their second nest in a great rose-bush by the walk, and though the parents gave their nestlings only insect food, they fed upon the biscuit crumbs. These two soon grew so tame that when they had cleaned the wall they hopped about the dog houses and helped themselves from the dishes, giving shy little flutters if the twins barked at them, but only going a few feet and returning very quickly. Then there were the chipping sparrows, the dear little brown velvet-capped birds, who are so tame that the Latin word for sociable is part of the name the wise men give them. They actually hopped on Waddles’s back and almost caught the moist bits that fell from his jaws. The goldfinches came also, beginning in early spring when the males and females wear the same clothes of dull olive-brown and black, and making daily visits all through the season until the males after wearing a mottled costume put on their yellow wedding coats and black caps, and put them off again. Black and white nuthatches took their dog food differently, picking up the larger bits and carrying them into the apple tree, where they hammered them to pieces exactly as they would crack beechnuts or corn kernels. Anne was not surprised that birds like these should feed on dog biscuit, but when catbirds, robins, and phœbes--the air-living flycatchers--began to be the regular table boarders of the Waddles family, she began to wonder. These last birds were of course first attracted by the kettle of cooked meat scraps that was often hung in the tree to cool; but lacking meat, they were satisfied with the crumbs. One morning a lame-winged crow appeared from the wood edge and walked solemnly up to the dish where Jack and Jill were eating, giving a squawk that sent them in haste to the nursery, though Jill soon came back and attempted to flirt with his crowship, which so surprised him that he nearly choked to death by swallowing too quickly. This ended in Baldy’s catching the crow, who was not a welcome garden guest, as was proved by the chorus of alarm notes that arose at his appearance, and he actually had the destruction of many orchard homes written against him in the Birdland records. One morning Bobwhite, who had been whistling and telling his name proudly from the protected meadows all the spring, appeared on the fence. Anne held her breath and Tommy watched, round eyed with eagerness. Bob threw back his head and proclaimed his name proudly; then no one disputing him he called more plaintively, poor-bobwhite! dropped from the wall to the grass, and then walked along the gravel path as unconcernedly as any barnyard fowl. Coming to where the pups had upset their dish, he gave a few scratches and began to pick up the smallest bits as if he was gleaning grain in the stubble.