“Then each week we will ask Miss Wilde to appoint a child as _Bird Steward_, his or her duties being to collect the scraps after the noon dinner-hour and place them neatly on the counter, the crusts and crumbs on the shelf and the meat to be hung on the spikes. “Nothing will come amiss—pine cones, beechnuts, the shells of hard-boiled eggs broken fine, apple cores, half-cleaned nuts; and if the children will tell their parents of the counter, they will often put an extra scrap or so in the dinner pail to help the feast. Or the fortunate children whose fathers keep the market, the grocery store, or the mill, may be able to obtain enough of the wastage to leave an extra supply on Friday, so that the pensioners need not go hungry over Sunday. “All the while the flag will wave gayly above little Citizen Bird, as under its protection he feeds upon his human brothers’ bounty. “Here is the story of one of these lunch-counters that proved a success. It was written to encourage others, and I will read it so that you may know that bird lunch-counters belong to real and not to fairy-tales.” AN ADIRONDACK LUNCH-COUNTER In the Adirondacks in March, 1900, the snow fell over four feet deep, and wild birds were driven from the deep woods to seek for food near the habitation of man. It occurred to me that a lunch-counter with “meals at all hours” might suit the convenience of some of the visitors to my orchard, so I fixed a plank out in front of the house, nailed pieces of raw and cooked meat to it, sprinkled bread-crumbs and seeds around, and awaited results. The first caller was a Chickadee. He tasted the meat, seemed to enjoy it, and went off for his mate. They did not seem in the least afraid when I stood on the veranda and watched them, and after a time paid but little attention to the noises in the house; but only one would eat at a time. The other one seemed to keep watch. I set my camera and secured a picture of one alone. While focussing for the meat one Chickadee came and commenced eating in front of the camera, and a second later its mate perched on my hand as I turned the focussing screw. I saw the Chickadees tear off pieces of meat and suet and hide them in the woodpile. This they did repeatedly, and later in the day would come back and eat them if the lunch-counter was empty. My observation in this respect is confirmed by a lumber-man, who noticed that when eating his lunch, back in the woods, the Chickadees were very friendly and would carry off scraps of meat and hide them, coming back for more, time and time again.