When one of the pieces in the bag is so far nibbled away that a corner of it can be pulled through one of the interstices, matters become exciting. Then comes the tug of war. The eater, who knows that his time is limited, grows almost frantic. He braces himself and pulls, twitching upward and downward and sidewise (“Come out, there, will you?”), while the wind blows him to and fro across the pane, and one or two of his mates sit upon the nearest branch of the elm, eyeing him reproachfully. “You greedy thing!” they say. “Are you going to stay there forever?” Often their patience gives out (I do not wonder), and one after another they swoop down past the window, not to strike the offender, but to offer him a hint in the way of moral suasion. Sometimes one alights, with more or less difficulty, on the narrow middle sash just below, and talks to him; or one hovers near the bag, or even perches sidewise on the string, just above, as much as to say, “Look out!” Then I hear a burst of little, hurried, sweet-sounding, angry notes--always the same, or so nearly the same that my ear is unable to detect the difference. Generally these manœuvres are successful; but now and then the feeder is so persistently greedy that I am tempted to assert a landlord’s prerogative and tell him to begone. Only once have I ever seen two birds clinging to the bag together, although so far as I can make out, there is nothing to hinder their doing so; and even then they were not eating, but waiting to see which should give place to the other. All in all, it is a very pleasing show. It is good to see the innocent creatures so happy. Nobody could look at them, their black eyes shining, their black bills striking into the meats, all their motions so expressive of eager enjoyment, without feeling glad on their account. And with all the rest, it may be said that an ease-loving man, with a meddlesome New England conscience, is not always sorry to have a decent, or better than decent, excuse for dropping work once in a while to look out of the window. Who says we are idle while we are taking a lesson in natural history? I do not know how many times I have broken off (seeing a bird’s shadow in the room, or hearing a tap on the pane) while writing these few paragraphs. Once, indeed, I saw something like actual belligerency. Two birds reached the bag at the same instant, and neither was inclined to withdraw. They came together, bill to bill, each with a volley of those fine, spitfire notes of which I spoke just now, and in the course of the set-to, which was over almost before it began, one of them struck beak-first against the window, as if he were coming through. Then both flew to the elm branches, fifteen feet away, and in a moment more one of them came back and took a turn at feeding. I am not going to take in the bag for fear of the immoral effects of excessive competition. Competition--among customers--is the life of trade. I am glad to see my table so popular.