When in America in 1884, I saw a flock of pine grosbeaks busily feeding upon the berries of the mountain ash at Worcester. Very pretty they looked, the rosy plumage of the two or three males contrasting boldly with the dark, sombre green of the many females. I should not have noticed them but for their mode of feeding. It was at the beginning of February—the very depth of a New England winter. I had to make my way up a rather steep hill, and over paths which, by reason of constant traffic over snow, were as slippery as ice. Many persons are in the habit of scattering sand or pulverised brick on the paths, and seeing, as I fondly thought, a few yards of the latter material, I gladly made my way towards it. To my disappointment—on that ground at least—I found that the red material was not brick, but the soft, external part of the mountain ash berry, the birds only eating the seeds, and allowing the rest of the fruit to fall to the ground. Then, the campagnol has a remarkable way of eating the cherry stones. When the squirrel eats a nut, it nibbles off a little piece of the sharp end, inserts the edges of its incisor teeth in wedge fashion, and splits the nut in two. The campagnol begins like the squirrel, but when it has bitten off the end of the cherry-stone, it does not split the shell asunder, but in some way of its own contrives to get the kernel out. (_To be continued._) [Illustration] MERLE’S CRUSADE. BY ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY, Author of “Aunt Diana,” “For Lilias,” etc. CHAPTER XVI. MOLLY. One afternoon, much to Hannah’s delight, I took the children to Wheeler’s Farm. Rolf did not accompany us; Mrs. Markham had sent up word to the nursery that morning that he was to drive with her into Orton. He had complied with this order rather sulkily, after extracting from me a promise that I would play soldiers with him in the evening. It was rather a hot July afternoon, but we put Joyce in the perambulator, and Hannah and I carried Reggie by turns, and in spite of the heat we all enjoyed the walk, for there was a lark singing so deliciously above the cornfields, and the hedgerows of Cherry-tree-lane were gay with wild flowers, and every few minutes we came to a peep of the sea. I recognised Hannah’s description when we came in sight of the old black-timbered house; there was the pear tree in the courtyard, and the mossy trough; a turkey cock Gobbler, of course, was strutting about in the sunny road, and from the farmyard came the cackling of ducks and the hissing of snow-white geese. Just then a little side gate opened, and a robust-looking woman in a sun-bonnet came out, balancing two pails of water with her strong bare arms. Hannah exclaimed, “Well, Molly!” and Molly set down her pails and came to meet us. She kissed Hannah heartily with, “Glad to see thee, lass,” and then shook hands with me.