, and the weather became warmer,
and the yellow crocuses came into bloom, if these very birds, or some of
them at least, did not slit the flowers all to pieces with their
bills--that's what _they_ did. The ground was covered with bits of
flowers.--Do you know Mrs. Jones who lives on the green, Master Jack?"

"No," he said; "I don't."

"Well, she's a great friend of your grandma's; but she is not
over-strong, and doesn't get out in the winter. She likes to have the
birds about her, and she fed them on her lawn with crumbs and pieces;
and her fine bed of crocuses in front of her windows was just spoiled.
It was mostly the yellow ones that they tore to shreds; and the
primroses too--there was hardly one fit to pick. The starlings and the
sparrows were the worst; they did a lot of mischief."

"Oh," said Jack, "perhaps they were after insects, or something they
wanted to eat. I don't believe they _meant_ to do any harm."

"Perhaps not," said the gardener; "but the crocuses were spoiled all the
same. You know, Master Jack, I'm about the place summer and winter, and
I see a lot. Now, if there's one thing more than another that I hate
about a garden, it's cats. They do trample down things and spoil the
beds. As this house is lonesome rather, we don't get much of that pest,
I'm glad to say; and then Smut is not a sociable cat. But I'll tell you
of a curious thing that happened to him one day. There was a pair of
thrushes who had built their nest in the laurel hedge at the bottom of
the garden next to the field. You know, Master Jack, there's a broad
gravel path along the garden side of the hedge. One day, just as the
young birds were able to get out of the nest, the young cat at my
cottage close by walked into this garden, where, of course, she'd no
business; but there she was in that gravel path, and she saw one of the
birds and caught it. I saw her with it. The thrushes scolded her, flew
at her with a sharp, angry cry, and puss was soon off the premises. The
next day, Mr. Smut was walking along this gravel path, enjoying the
sunshine in a quiet way, never thinking of birds, for he's a deal too
lazy to put himself out of the way to catch anything. I've tried him
with a mouse, but he never put out a paw to touch it. He blinked at it
in the most unconcerned way, and didn't show the least bit of interest
in it. Well, as I said, Smut was walking along, when out flew the
thrushes from the hedge, swooped down upon him, pounced on