,--"as you
can see."

Jack went to the window and saw in a hole of the low roof a little
bluish-gray bird with a white crown sitting on a nest; and presently her
mate came with his red tail wagging, bringing an insect in his beak.

Now Jack could see several little red starts poking out their heads from
under their mother's wings, all looking as if they wanted to be fed
first.

"This is the third year that these red starts have built their nest in
that hole," said Charley. "Before that, it seemed as if a pair of
sparrows had looked upon the hole as belonging to them, for when the
red starts first came there were a good many fights between them and the
sparrows.

"One day when the hen red start was sitting, two sparrows made a dead
set at her; and although she behaved in a very plucky manner, she was
getting the worst of it. She then uttered a peculiar cry, and her mate
came to her help directly; and between them they drove off the sparrows.

"That seemed to be the final battle, for there were only a few trifling
skirmishes after that, and the red starts have considered that hole
their own private property ever since."

Charley next showed Jack his collection of butterflies, moths, and
beetles; and after the boys had finished looking at these beautiful and
curious creatures, it was time for tea, so they went downstairs.

When they had finished tea, Charley said, "We will go out of doors and
see our old raven, Grip."

There were all sorts of odd places outside of this rambling old house
which Charley said "just suited him."

In a little enclosure by the side of the kitchen garden was Grip's home.
He was kept at night, for safety, in a large wooden cage with open bars,
something like a hen-coop; but in the day he had his liberty--although
he did not wander far away, for he was very tame.

"He knows all the sounds of the poultry-yard," said Charley, "only I
expect he won't show off when we want him to do so. One morning, he had
not been let out of his cage, and he wanted his breakfast. He called
'Cluck, cluck, cluck,' just as a hen calls her chickens. In fact some
chickens really thought it was their mother calling them, and they ran
to Grip! I am sorry to say he helped himself to one of them; the others
were frightened and made their escape. Ever since then Grip has been in
his present quarters; he was too near the poultry-yard before. Many a
time has he cackled like a hen that has laid an egg, so that the maid