avel till they were quite close to them. Then
the birds rose in the air, with shrill cries of alarm, all except
_Mamma_ Blackbird, who somehow could not get her head from under the
net. She struggled desperately; the gardener was now close upon her. The
poor bird, wild with alarm, fluttered backwards and forwards, till at
last by a supreme effort, she freed herself and fled away, very much
scared, but rejoicing in her liberty. This affair gave all the family a
fearful shock, and it was some days before they dared to re-visit the
strawberry-bed.

All things considered, though, the strawberries were very good, the
birds preferred the lower garden, where they could hop comfortably and
securely under the gooseberry and currant bushes. There were no nets
there, and the gardener could not pounce down upon them through those
stiff thorny bushes; they could feast on the small, red gooseberries,
and then, for a change, pass on to the smooth yellowish ones. Their meal
generally ended by a visit to a certain bush where the clusters of white
currants hung conveniently near the ground.

There was one spot, however, which was perhaps the most attractive of
all. On the south side of the garden flourished an old cherry-tree which
bore on its wide spreading arms "white hearts" of the very finest
quality and flavour. This was a secret corner to which the birds
repaired at eventide, and where, curiously enough, the gardener never
suspected them of trespassing.

One bright July morning the Blackbird noticed a most unusual stir at the
old mansion. There was a good deal of running about, to and fro, and in
and out. The dairymaid paid a great many visits to the dairy, and other
maids might be seen hurrying in all directions. The small brother and
sister had more than once trotted out on the lawn to look at the sky,
and make sure that it was not raining.

When the Blackbird happened to fly across the garden he was still more
puzzled. Two gardeners with large baskets were stooping over the
strawberry beds, hard at work, picking the last of the strawberries.
Alas! there would be none left! Another gardener was walking down the
rows of raspberry-bushes, filling a capacious basket with the red and
white berries. A small boy was collecting currants in another bulky
receptacle, while two more were pulling quantities of gooseberries. What
did it all mean?

Later on in the day two large carts quite brimming over with rosy-faced
girls and boys pa