soon associate you with his pleasant diet, and come nearer, and grow
daily less fearful, until, by putting mealworms on a mat just inside the
room, he will come in and take them, and at last learn to be quite
content to remain. The first few times the window should be left open to
let him retreat, for unless he feels he can come and go at will he will
probably make a dash at a closed window, not seeing the glass, and be
fatally injured, or else too frightened to return.

Like all other taming, it must be carried on with patience.

One summer, many years ago, we occupied an old-fashioned house in the
country, where, in perfect quietude, one could make acquaintance with
birds and study their habits and manners without interruption. From the
veranda of a large, low-ceilinged sitting-room one looked out upon a
garden of the olden type, full of moss-grown apple-trees, golden
daffodils, lupines and sweet herbs, that pleasant mixture of the kitchen
and flower garden which always seems so enjoyable. It was an ideal home
for birds, no cat was ever visible, and from the numbers of the
feathered folk one could believe that countless generations had been
reared in these apple-trees and lived out their little lives in perfect
happiness. I soon found a friend amongst the robins; one in particular
began to pay me frequent visits as I sat at work indoors. At first he
ventured in rather timidly, took a furtive glance and then flew away,
but finding that crumbs were scattered for him, and while he picked them
up a kindly voice encouraged his advances, he soon became at ease, made
his way into the room and seemed to examine by turns, with birdish
curiosity, all the pieces of furniture and the various ornaments on the
mantelpiece and tables. Much to my pleasure he began to sing to me, and
very pretty he looked, sitting amongst the flowers in a tall vase,
warbling his charming little ditty, keeping his large black eyes fixed
upon me as if to see if I seemed impressed by his vocal efforts.

Once he stopped in the middle of his song, looked keenly at a corner of
the ceiling, and after a swift flight there, he returned with a spider
in his beak; one can well believe what good helpers the insect-eating
birds must be to the gardener, by destroying countless hosts of minute
caterpillars and grubs that would otherwise prey upon the garden
produce. Bobbie continued his visits to me throughout the summer,
remaining happy and content for hours at a