hem all to his kennel in the yard to help him to
eat his dinner next day.

Then the birds whistled and chattered, piped and sang; Boxer gave two or
three barks and jumps off the ground to show his satisfaction, although
his nose was bleeding; while all the time Mrs Puss sat alone in the
coal-cellar, making use of most dreadful cat-language, and determining
to serve the birds out for it some day.

When a proper amount of respect had been shown upon both sides, the
birds flew off to their green homes, to attend to the wants of their
young ones, and to finish nesting; while Boxer went back to his green
kennel and made himself a nest amongst his clean straw.

CHAPTER SIX.

THE TOMTITS.

It was all very well for Mrs Puss to get up the great cedar-tree and
put her paw down the great hole, but if it had been the thorn-tree, that
was just coming out all over beautiful white scented blossoms, hanging
in long silvery wreaths, Mrs Puss would have found out her mistake.
There was a hole there, and there was a nest in it, but pussy's paw
could no more have gone down it than a cannon-ball would run through a
tobacco-pipe. Such a tiny round hole; such a depth; and such a tiny
little round pair of birds, with blue and white heads, green backs, and
yellow breasts, with a black stripe down the centre; such tiny black
beaks; in short, such a tiny pair of tits were Tom and Tomasina, who had
made their nest right down at the bottom of this little hole. Bustling,
busy little bodies they were, too, popping in and out with little bits
of soft wool, down, or small feathers; and then, tiniest of all were
first about a dozen morsels of eggs, and then the nest full of little
callow birds, with all that dozen of little beaks up and open for food.
In and out, in and out, till any one would have thought the little
tomtit wings would have been tired out; but, no; in and out still, and
backwards and forwards, bringing tiny grubs and caterpillars, and all
manner of little insects in those little open beaks, to satisfy the
craving little family at home. Tom-tit told his wife that he could not
understand it, but thought that when they were mated all they would have
to do would be to fly about the garden, hopping from twig to twig, and
picking all the little buds through the long sunshiny days, and sleeping
at night upon some high, safe bough, rolled up like little balls of
feathers.

"Oh! but," said Mrs Tit, "only to think of it; such a tiny