"
"Maybe it's a train?"
"No, I don't believe it's a train," said Brother slowly, crumbling
a bit of bread and beginning to build a little farm with the
crumbs. "No, I guess maybe he will give me a tool-chest."
"Come on, and bring the bread tray," suggested Sister practically.
She never forgot the task in hand for other interests. "Mother
says we mustn't dawdle, Roddy, you know she did. It's my turn to
feed the birds, so I'll crumb the table. Could I use your saw if
you get a tool-chest?"
Brother answered dreamily that he supposed she could. He watched
Sister and her crumb-brush sweep away his nice little bread-crumb
fences, while he planned to build a real fence if Ralph's present
should turn out to be the long-coveted tool-chest.
When Sister had swept up every tiny crumb, she and Brother went
out to scatter the bits of bread to the birds who, winter and
summer, never failed to come to the back door and who always
seemed hungry.
This morning there were robins, starlings, a pair of beautiful big
blue jays, and, of course, the rusty little sparrows. Each bird
seemed to be pretending to the others that he was looking for
worms, and each one slyly watched the Morrison back door in hopes
that two small figures would presently come out and toss them a
breakfast of breadcrumbs.
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