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.

Sister flung her crumbs as far as her short arm would send them,
and managed to hit an indignant old starling squarely in the eye.
He glared at her crossly.

"Birds don't mind getting wet, do they?" said Brother, as the
sparrows hopped about in the driving rain and pecked gratefully at
the crumbs. "Let's hop the way they do, Betty."

Sister obediently hopped, looking not unlike a very plump little
robin at that, with her dark eyes and bobbing curls. Only, you
see, she and Brother were much heavier than any birds, and they
made so much noise that Molly came to the door to see what they
were doing.

"Another rainy day and the two of you bursting with mischief!" she
sighed good-naturedly. "Will you be quiet for an hour if I let you
make a dough-man while I'm mixing my bread?"