“Well then, that’s settled,” announced Aunt Polly, after they had whispered their plan.  “Now we’ll go down to the kitchen and see Norah.”

Norah was glad to see them, and when she heard what they wanted she brought out a plate of stale bread and a thick chunk of clean white suet.

“Sure ye can cut it up yourselves,” she said to Dot and Twaddles, who eyed the big carving knife fearfully.  “Get your scissors.  I cut the stuffing for the Sunday chicken with the scissors, entirely.”

So for half an hour the twins, under Aunt Polly’s direction, snipped bread crumbs and suet happily and then busily tied strings to other pieces of fat.

“We’re going to have company, Norah,” explained Dot, opening and shutting her cramped little fingers when the bread and fat were all nicely snipped.

“Company, is it?” asked Norah, glad to see Dot had stopped crying.  “Is it food for company you’re fixing now?”

“Yes, it’s their dinner,” answered Dot, nodding her head.  “Isn’t it, Twaddles?  And we’re going to set the table.  You watch, Norah.”

Aunt Polly went down into the cellar and came back, carrying a broad, smooth board, the top of a packing box.  She emptied the bread and suet crumbs into a paper bag and put the fat tied to the pieces of string in another.  Then Twaddles slipped on his cap and coat, took the two bags in one hand, tucked the board under his arm, and ran out to the garage.

“Put a chair here in the window, Dot,” said Aunt Polly.  “There, I’ll pin back the curtains.  Now you can see everything they do.”

Norah peered curiously over Dot’s shoulder, interested, too.

In a few minutes Sam came out of the garage, carrying a hammer and the little short step-ladder that conveniently turned into a chair if you knew how to do the trick.  He and Twaddles marched over to the clothespole that Norah seldom used.  She preferred to wind her clothes-line around three, and the fourth pole, to Dot’s fancy, always seemed to feel slighted.

“Now that poor pole won’t be lonesome any more,” she murmured to herself.

Sam set up his stepladder, and, taking the board from Twaddles and a couple of long, strong nails from his pocket, he nailed the board firmly to the top of the pole.

“See, Norah?” cried Dot.

Then Sam took the bags, and the fat and crumbs of bread he scattered all over the top of the board.  All around the edge of the board he drove in smaller nails, and to these he tied the pieces of fat, there to dangle on their strings.

Dot clapped her hands.

“It’s our bird table!” she explained to Norah.  “Where’s Mother?  I’m going to tell her.”

Mother Blossom came and admired the bird-table, and the grocery boy, when he came with the packages, noticed it right away.

“Annabel Lee can’t get up there, can she?” he grinned.  “Looks like you’d have plenty of company, Dot.”