Chapter 5

"You remember how we used to sing in the spring? Just now our thoughts are so taken up with our nesting that we have little time for song. But later, when the little ones are able to care for themselves, I shall gladly whistle to you once more."

"I shall listen for you," said Phyllis. "Just now I must go, for I hear my mother's voice. Good-bye, meadow lark!"

And the meadow lark from her nest whistled a low good-bye.

THE SONG OF THE MERRY LARK[1]

Once there was an old gray pussy, and she went down into the meadow, where she saw a merry lark flying among the tall reeds; and pussy said, "Where are you going, little lark?"

And the merry lark answered, "I am going to the king to sing him a song this fine May morning."

And pussy said, "Come here, little lark, and I'll let you see a pretty ring round my neck."

But the lark said, "No, no, gray pussy; no, no! You worried the little mouse, but you shall not worry me."

Then the lark flew away till he came to a high oak-tree, and there he saw a gray, greedy hawk sitting. And the gray, greedy hawk said, "Where are you going, pretty lark?"

And the lark answered, "I am going to the king, to sing him a song this fine May morning."

And the gray, greedy hawk said, "Come here, little lark, and I'll let you see a pretty feather in my wing."

But the merry lark said, "No, no, gray, greedy hawk, no, no! You pecked at the little linnet, but you shall not peck at me."

Then the lark flew away till he came to the side of a rock, and there he saw a sly fox sitting. And the sly fox said, "Where are you going, sweet lark?"

And the lark answered, "I am going to the king, to sing him a song this fine May morning."

And the sly fox said, "Come, little lark, and I'll let you see a pretty white spot on the tip of my tail."

But the lark said, "No, no, sly fox; no, no! You worried the little lamb, but you shall not worry me."

Then the merry lark flew away till he came to the garden of the king; and there he sat among the red clover blossoms and sang his sweetest song.

And the king said to the queen, "What shall we do for this little lark who has sung so sweet a song to us?"

And the queen said to the king, "I think we must have some May-day games for the little lark, and invite robin redbreast to sing with him."

So the gay robin redbreast came and sang with the lark.

And the king and the queen and all the fine lords and ladies danced and made merry while the little birds sang.

And after that the lark flew away home to his own green meadow, where the old gray pussy-cat still lived among the tall reeds.

[1] Permission of American Book Company.

SAVED BY A LARK[1]

Little Helen was four years old. She lived in the country in a white house with green window blinds. The house stood in a large yard, and had pretty flowers in front of it and a row of big maple-trees on each side.

Behind the house was an orchard, where the birds liked to build their nests and sing their sweet songs. Helen had a swing between two large apple-trees which stood a little way from the back door. She could swing ever so high, and could almost touch the green apples on one of the branches.

Back of the orchard and garden stood three big red barns. These barns were full of wonders for Helen. She was always glad to go into them with her father, and see the piles of corn and wheat, the plows and wagons, and the many other things that were there.

One morning in the harvest-time Helen was standing alone upon the door-step. The sun shone bright; the robins were singing in the apple-trees; the grasshoppers were chirping in the lane; but Helen heard only the sound of the far-off reaper, as it came to her through the soft morning air. She knew that her father was with the reaper.

Don't you know what a reaper is? It is that with which the farmer cuts his grain when it is ripe. It is drawn by horses, and it cuts down the grain stalks with many sharp knives, which move back and forth very fast.

"I think I will go out to the field and help father," said Helen to herself.

In another moment the little feet were turned toward the harvest field.

Across the orchard and down the lane she went, carrying her sunbonnet in her hand and talking to the grasshoppers, which would somehow get in her way.

But when at last she came to the field, she saw the men and the reaper far away toward the other side.

Helen kept on across the field, for she thought that she would soon catch up with the men. But it did not take long for the little feet to grow very tired.

Then she sat down on a sheaf of wheat and looked around her, wishing that her father would come.

Just in front of her the tall yellow grain was still standing. Helen wondered why her father had not cut it down.

As she was looking, a lark flew out from among the grain singing a rich, clear song. The little child clapped her hands for joy. Then she jumped from her seat and ran toward the place from which the bird had flown.

"There is a nest in there, and I am going to find it," said Helen to herself. She parted the tall yellow wheat-stalks to right and left, and went forward, looking all about her with her bright, sharp eyes. She did not have to go very far, for right before her was the nest, sure enough, and in it were three little birds.

Was there ever anything so cunning as those little heads, with their tiny bills wide open! It was such a pretty place for a nest, too. Helen clapped her hands again, she was so happy.

Then she sat down by the nest, but she did not touch the birdies. It was like being in a golden forest, for the grain was high above her head.

Soon her eyes began to feel heavy, for she was very tired after her long walk. She sat down, with her head upon her arm, and in a short time was fast asleep.

On came the horses, drawing the great reaper with its sharp cutting knives. Helen's father was driving, and they were coming right toward the spot where the little child was lying!

Oh, Helen, little does your father think that you are hidden there in the tall grain!

What was it that made the farmer check his horses all at once? Did something tell him that his dear baby was in danger?

Oh, no! he thought that she was safe at home with her mother. But he was a good man with a kind heart, and he saw something that made him stop.

The lark was flying wildly about over the grain that was in front of the reaper. She seemed to say, "Stop! stop!" The farmer thought that he knew what she meant, and he was too kind-hearted to harm a bird's nest. So he said to one of the men, "Here, Tom, come and hold the horses. There must be a nest somewhere among this grain. I will walk in and look for it."

What a cry the men heard when he found little Helen fast asleep by the lark's nest! How his heart almost stood still when he thought of the danger that she had been in! He caught her up in his arms and covered her face with kisses. "Oh, my darling!" he said, "it was the lark that saved you!"

Yes, it was the lark, and his own kind heart, that had saved her. Helen was carried home in her father's strong arms. She could not understand what made the tears run down his cheeks.

It was some time before the men could go on with their work. They left the grain standing around the lark's nest, to thank her, as they said, for saving little Helen.

As they stood looking at the little birds in the nest, one of the men, with big tears in his eyes, said, "God bless the birds! Come away, boys, and let the little mother feed her babies."

[1] Permission of American Book Company.

ALL ABOUT THE MEADOW LARK

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Usually resident--sometimes goes south in late October, returning in April.

Song--a very beautiful sweet, clear whistle--heard in the early spring and in the autumn--usually quite silent during brooding season.

Female much paler in colour than male. General colour brown streaked with brown and black and cream--breast and throat yellow--conspicuous black crescent on breast--brown streak on head appearing to run through the eyes--tail feathers edged with white, which is seen most plainly when bird is in flight.

Food--seeds, insects, larval insects, also swallows gravel to aid in digestion.

Nest made of grasses--built on the ground amid tall grass or grain--usually quite skilfully hidden and arched or roofed over in a very ingenious way.

Eggs--four in number--about an inch and an eighth in length, a pure white, speckled with brown.

Greatest danger from snakes and field-mice.

Meadow lark is not really a lark, but belongs to the blackbird family.

THE OWL

A GOOD-NIGHT

"Haw-haw! Hoo! hoo!"

Phyllis listened again.

"Haw-haw! Hoo! hoo! Hoo! Hoo!"

"Oh, I see you now!" laughed Phyllis.

The owl moved silently as a shadow and perched very near to the little girl. His great round eyes and his yellow bill gleamed in the starlight.

"I heard you calling!" said Phyllis. "But I could not at first tell just where you were. I looked in a dozen trees before I came to you."

"To-who? To-who-whoo-oo-oo?" questioned the owl.

Phyllis laughed again. The owl blinked wisely.

"I am going home to-morrow," Phyllis said. "I shall start to school next week. Some day, perhaps, I shall be as wise as you, Mr. Owl."

The owl only blinked his great eyes.

"But I'm sure I can never look so wise," she added, politely.

"Hoo-hoo-hoo-oo!" hooted the owl, blinking sleepily.

"If you will not talk with me I shall say good-night to you at once!" said Phyllis.

"To-who? To-who-ooo-oo-oo?"

"To-you! To-you-oo-oo-oo!" called Phyllis, running off laughing.

"Papa," she said, a few moments later. "Papa, the hoot-owl would not talk with me!"

"Wise, wise owl!" said papa, smiling at her over his newspaper.

THE OWL

When cats run home, and light is come And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round, Alone and warming his five wits The white owl in the belfry sits.

--Tennyson.

THE OWL GIRL

Once a very queer little girl lived in a village beside the great Yukon River.

This little girl did not care to play with other children. Indeed, all day long she would sit inside the stone hut and sleep.

But as soon as evening came the little girl would awaken. She would run out to the river-bank to play. She would shout and laugh.

She did not mind the dark. In fact she declared that the sun hurt her eyes and that she could see far better in the dark.

The child's mother said that for all her queerness the little girl was very wise. She knew many things which grown-up people had never heard.

The people of the village shook their heads. They said there was magic in it all, and that some day something strange would surely happen.

So, when at sunset the queer little girl ran shouting to the river, the people of the village watched from the bushes.

And sure enough, something very wonderful did happen!

One evening the little girl with her big shiny eyes ran shouting among the trees which grew beside the river.

She was chasing a little field-mouse, which at last ran tremblingly up the low branch of a tree and hid in the dark.

But the queer little girl, who could see quite well in the dark, jumped to follow the mouse.

Lo, as she jumped, the queer little girl changed into a bird with a long, long beak and great shining eyes!

Now when she saw what had happened to her she was frightened. In her fright she flew back to her mother's stone hut.

But now that she was a bird she did not remember about the doors and windows. She flew wildly against the stone wall of the house.

So rapid was her flight that she struck the wall with great force. Her long bill and her face were quite flattened by the blow.

She forgot her mother's house, and in pain flew again to the trees by the river.

The next night the mother heard the voice of her queer little girl among the leaves calling, "Whoo-whoo-whoo!"

But when she looked she saw only a flat-faced, big-eyed bird who was making a supper of the poor little field-mouse.

THE OWL AND THE RAVEN[1]

Once upon a time the owl and the raven were fast friends.

They lived beside the same stream. They built their nests in a tree side by side. They sang the same songs. They ate the same food. They wore dresses of the same pale gray.

There was nothing that these friends would not do for each other. So great was their friendship that each was always finding ways to surprise and please the other.

At one time the raven was absent for two whole days.

"What can he be doing?" said the owl to herself. "I know he is planning some new surprise for me."

When, on the third day, the raven returned, the owl knew from his contented looks that the present must be unusually fine.

"It is something more than a beetle or a field-mouse this time," she thought. "Now what can I do for him? He is always so kind to me!"

Then the owl began to look about for something to do for her friend the raven.

On the shore near their home tree a huge whale had once been caught and cut up by the Eskimo hunters. Some of the bones still lay upon the sandy beach.

"Oh," said the owl, as she chanced upon these whalebones, "I know the very thing which will please my dear friend the raven!

"I will make for him a pair of beautiful whalebone boots! With them he can walk over the sharp rocks and the icy cliffs in comfort and safety!"

Thereupon the owl sat down in the sand and went to work. It was not long until the boots were finished. They were beautifully smooth and slender and graceful.

"The raven cannot help being pleased," she said, as she carried the boots toward the home tree. "I wonder if he is in!"

As she drew near the owl heard the raven calling her name. Answering loudly, she hurried to the place where he waited. But before the raven saw her she hid the whalebone boots among the grasses, that she might surprise him later.

She found the raven hopping impatiently about and calling loudly.

"Here--here I am!" she cried. "I have been away for but a short time--but you were away for days!"

"Oh, owl, dear," replied the raven, "though I have been absent I have thought only of you!

"See! here is a beautiful new dress which I have made for you!" And the raven spread before his friend a beautiful dress of dappled black and white.

It was made of the softest, most beautiful feathers, lovely enough to delight the heart of any bird.

"Oh, how very beautiful!" cried the owl. "How kind you are to me! How did you ever think of anything so lovely?"

The raven smiled, well pleased with himself.

"Try it on," he said. "I am sure it will become you. I am certain that when you see how lovely you look, you will never again wish to wear anything but black and white."

Quickly the owl slipped from her old gray dress into the splendid new one. Gently she fluttered about and ruffled the soft black and white feathers.

"Where did you get them?" she said, circling about and looking at her tail for the twentieth time.

"Sit down," commanded the raven, "and I will tell you!" So the owl settled down on the branch beside the raven.

"I found the feathers on that steep, rocky cliff beside the sea," he said. "The stones were sharp and the winds were wearying, but at last I finished the dress just as I planned.

"I am glad that you are pleased. I am very tired now, and must sit still and rest."

So delighted was the owl that for a moment she had forgotten the whalebone boots. Now as she looked at the raven she saw that in scratching about for the feathers he had broken one of his pink toes.

With a little cry of pity she flew to the grasses where the boots were hidden. Quickly she snatched them up and flew back to the poor tired raven.

"Here," she cried, "here!--I thought of you while you were away. Now you shall put your tired feet into these strong whale-bone boots. The stones and the ice cannot hurt you again."

"Oh, oh!" croaked the raven. "They are the very things for which I have been longing!"

"Put them on! Put them on!" cried the owl. "See how they will rest you! They will make you feel quite young again!"

The raven slipped his tired feet into the whalebone boots. Straight away the old tired ache left him. He hopped gaily about and croaked cheerfully.

"How graceful!" he said. "How perfectly they fit! How comfortable."

"Now I shall make a coat for you," said the owl. "It shall be pure white. The feathers shall be the shiniest and the loveliest that I can find!"

By and bye the raven's white coat was ready to be fitted.

"Come," commanded the owl. "Come and stand still while I fit your coat."

The raven came, but so delighted was he with the whalebone boots that he could not stand still. As the owl worked over him he kept hopping and dancing about.

"Stand still!" cried the owl. "I can do nothing with you hopping about so. I shall stick the pin-feathers into you!"

For an instant the raven stood still, looking down at the boots. Then he jumped so suddenly that the owl dropped a whole clawful of the soft white feathers with which she was finishing the neck.

Then the owl grew very angry.

"Stand still!" she hooted. "If you jump another time I will throw the oil from the lamp on you!"'

Now the lamp was filled with whale-oil. In it wicks of moss and twisted grass had been burned. With time and many wicks the oil had become as black as soot.

The raven looked at the black, sooty oil and then at his new white coat. He really stood still for as much as two minutes.

Just as the owl was trying to decide whether or not the coat should be longer, to cover the tops of the new boots, the raven caught sight of his own reflection in the clear water below.

So pleased was he with his appearance that he flapped his wings, and jumped up and down.

The loose white feathers flew in every direction. The pin-feathers dropped to the ground. The angry owl gasped for breath.

Then in a rage she seized the lamp. She flung it at the raven. Alas, for the poor fellow! The oil struck him full on the head. It ran down before. It ran down behind! There was not a dry feather on him!

"Quag! Quag!" croaked he, the oil dripping down on all sides. "Quag! Quag! I shall never speak to you again!"

"No," cried the owl. "Do not speak to me again. I would not have such a sooty friend as you!" and she flew far away.

[1] Adapted from Ethnological Bureau Report.

THE OWL

When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail; When blood is nipped and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, "Tu-who! Tu-whit! tu-who!" a merry note, While greasy Jean doth clean the pot.

--"Love's Labour's Lost," Shakespeare.

ALL ABOUT THE BARRED OR HOOT OWL

SUGGESTIONS FOR FIELD LESSONS

Notes--deep-toned, startling hoot.

Heard most frequently at nesting time.

Upper parts brown, marked with white--face gray, mottled with black, wings and tail barred with brown, eyes blue black, bill yellow, under parts buff marked with darker, legs and feet feathered, bill and claws dark, hooked, strong.

Feeds on chicken, mice, etc.

Usually take an old crow's or woodpecker's nest for their own use--rarely make nests for themselves. Nest very early in the season, young being sometimes ready to fly early in March.

THE BOBOLINK

A SUMMER SONG

He sat upon the tallest bending grass stalk. He paid not the slightest attention to Phyllis. He just swung lightly with the June breezes, and sang his little heart out.

Such a careless, joyous, jingling song Phyllis had never before heard. It seemed just a bubbling-over of happiness and gladness.

And such a common-looking little fellow to have such a wonderful voice! He was but a little larger than a sparrow.

His plumage was mostly black. His wings and tail were edged with pale yellow, and there were splashes of white in places on his body. There was a light yellow spot on the back of his neck.

"You seem filled with gladness," said Phyllis.

The little bird stared at her for a moment. Then he nodded his head, and quivered his small wings. He opened his mouth again and warbled out the jolliest, sweetest tune that bird throat ever sang.

"How very beautiful!" cried Phyllis. "What a world of happiness you send out in that song!"

"Ah, but I should be happy," warbled the sweet-voiced bobolink. "I have all that bird heart can wish!"

"Tell me--" said Phyllis.

"I at last have won my wife," sang the bobolink. "At this very moment, in this very field, she is sitting on a nestful of light blue eggs."

"Listen, Phyllis, and I will tell you all about it.

"It was about the middle of May when my brothers and I started north. All winter long we had wandered through the rice-fields of the South.

"We were not happy there. We feared for our lives. There we are not called bobolinks and the people of the South never listen for our songs.

"In fact we seldom sing when we are in the South. The hunters call us 'rice-birds' or 'reed-birds.' With their terrible guns they hunt us early and late.

"It was no wonder, then, that we were so glad to return to the North. It was a long journey, but we did not tire. In fact we travelled mostly at night. During the day we feasted in the fields or at grain stacks.

"For a few days we flew about here, and sang out our names to every passer-by.

"Just ten days after our arrival something very wonderful happened. Our sisters and wives and sweethearts came with fluttering wings and sweet, quiet ways.

"On that very day I met the lovely bird who now broods so gently over our eggs.

"She seemed to me the most beautiful bobolink that ever was. Early and late I sang to her. My most beautiful songs seemed not half good enough for so lovely a bird.

"I, alas, was not the only bobolink who admired her. My own brother was quite as delighted with her. He, too, sang to her.

"Sometimes we sat in the same tree, each of us singing our hearts out to the shy little creature whom we both loved.

"I am sorry to say we did more than sing for the demure little bird. We fought for her. We quarrelled fiercely. But at last it was I who won her, and my brother found for himself another wife."

"I wish I could find your nest," said Phyllis.

"It is in this field," said the bobolink. "It is near the brook, and every morning we both fly down there for a refreshing bath.

"I have told you all this, and yet, Phyllis, I venture to say that you might hunt all day among the grasses and not find my nest. For the leaves and the grasses bend over and about the nest where my little mate sits.

"Should I call to her she would come to me. You perhaps would run to the spot where she rose from the grass. But you would not find the nest.

"My wife in her quiet brown dress is too wise for that. She never flies up directly from the nest. She runs a distance among the grass stems and then starts up from the grasses.

"There are five eggs in the nest, light blue with spots of blackish brown.

"When they are hatched, you will hear very little music from me. I shall put on a quiet dress, much like the one which my mate now wears, and will work early and late bringing food to my babies.

"They shall have the very choicest grains and bugs and grasshoppers. There will soon be no time for singing."

"But when the little ones are grown--" said Phyllis.

"Oh, yes, then I will sing again for you. But listen, Phyllis!"

Phyllis heard a sweet little "Chink! Chink! Chink!"

"My little mate is calling," gurgled the bobolink, flying away and leaving the grass-top swaying wildly.

ROBERT OF LINCOLN