"Yes," said the bird, "but what makes me fear most are the field-mice and the snakes. They make great havoc in our nests when they discover them. Many a tiny fledgling has been swallowed by a great creeping, crawling snake. Many a beautiful egg has been eaten by the hungry little field-mice."

"I hope no harm will come to your little home," said Phyllis. "I notice one thing which you have for a protection from harm."

"What is that?" asked the meadow lark.

"It is your colour."

The meadow lark raised her head in gentle surprise.

"And what has my colour to do with my danger?" she asked.

"Why," said the little girl, feeling wondrous wise, "do you not see that the browns of your feathery dress are the same colours as the gra.s.s stems and the stubble amid which you brood and feed?"

"Why, so it is," said the meadow lark. "My back is brown, edged with brownish white. That is like the gra.s.s stems. I am streaked with black and brown and cream colours. That is like the blades of gra.s.s.

"My throat and breast are yellow like the stubble amid which I feed.

You are wonderfully wise, Miss Phyllis."

"What a beautiful black crescent you have upon your breast," said Phyllis. "It was almost the first thing I noticed when I met you."

"Did you observe the dark brown lines on my head? They seem to cross my eyes."

"I think you are quite beautiful," said Phyllis.

"Ah, but you should see my mate," said the meadow lark. "He is much more beautiful than I. My feathers seem pale and faded when I walk beside him. When fall comes, however, my own colours will brighten."

"On what shall you feed your little ones?"

"When I tell you, you will see again that I am wise in choosing this place for a nest.

"My babies need never grow hungry, for the gra.s.s seeds are always falling. The beetles and worms and ants are always walking by. The moths and the b.u.t.terflies are for ever laying their eggs in all sorts of convenient places. You remember how their eggs do not hatch out into b.u.t.terflies and moths at once. They are just ugly little worms called grubs."

"Yes," said Phyllis, "I remember."

The meadow lark carefully tucked an egg farther under her soft brown feathers.

"I am glad," she said, "that my eggs do not hatch out as grubs.

Perhaps if they did, I should care no more for my babies than the b.u.t.terfly does for hers. I am told that she does not even know her own children."

"You are quite right," said Phyllis. "She herself told me so."

The meadow lark gave a low whistle and nervously flitted her tail, showing the white feathers with which it was edged.

"It has been some time since I have heard your clear, sweet whistle,"

said Phyllis. "I thought you must have left our meadow. You have a most beautiful voice."

"Oh, no, we shall not soon leave your meadow, Phyllis. In the autumn we may join a party of larks and take our family to the marshes for awhile, but we shall return. Meadow larks do sometimes go south for the winter, but usually they live their lives in their home meadows."

"Then you will sing for me again?" asked the little girl.

"Oh, with pleasure," said the meadow lark.

"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 p.u.s.s.y, and she went down into the meadow, where she saw a merry lark flying among the tall reeds; and p.u.s.s.y 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 p.u.s.s.y said, "Come here, little lark, and I'll let you see a pretty ring round my neck."

But the lark said, "No, no, gray p.u.s.s.y; 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.