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In the meadows, we hear the languid and tender drawl of the Meadow-Lark, one of the most peculiar of notes, almost amounting to affectation in its excess of laborious sweetness.
The song of meadow-lark and blackbird and robin, familiar to Madeline from childhood, mingled with the new and strange heart-throbbing song of mocking-bird and the piercing blast of the desert eagle and the melancholy moan of turtle-dove. One April morning Madeline sat in her office wrestling with a problem. She had problems to solve every day.
Some, indeed, are very elaborately concealed, as of the Golden-Crowned Thrush, called, for this reason, the Oven-Bird, the Meadow-Lark, with its burrowed gallery among the grass, and the Kingfisher, which mines four feet into the earth.
Were you ever wakened in the early morning by the clear whistle of a meadow-lark over your head, with the rich scent of the mountain pines coming to you on the pure light air of a new day, with the sun wrapping the earth in misty blue, and staining the mountains with rose? To David, lying on his cot in the open air, every dawning morning was a new creation, a brand new promise of hope.
It was not interrupted when a squirrel dropped a nut on us from the top of a tall hickory; and the plaint of a meadow-lark prolonged itself with unbroken sweetness from one world to the other. But I think it takes two to read in the open air. The pressure of walls is wanted to keep the mind within itself when one reads alone; otherwise it wanders and disperses itself through nature.
The blush that spread over Maud's face indicated that she was a good guesser! Then the meadow-lark, all unnoticed, hopped a little nearer, and sang sweeter than ever. Not that anybody was listening, either! In the station at Emerson, the boundary town, we were waiting for the Soo train, which comes at an early hour in the morning.
One day Thumbkins was passing through the meadow and it began to rain. "Dear me! I shall get soaking wet!" Thumbkins cried as he hurried along. A mamma meadow-lark, sitting upon her nest, saw Thumbkins running and called to him: "Come here, little man, and get beneath my wing and I will keep you warm and dry!"
He wondered, as he clasped his knees and studied the tops of the pine-trees, how he had put the question; whether he had perhaps put it wrong. He could not recall a word he had said; but her words in reply fell as distinct on his ear, as the note of the meadow-lark, down there by the roadside.
A meadow-lark rose from a distant clover field, dropping exquisite, silvery notes as he flew. The scent of green fields and honeysuckles came in at the open window, mingled inextricably with the croon of the bees, but Miss Mehitable knew only that it was Summer, that the world was young, but she was old and alone and would be alone for the rest of her life.
Twice in the night he had asked if he was It; so when the dawn at last showed with a lovely pinkness in the lacy folds of the curtains, and the note of a far-away meadow-lark called him into the glory of birthday happiness, he wanted to be very certain that this famous period of his life had actually come. Before demanding if it were quite true, he lay still awhile and thought about it.
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