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Thumbkins kept very quiet, for the baby meadow-larks were sleepy little fellows, and before he knew it Thumbkins was sound asleep himself, with an arm around one of the baby birds. Thumbkins did not know how long he had been asleep, but when he awakened the rain had ceased. Thumbkins knew it had stopped raining for he could no longer hear the rain drops pattering upon Mamma Meadow-Lark's back.
The autumn silence, which is the only perfect silence in all the world, was restful, yet full of significance, suggestion, provocation. From the spongy lowland back of them came the pleading sweetness of a meadow-lark's cry. Nearer they could even hear an occasional leaf flutter and waver down. The quick thud of a falling nut was almost loud enough to earn its echo.
In half an hour the children were back again, all talking eagerly together. "The Redwings scolded us like everything!" said Dodo, "and Rap stepped right into an empty Meadow-lark's nest, without seeing it. A little way back there are lots of Bobolinks, too, singing and singing, but we couldn't find a single nest."
In the same easily contented spirit as I lounge through the barn-yard, if I find the old hens gone about their family affairs, I do not mind a meadow-lark's singing in the top of the elm-tree beside the pump. In these excursions the watch-dogs know me for a harmless person, and will not open their eyes as they lie coiled up in the sun before the gate.
In the same easily contented spirit as I lounge through the barn-yard, if I find the old hens gone about their family affairs, I do not mind a meadow-lark's singing in the top of the elm-tree beside the pump. In these excursions the watch-dogs know me for a harmless person, and will not open their eyes as they lie coiled up in the sun before the gate.
Discovered, he tried to dodge, but Piers Minor was too quick, and they closed. The youth struggled gallantly, but the Stockader had all the advantage in strength; in another moment Piers Minor had his antagonist crushed helplessly into a corner. He looked at the boy contemptuously. "Not a sound, mind, or I'll twist your throat as I would a meadow-lark's. Why were you following me?"
So Thumbkins crawled beneath Mamma Meadow-Lark's wings and, snuggling down close to the bottom of the meadow-lark's nest, he found three tiny little baby meadow-larks. It was too dark for Thumbkins to see them, but he felt that the baby Meadow-Larks were as warm as toast.
She pitied everybody else in the universe. They were so blind! They looked, but they did not see what was so clear to eyes from which the veil had been stripped. They went about their humdrum way without emotion. Their hearts did not sing exultant pæans that throbbed out of them like joy-notes from a meadow-lark's throat.
It was a very good imitation of a meadow-lark's joyous lilt. He answered it, put down the pan and knife, and rose. "Where you going?" demanded the cook. "Back in a minute, Lon," the flunkey told him, and followed a cow trail that took him up the hill through the sage. "I never did see a fellow like him," the cook communed aloud to himself.
So now he climbed out of the nest and looked about. The ground about the Meadow-Lark's nest was covered with tiny puddles, and Mamma Meadow-Lark was soaking wet. She looked very uncomfortable. Her feathers stuck out in all directions and a drop of water fell from her head and rolled down her beak.
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