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He kept their trail with little effort, head cocked on one side like a saucy meadowlark, and whistled snatches of "Hell Among the Yearlin's," as though the prospect of a sanguinary brush with thieves was pleasing in the extreme. The afternoon was on its last lap when we came in sight of Stony Crossing.
"About the middle of last summer!" Mr. Meadowlark explained. "Ah! This is the second suit he has had since then," said Mr. Red-winged Blackbird. "If you had been with us in the swamp last fall you'd have known that Bobby had a new one then. And here he is now with still another." Mr. Meadowlark looked a bit troubled.
And now that he is quite grown up you know he has a wife it seems to me that we couldn't do better than invite him to join the Pleasant Valley Singing Society." Mr. Meadowlark had explained all this in a most eager manner. And he couldn't help being a bit disappointed over the way Buddy Brown Thrasher received it. He did not seem at all excited. To tell the truth, he was a suspicious chap.
After that there was a perfect flood of music, as if all the singers of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows were in that hemlock-tree. There was the song of Mr. Redwing and the song of Jenny Wren, and the sweet notes of Carol the Meadowlark and the beautiful happy song of Little Friend the Song Sparrow. No one had ever heard anything like it, and when it ended every one shouted for more.
The sparrow's song meant nothing to her at all, and how could she share the enthusiasm of the poet? Probably the warble of the robin, or the call of the meadowlark or of the highhole, if they chanced to hear them, meant no more to these girls. If we have no associations with these sounds, they will mean very little to us. Their merit as musical performances is very slight.
Ring-necked Pheasant, 11; Marsh Hawk, 1; Orange-shafted Flicker, 9; Magpie, 75; Red-winged Blackbird, 750; Meadowlark, 4; House Finch, 35; Tree Sparrow, 60; Shufeldt's Junco, 3; Pink-sided Junco, 1; Gray-headed Junco, 18. Total, 11 species, 967 individuals. Escondido, Calif. Dec. 25; 9 A. M. to 2 P. M. Partly cloudy; temperature 65 degrees.
Then a torrent of notes came tumbling out of his throat as he darted right over the head of old Mr. Crow almost tied his neck into a knot, just watching him. "By the way," Mr. Meadowlark said in an undertone to Mr. Red-winged Blackbird, "our friend Bobby has a different suit from the one he wore when I last saw him." "When was that?" Mr. Red-winged Blackbird inquired.
The swallows dive and chatter about the barn, or squeak and build beneath the eaves; the partridge drums in the fresh sprouting woods; the long, tender note of the meadowlark comes up from the meadow; and at sunset, from every marsh and pond come the ten thousand voices of the hylas. May is the transition month, and exists to connect April and June, the root with the flower.
Nearly every one in the eastern United States and Canada knows the Robin, Crow, and English Sparrow; in the South most people are acquainted with the Mockingbird and Turkey Buzzard; in California the House Finch is abundant about the towns and cities; and to the dwellers in the Prairie States the Meadowlark is very familiar.
Meadowlark had no reason to be ashamed of his own voice. "My song is not like his," Mr. Meadowlark answered. And he sighed as he spoke. "To be sure, some people are kind enough to say that my singing is unusually sweet. But you know yourself that there isn't a songster anywhere that can carol so joyfully as Bobby Bobolink." Mr. Red-winged Blackbird did not dispute that statement.
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