IN THE MEADOW

If Jack's big black dog, Nero, had not chanced to snatch Phyllis's rag doll by the head and run away with it this story would have never been written.

You see, Nero bounded straight across the meadow and Phyllis, fearing that she would lose the doll, ran shrieking after him.

Nero was only playing, and soon dropped the doll and ran off. Phyllis regained her property and started to return, when a bird rose from the grass at her feet with a queer whirring sound.

Phyllis looked up at the bird and then down to the spot from which it had flown.

In another moment she would have stepped in the nest. This meadow lark's nest was unlike any other Phyllis had found. Indeed, it could scarcely be called a nest at all.

But when she looked at it Phyllis thought what a wise little bird the meadow lark must be to choose such a place for the nest.

Had Phyllis not chanced upon it in just the way she did she might have looked all day long and not discovered it.

The nest was flat upon the ground. Around it and over it arched the tall meadow grasses. The nest itself was made of grass—it seemed to Phyllis that it was made in a somewhat careless manner, and that the eggs might easily roll out upon the ground.

There were four beautiful oval eggs in the nest—the largest birds' eggs Phyllis had as yet discovered. They were over an inch long, and were of a beautiful rosy white colour, speckled closely with reddish brown spots.

As Phyllis sat very still, the mother bird crept softly back to her home. She carefully settled herself on the grassy nest and with her bill tenderly tucked the eggs under her soft feathers.

"How careful you are!" exclaimed Phyllis. "No fear of your breaking the eggs."

The brown bird rose up quickly in fright and looked uncertainly toward the fence. Phyllis thought to see her whirr off again.

"Oh, don't go," she cried. "I will not harm you! Truly I will not disturb you!"

The meadow lark looked again toward the fence, and then settled herself once more over her precious eggs.

"Why do you look toward the fence so often?" asked Phyllis.

"Do you not see that bird perched upon the fence?" asked the meadow lark.

"Yes," Phyllis answered, "what is he doing there?"

"He is our sentinel," said the meadow lark. "He is on the lookout for danger. When he gives the alarm, the rest of the flock know there is danger near.

"When we hear the sentinel's alarm we are off in an instant. We fly high into the air. Did you not notice how I hovered near the grass-tops for a moment and then rose high into the air?"

"Yes," answered Phyllis, "and I knew that you were a lark because of that whirring sound you made when flying."

"Ah, but I am not really a lark at all," said the bird. "I am called the meadow lark, but in truth I belong to the blackbird family. The red-winged blackbird is an own cousin of mine. So also is the oriole, who builds a queer hanging nest in the tree-tops.

"The oriole is very proud of her woven nest, but I should consider it a dangerous place for bird babies. My little ones will never be hurt by falling from their nest.

"Neither can I imagine how any bird can dare to build in such an open place.

"My home is hidden here amid the grasses. Sometimes we find places like this, where the grass blades naturally arch over and hide the nest.

"Sometimes we weave a sort of arch over the nest with the downy, fine fibres from the grass leaves.

"Did you notice the little lane down which I returned to my tiny home?"

"No," said Phyllis, "I thought you just came through the grasses by the easiest way."

"If you will look closely," said the meadow lark, pecking away at her own brown feathers, "if you look very, very closely, you will see the tiny path which leads directly to my door."

Phyllis leaned down and peered very curiously among the grass stems. Sure enough, there was a tiny winding path, almost hidden from sight. It led directly to the meadow lark's nest.

"You are a very wonderful little bird," she cried.

"I shall have some very wonderful babies one of these fine days," said the meadow lark, proudly.

"How safely they will be hidden from danger," said Phyllis.

"Well," said the mother bird, shaking her head, sadly, "I am very sure that I build in a safer manner than my cousins. But, alas, even meadow larks are not free from danger."

"I might have stepped on your nest?" said Phyllis.

"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 grass 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 grass stems. I am streaked with black and brown and cream colours. That is like the blades of grass.

"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 grass seeds are always falling. The beetles and worms and ants are always walking by. The moths and the butterflies are for ever laying their eggs in all sorts of convenient places. You remember how their eggs do not hatch out into butterflies 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 butterfly 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 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.