PLAYMATE. Yes, indeed, you may, for then the birds will come and sing for us.
ERIC and THYRA run into the rye-field and tear down the scarecrow.
ERIC. Away with you, you nasty old scarecrow! Come and eat now, little birds! [The Golden Bird comes flying from the right and perches on the fuchsia] Oh, see the Golden Bird, Thyra!
THYRA. Oh, how pretty it is! Does it sing, too?
[The bird calls like a cuckoo.
ERIC. Can you understand what the bird sings, boy?
PLAYMATE. No, children, the birds have little secrets of their own which they have a right to keep hidden.
THYRA. Of course, Eric, don't you see, otherwise the children could tell where the nests are, and then they would take away the eggs, and that would make the birds sorry, and they couldn't have any children of their own.
ERIC. Don't talk like a grown-up, Thyra.
PLAYMATE. [Putting a finger across his lips] Hush! Somebody is coming. Now let us see if he likes to stay with us or not.