The next morning, as the good man was at work in his garden, the two appeared in a pear tree near by.
“Good-morning, sir,” said the oriole.
“Good-morning, my feathered friend,” replied the pastor. “When did you arrive from the South?”
“Only a few days ago, but it was to find a sad change here.”
“Pray, what may it be? Not gunners already, nor boys after your nests?”
“Not these, but the bells in your church-tower.”
“Why, do not they please you?”
“No, indeed! and all the birds have sent us to protest against them. We and our forefathers have enlivened these hills with our songs time out of mind, and we believe the air, for music, belongs to us still. And we have come to give you your choice: Take down the bells, or we will be still and never sing for you again.”
