“O MOTHER, IT IS RAINING!”
The birds had not awakened so early as usual, because it was darker. They had hardly got well started on their breakfast before a sleepy little face appeared at the window of the big house and a sleepy little voice called out: “O Mother, it is raining! I didn’t want it to rain.”
“Foolish! Foolish! Foolish!” chirped the Robins on the lawn. “Boys would know better than to say such things if they were birds.”
“Boys are a bother, anyway,” said an English Sparrow, as he spattered in the edge of a puddle. “I wish they had never been hatched.”
“Ker-eeeee!” said a Blackbird above his head. “I suppose they may be of some use in the world. I notice that the Gentleman and the Lady seem to think a great deal of this one, and they are a very good sort of people.”
“I’d like them better if they didn’t keep a Cat,” said his brother. “Their Cat is the greatest climber I ever saw. He came almost to the top of this maple after me yesterday, and I have seen him go clear to the eaves of the big house on the woodbine.”
“That is because the Sparrows live there,” said Mr. Wren. “He went to see their children. Silvertip says that he is very fond of children—they are so much more tender than their parents.” Mr. Wren could laugh about this because his own children were always safely housed. Besides, you know, he had reason to dislike Sparrows.
“I would not stay here,” said a Sparrow who had just come up, “if the people here were not of the right sort. They have mountain ash trees and sweetbrier bushes where birds find good feeding. And in the winter that Boy throws out bread crumbs and wheat for us.”
“Humph!” said the Oldest Blackbird. “There is no need of talking so much about it. You can always tell what sort of people live in a place by seeing if they have a bird-house. If they have, and it is a sensible one, where a bird could live comfortably, they are all right.”