They stood at the edge of a last year's nest, and looked down with delight into the round, mossy cave. Then they crept gently in, and, lying down in each other's arms, found it so deep, and warm, and comfortable, and soft, that they were soon fast asleep.
Now, close beside them, in a hollow, was another nest, in which lay a lark and his wife; and the children were awakened, very early in the morning, by a dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Lark.
"Let me up," said the lark.
"It is not time," said the lark's wife.
"It is," said the lark, rather rudely. "The darkness is quite thin. I can almost see my own beak."
"Nonsense!" said the lark's wife. "You know you came home yesterday morning quite worn out—you had to fly so very high before you saw him. I am sure he would not mind if you took it a little easier. Do be quiet and go to sleep again."
"That's not it at all," said the lark. "He doesn't want me. I want him.
Let me up, I say."
He began to sing; and Tricksey-Wee and Buffy-Bob, having now learned the way, answered him:—
"I will sing a song.
I'm the Lark."
"Sing, sing, Throat-strong,
Little Kill-the-dark.
What will you sing about,
Now the night is out?"
"I can only call;
I can't think.
Let me up—that's all.
Let me drink!
Thirsting all the long night
For a drink of light."