"Crow for the walnut tree this morning," he said.
"He won't get to the house again very soon," thought Bobby. So he went over to the strawberry patch to see whether any strawberries were ripe.
Suddenly, in the apple tree, a robin began to sing. A thrush joined him from a near-by thicket. Birds began chirping in all the trees.
The Eastern sky began to turn golden. The fleecy white clouds began to look rosy.
Bobby forgot all about the rooster.
Soon there were birds singing everywhere—robins in the apple orchard, an oriole in the elm tree, swallows flashing through the farmyard, bluebirds and yellowbirds on every side. Bobolinks skimming over the clover field, joined the chorus.
Then on a low limb of the crab-apple tree, a meadow lark began to sing. Bobby tried to find him, but could not see him among the branches. Such a wonderful song he had never heard.
The Eastern sky was getting more rosy and more golden.
"It must be the sunrise that makes him so happy," thought Bobby. "I wish I could sing like that."
So there Bobby stood, golden sunrise in the East, singing birds around him.