“And he would sing to me at the same time. Such sweet songs as he could sing! I think no other bird could equal him.
“We, too, had some eggs in our nest. And we were happy. Yesterday Mr. Bobolink was perched on the tip of a bough, singing, when suddenly he fell to the ground.
“I flew to see what the trouble was. And do you know what had happened?
“He was dead. He had been hit on the head with a stone. Not far away I saw the boys who killed him.
“To-day we dug a grave and buried him under his favorite tree.” And poor Mrs. Bobolink cried harder than ever.
Then Father and Mother Meadow Lark came up. “Oh, Father Thrift,” they cried, “listen to what has happened to us!
“We had four little children in a nest in the field. The nest was covered over with grasses. We thought it perfectly safe.
“But while we were away getting food for our little ones, some one stole them all.”
And the Meadow Larks wept as though their hearts would break.