"Sometimes we sat in the same tree, each of us singing our hearts out to the shy little creature whom we both loved.
"I am sorry to say we did more than sing for the demure little bird. We fought for her. We quarrelled fiercely. But at last it was I who won her, and my brother found for himself another wife."
"I wish I could find your nest," said Phyllis.
"It is in this field," said the bobolink. "It is near the brook, and every morning we both fly down there for a refreshing bath.
"I have told you all this, and yet, Phyllis, I venture to say that you might hunt all day among the grasses and not find my nest. For the leaves and the grasses bend over and about the nest where my little mate sits.
"Should I call to her she would come to me. You perhaps would run to the spot where she rose from the grass. But you would not find the nest.
"My wife in her quiet brown dress is too wise for that. She never flies up directly from the nest. She runs a distance among the grass stems and then starts up from the grasses.
"There are five eggs in the nest, light blue with spots of blackish brown.
"When they are hatched, you will hear very little music from me. I shall put on a quiet dress, much like the one which my mate now wears, and will work early and late bringing food to my babies.
"They shall have the very choicest grains and bugs and grasshoppers. There will soon be no time for singing."