"Then you will sing for me again?" asked the little girl.
"Oh, with pleasure," said the meadow lark.
"You remember how we used to sing in the spring? Just now our thoughts are so taken up with our nesting that we have little time for song. But later, when the little ones are able to care for themselves, I shall gladly whistle to you once more."
"I shall listen for you," said Phyllis. "Just now I must go, for I hear my mother's voice. Good-bye, meadow lark!"
And the meadow lark from her nest whistled a low good-bye.
THE SONG OF THE MERRY LARK[1]
Once there was an old gray pussy, and she went down into the meadow, where she saw a merry lark flying among the tall reeds; and pussy said, "Where are you going, little lark?"
And the merry lark answered, "I am going to the king to sing him a song this fine May morning."
And pussy said, "Come here, little lark, and I'll let you see a pretty ring round my neck."