WHAT THE QUAIL SAYS.
Whistles the quail from the covert,
Whistles with all his might,
High and shrill, day after day,
"Children, tell me, what does he say?"
Ginx—(the little one, bold and bright,
Sure that he understands aright)—
"He says, 'Bob White! Bob White!'"
Calls the quail from the cornfield,
Thick with stubble set;
Misty rain-clouds floating by
Hide the blue of the August sky.
"What does he call now, loud and plain?"
Gold Locks—"That's a sign of rain!
He calls 'More wet! more wet!'"
Pipes the quail from the fence-top,
Perched there full in sight,
Quaint and trim, with quick, bright eye,
Almost too round and plump to fly,
Whistling, calling, piping clear,
"What do I think he says? My dear,
He says 'Do right! do right!'"
Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.
CHICK-A-DEE-DEE.
The snowflakes are drifting round windows and door;
The chilly winds whistle "Remember the poor;"
Remember the birds, too, out on yonder tree;
I hear one just singing a Chick-a-dee-dee.
Throw out a few crumbs! you've enough and to spare;
They need through the winter your kindness and care;
And they will repay you with heartiest glee,
By constantly singing a Chick-a-dee-dee.