390 GRAY LADY AND THE BIRDS 
Joy will fill it, 
Don’t spill it! 
Steady, be ready, 
Love your luck! 
— Henry vAN DykgB, in Bird-Lore. 
“T do declare!’”’ exclaimed Tommy Todd’s grandfather, 
speaking out loud, much to the boy’s embarrassment. 
“T reckon I’ll get out a pole and go a-trout-fishing to-mor- 
row dawn. I haven’t thought of a yallerthroat, not since 
I used to go casting in the brook that ran through Ogden’s 
meadows among the bush willows, and them birds kept 
hollerin’ on ahead.” 
This is what the Wise Man told the children, standing 
in front of Miss Wilde’s desk and speaking as if he knew 
them all by name. 
THE BIRDS AND I 
The springtime belongs to the birds and me. We own 
it. We know when the Mayflowers and the buttercups 
bloom. We know when the first frogs peep. We watch 
the awakening of the woods. We are wet by the warm 
April showers. We go where we will, and we are com- 
panions. Every tree and brook and blade of grass is ours; 
and our hearts are full of song. 
There are boys who kill the birds, and girls who want to 
catch them and put them in cages; and there are others 
who steal their eggs. The birds are not partners with 
them; they are only servants. Birds, like people, sing 
for their friends, not for their masters. I am sure that 
one cannot think much of the springtime and the flowers 
if his heart is always set upon killing or catching some- 
