THE MEADOW LARK. 



I told the man who wanted 

 my picture that he could take it 

 if he would show my nest and 

 eggs. Do you blame me for 

 saying so? Don't you think it 

 makes a better picture than if I 

 stood alone? 



Mr. Lark is away getting me 

 some breakfast, or he could be 

 in the picture, too. After a few 

 days I shall have some little 

 baby birds, and then won't we 

 be happy. 



Boys and girls who live in the 

 country know us pretty well. 

 When they drive the cows out 

 to pasture, or when they go out 

 to gather wild flowers, we sit on 

 the fences by the roadside and 

 make them glad with our merry 

 song. 



Those of you who live in the 

 city cannot see us unless you 

 come out into the country. 



It isn't very often that we can 

 find such a pretty place for a 



nest as we have here. Most of 

 the time we build our nest under 

 the grass and cover it over, and 

 build a little tunnel leading to 

 it. This year we made up our 

 minds not to be afraid. 



The people living in the houses 

 over there do not bother us at all 

 and we are so happy. 



You never saw baby larks, 

 did you? Well, they are queer 

 little fellows, with hardly any 

 feathers on them. 



Last summer we had five little 

 birdies to feed, and it kept us 

 busy from morning till night. 

 This year we only expect three, 

 and Mr. Lark says he will do all 

 the work. He knows a field 

 that is being plowed, where he 

 can get nice, large worms. 



Hark! that is he singing. 

 He will be surprised when he 

 comes back and finds me off the 

 nest. He is so afraid that I will 

 let the eggs get cold, but I 

 won't. There he comes, now. 



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