CHAPTER XIII 



THE REACHES OF THE PRAIRIE 



In the journey southwest from Chicago the traveler hour 

 after hour passes over a prairie country. Nowhere, as far as 

 eye can reach, is there a hill to hedge in these seemingly 

 limitless fields. It needs no native of these parts to explain 

 to the traveling stranger why it is that this great reaching 

 plain is called the Grand Prairie. There is a grandeur apart 

 from mountains, canons, and rushing rivers. It is the gran- 

 deur that attaches to the thought of vast extent, unbroken 

 and unrestricted. 



The Grand Prairie is the home of the birds that love the 

 level grass-grown stretches, the great corn-fields, and the low 

 swales that hold their moisture even in the burning heat of 

 summer. The meadowlarks nest in countless numbers all 

 over the face of the prairies. The Western lark is a somewhat 

 smaller bird than its Eastern cousin, and it is far more 

 friendly. Go where you will on the prairies in the spring-time 

 you will hear the lark's clear, sweet, whistling note. 

 Sometimes the bird's music has a bell-like quality, but I have 

 always been pleased to think that this bit of sweetness is for 

 the special benefit of Madame Meadowlark, hidden away on 

 her nest in the prairie grass. An attempt was made recently 

 in the Illinois legislature to put the meadowlark on the game 

 list. The farmer members said that the bird was too good a 

 friend to be shot for pot-pies, and the bill never went beyond 

 the first reading. I spent part of one winter in a wooded section 



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