ment. They left them where they were horses' feet and set them up on the barn 



for that night, but the next morning they roof. But it did no good, for their unre- 



evidently thought the time for action had lenting parents pushed them off again 



arrived, so, despite the youngsters' de- and again until at last the youngsters 



spairing cries, they set about to push gained confidence in themselves and flew 



them off the shelf. No doubt the ground of their own accord. 



seemed a long way off for their untested Then was peace restored in the family 



wings and they clutched wildly at the and the four went on many happy expe- 



edge of the shelf, but the old birds had ditions together, cutting great circles 



no mercy in their discipline, so over the through the air and darting among the 



birdlings went to the ground. rafters of the barn as though fear had 



Here they strutted and fluttered about never been known to any of them, 

 until I rescued them from under the Amy Taylor. 



THE BLACKBIRDS' BREAKFAST. 



Mr. Blackbird awoke in his dark pine-tree home 



One bright early morning in spring, 

 Said he to his wife, "The time is now come 



For us to get out on the wing; 

 The old farmyard hen is beginning to cackle. 

 I'll keep even with her or my name isn't Grackle." 



Said his wife, ''Mrs. Redwing was over last night 



To make us a short, friendly call. 

 She said that this morning, as soon as 'twas light. 



We could come to their sycamore hall, 

 And we'd go to the cornfield and breakfast together 

 And meet more of the folk of the rusty black feather." 



Mr. Blackbird replied, with a bow and a quirk, 



"As you please, dearest wife, you know best." 

 Then he straightened his tail with a queer little jerk 



And swelled out his greeny-blue vest. 

 And then from his place, with solicitous glances. 

 Peered his big yellow eyes, surveying their chances. 



Soon down in the cornfield a wonderful sight 



As well as a wonderful sound ! 

 A red flash, a black one as dark as the night, 



And scarcely a bare patch of ground ! 

 A flutter, a clutter, a patter, a clatter — 

 This breakfast indeed is a sociable matter. 



When all of the grubs and the cut worms are gone 



And a few of the best hills of corn. 

 Then a bevy of birds, as with instinct of one, 



Rise like a dark cloud on the morn. 

 The good-byes are said by this party so clannish 

 And away to their homes in the tree tops they vanish. 



— Mary Noland. 



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