IX 



A MEADOW CHRONICLE 



" Tr)LING-pling-pling-tweet-tweet-tweet 

 X^-de-eei" poured from the topmost 

 twig of an old apple-tree. The singer was 

 a song sparrow, and he repeated his modest 

 strain a number of times, and then, as if 

 dissatisfied, almost exactly reversed it and 

 sang, " Tweet-tweet-tweet-pling-pling-de- 

 eei," with more emphasis than before, and 

 suddenly dropped into the long grass be- 

 low, out of which he once again sang 

 softly, then silence reigned. 



It was a typical July morning, quiet, 

 still and peaceful. No sound was to be 

 heard except the " zizzing " of the insects 

 and the subdued song of the birds. There 

 were two busy families astir, however, for 

 from one of the neighboring apple-trees a 

 pair of kingbirds had just safely guided 

 four restless babies out into the wide, wide 

 world, and an equally industrious pair of 

 chipping sparrows had done the same. 



