ime. Next month he will
be dumb, and before you know it his beautiful shining black coat, with
the white and buff trimmings, will have dropped off. Then he will be
changed to dull brown like his wife, and keep as quiet as poor
Cinderella sitting in the ashes.

"Do you see any birds in that meadow of long grass?" asked the Doctor.

"I don't see any in the grass," said Rap; "but there are some Bobolinks
all about in the trees along the edges, and more of them up in the air.
Where are their nests, Doctor? I've never found a Bobolink's nest!"

"Their nests are hidden in that long grass, and their mates also.
Whoever would find them must have the patience of an Indian, the eyes of
a bird, and the cunning of a fox.

"Mrs. Bobolink finds a little hollow in the ground where the roots grow,
and rounds up a nest from the grass stalks with finer grass tops inside.
Then she so arranges the weeds and stems above her home that there is no
trace of a break in the meadow; and when she leaves the nest she never
goes boldly out by the front door or bangs it behind her, but steals off
through a by-path in the grass. When she flies out of shelter at last,
she has already run a good way off, so that, instead of telling the
watcher where her home is, she tells him exactly where it is not.

"Bob earns his living these days by singing and going to market for the
family, but he does both in a tearing hurry; for his housekeeping, like
his honeymoon, is short. He must lead his children out of the grass
before the mowers overtake him, or the summer days grow short; for then
he will have to spend some time at his tailor's before he can follow the
warm weather down South again.

"Twice a year Bob has to make the most complete change of plumage that
falls to the lot of any bird. His summer toilet is so tiresome and
discouraging that he retires into the thickest reeds to make it. Out he
comes in August, leaving his lovely voice behind with his cast-off
clothes, dressed like his wife, with hardly a word to say for himself,
as he joins the flock into which various families have united. He even
loses his name, and is called Reedbird, after his hiding-place. He grows
reckless and says to his brothers, 'What do we care? If we can't sing
any more, we can eat--let us eat and be merry still!' So they eat all
they can, and wax exceedingly fat; the gunners know this, and come after
them.

"Meanwhile, in southern lowlands the rice-fields, that have been h