he mother tends the eggs and nestlings, the father always
keeping near to help her, and continually singing at his daily toil of
providing for his family as charmingly as if he were still a gay
bachelor; for Meadowlarks are very affectionate both toward each other
and their young. It is really distressing to hear the sadness of the
song of one who has lost his mate. He seems to be crying, 'Where are
you, dear?' and beseeching her to come.

"Though we frequently hear their song in the marsh meadows in autumn,
they are shyer then, and keep in flocks. At that season they grow fat,
and gunners continually worry them; but I do not think that sportsmen
often shoot these song birds. They are chiefly the victims of
thoughtless boys or greedy pot-hunters. The true sportsman is one of the
first to preserve all song birds, and give even game birds a fair chance
for life; he is thus very different from the cruel man who, simply
because he owns a gun, shoots everything, from a Robin to a Quail, and
even in the nesting season."

"Please, what is a pot-hunter?" asked Dodo.

"A pot-hunter is one who kills birds and other game at any time,
regardless of the law, merely for the sake of money-making."

"Is there a law about killing birds?" asked Nat.

"Certainly. All really civilized States have their game-laws, and I hope
the time is near when all our States will unite in this matter. Where
there is a good law no wild bird or beast, even those which are suitable
and intended for food, may be killed in its nesting or breeding season,
or for some time afterward. Also, these creatures must only be killed by
fair hunting, not with snares or traps or by any foul means; and even
fishes are thus protected against wanton or excessive destruction."

"But if there is a law is some places and not in others, why don't the
birds that travel get shot when they go about?" asked Rap.

"They do, my boy, and that is the pity of it. Some people seem to think
there are so many birds in this great country that they cannot be killed
out; and others are brutal, or do not think at all, but kill for the
sake of killing. The worst of it is that little or no protection is
given the poor birds in the warm countries where they spend the winter.
Thrushes are shot for pot-pie, all the gayly colored birds are killed
for their feathers, and flocks of doves are slain to see how many a man
can hit in a day!

"Olaf says the Meadowlarks are raising their second broo