be a few less of
them! Those little pied wagtails, that you were watching on the lawn
just now, often have the honour thrust upon them of hatching and rearing
a young cuckoo, as do also the hedge sparrow and the reed warbler. The
cuckoos are such cowards too," continued the Rook, "that they sometimes
lay their eggs in the poor little nest of quite a small bird who can't
even remonstrate with, much less fight them. Last Spring a vile cuckoo
actually laid her egg in a wren's nest, and the two poor little wrens
had to hatch and rear the young monster. You may fancy what hard work it
was,--it was nearly the death of them!"

The Blackbird groaned sympathetically, for he remembered his own labours
in that line. After a last glance at the kingfisher, the cuckoo, and the
winding stream, the two friends flew farther on, over "flowery meads"
and shining woods. The hedges were purple with marshmallow and vetch,
while in other places the blue heads of the succory, and the pink and
white briar roses were luxuriant, not to speak of the pale bindweed
which clung so affectionately round the slender stems of the hazels.

The pair of friends alighted for a moment to gaze at all this summer
wealth.

"I _do_ wish it could always be summer," sighed the Blackbird.

"You'd soon get very tired of it if it were," retorted the Rook, "and
you would not value the sunshine and flowers half so much if you always
had them."

[Illustration: THE ROOK.]

"Perhaps not," said the Blackbird, gazing rather sentimentally at the
closing blossoms of the convolvulus, "perhaps not, but the flowers are
very lovely."

"Yes," said the Rook, gravely; "they toil not, neither do they spin, and
yet we are assured that even the great King Solomon in all his glory
'was not arrayed like one of these.' The great God is over all His
works, friend Blackbird; nothing, however small or however insignificant
it may be, is overlooked or forgotten by the Creator."

After a few moments of silence the Blackbird said, "I must be going
home; my young ones are not yet able to do without me."

"Your young ones!" exclaimed the Rook, in a tone of surprise; and then
he added, "Ah, you've had two broods, I suppose?"

"Yes," replied the Blackbird, "and the last are still young. My first
are now quite grown up."

"I once knew a relation of yours," said the Rook, "who hatched three
broods in one year."

"Dear me," said the Blackbird in a tone of commiseration, "how exhausted
h