e was opened, but
he hoped it wouldn't be that kind of a surprise, for he didn't care
much for blackbirds himself, specially in pies. The 'Possum said there
might be one black bird sing when these pies were opened, but he didn't
b'lieve there'd be any more, which made the 'Coon laugh so he nearly
fell off his chair. Just then they heard the Crow coming, and the
'Possum whispered quick to the Turtle and the Rabbit that they must be
sure and eat their pie all up and ask for more, as Mr. Crow was proud of
his cooking and always felt offended when people didn't eat heartily.

Well, Mr. Crow came in carrying a great pan of fine biscuits and set
them down in the middle of the table, while everybody said, "What lovely
biscuits!" and asked whether they were made with buttermilk or baking
powder, and wanted his recipe. Mr. Crow said he didn't have any recipe,
but just took a pinch of this and a pinch of that, and that there was a
good deal in the knack and in having things come natural, just as it was
natural for Mr. Rabbit to write poetry. Then he said he hoped Mr. Rabbit
hadn't forgotten to think up a few thoughts for this occasion, and Mr.
Rabbit said that he had been too busy with spring work to write much
lately, but that he did have a few lines in his pocket that they might
be willing to listen to. So then he took out the roll he had brought and
put on his glasses and stood up, while all the others sat still and
listened.

[Illustration]

Oh, sweet the month of April,
When birds begin to twitter!
When dewdrops on the clover
And tender grasses glitter!
When every shoot of lettuce
That from the ground arises
Gives promise of a salad--
Oh, month of sweet surprises!

You see Mr. Rabbit is a great gardener, and specially fond of young
clover and tender salad.

Oh, sweet the month of April,
When youthful chicks are hatching,
And gayly in the meadows
Around their ma are scratching!
The finest way to eat them
In dumpling or in pies is--
Oh, here's to you, sweet April,
With all your glad surprises!

Mr. Rabbit knew that the Crow would have chicken either in dumpling or
pies, and anyhow he needed "pies is" to rhyme with "surprises," and when
he came to those lines and sat down the others shouted and laughed and
Mr. Crow pounded on the table and declared he couldn't have done better
if he'd been a poet and written it himself! And the 'Coon and the
'Possum both pounded too