only came to spend the fine part of the year at Greenlawn.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

SPRING AT LAST.

"Build away, birds; there's no chiff-chaff trickery this time. Spring
is here," said the thrush, "and here's all the company coming. All the
swallow family are over, and here's the wryneck been playing a tune upon
its comb all the morning; as for those sit-up-o'-night birds, they've
been sing-sing, till I'm almost tired of it, and wish they would set to
work and find something better to do. But what's the matter down
there?"

It was plain that something was the matter, for all the birds were
leaving their work on purpose to go and see what was wrong; for there
was the yard-dog, Boxer, loose in the garden again, barking, and
snapping, and snarling at something rolled up amongst the dead leaves.
The thrush flew up, and settling on a low branch, stopped to watch what
was the matter; and he soon saw, for there, causing all the noise, was a
tightly-rolled up hedgehog, with his sharp spines sticking up all over,
and looking for all the world like a sharp round hair-brush. As for
Boxer, he was sniffing and snuffing and pricking his nose in his efforts
to get Blacknose open; but the little spikey thing would not open the
least bit in the world, but kept himself rolled up snug and fast, with
nothing but spines and thorns sticking out all over him. The more Boxer
sniffed and poked at the round ball, the more he got pricked, and then
he held up his head and whined in so comical a way, that all those who
were looking on could not keep from laughing, which made the dog so
cross that he barked at the birds, and made believe to bite; only they
were all out of reach; and this made him all the more cross and
snappish.

At last Boxer got the prickly thing close to the bank, and over it
rolled right down into an old rabbit's hole, where the dog could not
reach it; so then he turned round and ran at the first thing he saw,
which happened to be the magpie, who stayed so long upon the ground
before flying up, that the dog got hold of one of his tail-feathers.

"Pull, magpie!" shouted the birds. And magpie did pull, as hard as ever
he could pull, and fluttered and flew, but he could not get his
tail-feather away, so had to leave it behind with Boxer, who quietly sat
down on the grass and began to gnaw and tear the beautiful glossy green
plume, until he had completely spoiled it, when he threw it away, and
began to look out for som