The Tale of Bobby Bobolink | Page 2

him--and hear him--the feathered folk tried to be cheerful and told one another that Bobby ought to arrive almost any day.
"He always finds it hard to leave the rice fields in the South," Mr. Red-winged Blackbird observed with a knowing wink at old Mr. Crow, as the two stopped for a chat on the morning after May Day. "It's rice-planting time in the South," Mr. Red-winged Blackbird explained. "Somewhat like corn-planting time here!" And he winked once more.
Although Mr. Crow was in the habit of scratching up Farmer Green's newly-planted corn, just as Bobby Bobolink uncovered the freshly-sown rice in the South, Mr. Crow never cared to have any of his neighbors even hint that he did such a thing. And now he glared at Mr. Red-winged Blackbird, who continued to wink at him.
"Is there something in your eye?" Mr. Crow inquired in his coldest manner.
Mr. Red-winged Blackbird had no wish to make Mr. Crow angry. So he stopped winking at once.
"When you see your friend Bobby Bobolink you'd better tell him to leave the corn strictly alone," Mr. Crow remarked. "Farmer Green expects to begin planting in about three weeks. And he counts on me to watch the field for him. If I catch Bobby Bobolink there he'll wish he had stayed in the rice fields, down South."
Mr. Red-winged Blackbird smiled. And he told old Mr. Crow not to worry.
"Bobby Bobolink won't touch the corn," he said. "During the first half of the summer he lives on such things as caterpillars and grasshoppers, with a bit of grass-seed now and then."
Old Mr. Crow replied that he was glad to know that.
"He's wise to leave the corn alone," he added. "If Farmer Green was on the lookout for him--with a gun handy--Bobby Bobolink wouldn't act so care-free as he generally does. He wouldn't sing such rollicking songs in the meadow. And now that you've mentioned how he spends his springs in the South, I don't wonder that he appears glad to get to Pleasant Valley. For you may well believe that folks are not so fond of him down there where the rice grows. And unless I'm much mistaken the planters actually order him out of their fields."
Mr. Red-winged Blackbird told Mr. Crow that he hadn't a doubt that everything Mr. Crow said was so. And he was just about to remark that he should think Mr. Crow must lead a care-free, happy-go-lucky life in winter, in the South, because Farmer Green always stayed in Pleasant Valley the whole year round. But as he opened his bill to speak he heard a sound over in the meadow that made him forget what was on the tip of his tongue.
"Did you hear that song?" he cried. "Hurrah!"
Old Mr. Crow cocked his head on one side and listened. "Yes!" he agreed. "There's no doubt about it. Bobby Bobolink is here at last!"

III
GREETINGS
AS fast as they could fly, old Mr. Crow and Mr. Red-winged Blackbird hurried over to the meadow, where they had heard Bobby Bobolink's bubbling notes.
They found him enjoying himself with a lively company of careless bachelors--all distant cousins of Bobby Bobolink--who had travelled with him in a roistering flock all the way from the South.
They were all wonderful singers--those happy Bobolinks. They could scarcely have kept still if they had wanted to. But somehow Bobby Bobolink seemed to be just a bit the best singer of the lot.
Perched on a fence-post, Mr. Meadowlark was drinking in Bobby's merry songs. Jolly Robin had stolen away from the orchard to greet the newcomer and listen to his first concert. And even Rusty Wren had forsaken the cherry tree beside the farmhouse. Although Rusty and his wife were in the midst of putting their summer house to rights, he had not been able to resist telling Mrs. Wren, who did not like to have him away from home, that he must make a short visit in the meadow, "to see a friend."
Mr. Red-winged Blackbird called "Conk-err-ee!" several times to Bobby Bobolink, meaning that he was glad Bobby was back in Pleasant Valley and that he hoped he was in good health, and that Bobby certainly hadn't forgotten how to sing.
As for old Mr. Crow, he winked at Bobby Bobolink and said in a hoarse voice, "I hear they're planting rice down South."
Bobby Bobolink was not like Mr. Crow, who would have flown into a rage had any one made such a remark to him.
"I stayed a while in the rice fields," he answered. "And if I hadn't come away when I did," he added with a laugh, "I'd have been too fat to fly way up here to Pleasant Valley."
Then a torrent of notes came tumbling out of his throat as he darted right over the head of old Mr. Crow (who stood