The Tale of Bobby Bobolink | Page 8

stumbling upon the nest, before Bobby played that trick on him.
Mrs. Bobolink was greatly relieved when Johnnie Green left her end of
the meadow. And she told her husband that she had never supposed
Johnnie would come where it was so damp, for fear of getting his feet
wet.
Bobby Bobolink did not tell her that he had known all the time that a
little water never troubled Johnnie Green--so long as he didn't have to
wash his face in it.

XI
BOBBY'S NAMES
EVERYBODY--almost--liked Bobby Bobolink. His neighbors in
Farmer Green's meadow enjoyed his singing. And they thought him the
merriest harum-scarum they had ever known. He was even cheerful to
look at, too. For with every bright day that passed, Bobby Bobolink's
dress took on a gayer hue. The truth was that the yellowish tips of his
feathers were wearing away, leaving him a handsome suit of black, set
off by a generous patch of creamy yellow on the back of his neck, with
enough white on his back and shoulders to make a most jaunty
costume.
Most of the field people enjoyed Bobby Bobolink's company, for he
was always in high spirits. And many of them were vain enough to like
to be seen with him, on account of his dashing appearance. Mr.
Red-winged Blackbird was especially fond of Bobby's companionship.
And he was forever speaking of his old friend, Bobby Bobolink, and
acting as if he knew Bobby a great deal better than anybody else did.

Mr. Red-winged Blackbird never tired of telling the neighbors about
the good times he and Bobby had together when they were in the South.
And he related many things about Bobby that some of the feathered
folk hadn't heard of.
"There isn't anybody in the valley that has more names than Bobby
Bobolink," Mr. Red-winged Blackbird said to Mr. Crow one day.
"Some people call him the Reed Bird. And down South they scarcely
know the name Bobolink. Down there everybody calls him the Rice
Bird. And there's an island far off in the southern seas where people
speak of him as the Butter Bird."
Now, if the truth must be known, old Mr. Crow was a bit jealous of
Bobby Bobolink. It was said--by those that ought to have known--that
Mr. Crow didn't like it because Bobby Bobolink was not only a
member of the Pleasant Valley Singing Society, but its finest singer as
well. Unfortunately, Mr. Crow's husky voice had always prevented his
joining the Society. And somehow--having heard that Bobby was very
fond of rice--Mr. Crow could not get the notion out of his head that he
might be just as fond of corn.
If Mr. Crow thought anybody but himself liked corn he was sure to be
spiteful towards him. You might have thought, from the way Mr. Crow
acted, that Farmer Green didn't raise enough corn to go around.
"How does it happen," Mr. Crow inquired slyly of Mr. Red-winged
Blackbird, "that your friend Bobby Bobolink has all these names? It
can't be--can it--that he is a rogue and is always changing his name so
people won't know who he is?"
"Certainly not!" Mr. Red-winged Blackbird snapped. "Only a stupid
person would ask such a question as that."
Just then Bobby Bobolink himself flashed across the meadow and
joined them. And Mr. Red-winged Blackbird began to talk about the
weather.
He was afraid that Mr. Crow intended to be disagreeable.

XII
MR. CROW IS DISAGREEABLE
ALTHOUGH Mr. Red-winged Blackbird talked about the weather as
fast as he could, his chatter did not prevent Mr. Crow from interrupting
him, because the old gentleman was determined to be disagreeable to
Bobby Bobolink, and nothing could stop him.
"Your friend here has been talking about you," he told Bobby Bobolink
with a wise smile. "He says you have a good many names."
"Yes!" Bobby told Mr. Crow. "That's quite true."
Mr. Crow coughed; and he shot a sidelong look at Mr. Red-winged
Blackbird.
"It must be pleasant to have so many fine names," Mr. Crow then added,
with a smirk.
"Oh, very!" Mr. Red-winged Blackbird answered for his friend.
Mr. Crow turned a snapping eye on him, and croaked:
"There's at least one name you left out among the lot you mentioned to
me. You said he was known as the Reed Bird, the Rice Bird, and the
Butter Bird. But there's one more bird still to be added to the list."
"Is there?"
"Yes!" Mr. Crow replied. "Maybe I know more about your chum than
you do. Perhaps you weren't aware that in spite of all the elegant names
you've spoken of, he's nothing but a Skunk Blackbird after all!" And
with a loud haw-haw Mr. Crow rose upon the breeze and flapped into
the woods. That