The Tale of Bobby Bobolink | Page 9

sang several humorous songs before he turned to Mr. Red-winged Blackbird and said:
"I can tell you one thing. I'd rather be called a Skunk Blackbird than a Skunk Crow, any day!"

XIII
MR. CATBIRD'S TRICK
In a clump of lilac bushes near Farmer Green's garden Mr. Catbird made his home. He was an odd fellow, very friendly toward everybody in the farmhouse, except the cat, whom he dearly loved to tease. When she passed through the garden on her way to the meadow to hunt for mice, Mr. Catbird was quite likely to begin mewing. It always made Miss Kitty furious to be mocked. And sometimes she crept into the bushes herself, hoping to surprise Mr. Catbird and teach him a lesson. But she never caught him.
Now, the cat was not the only one whose calls Mr. Catbird imitated. Although he liked almost all his bird neighbors and was especially kind and helpful when they were in trouble, nothing pleased him more than to sing their songs. Knowing as they did that he was always ready to feed any nestlings that were left to fend for themselves, and that he was quick to help any of the small feathered folk to fight an enemy, his neighbors did not care how much Mr. Catbird mocked them. It was only his way of having fun; so they didn't mind.
Mr. Catbird was always prankish and full of spirits. And feeling all ready for a lark one morning and not knowing what else to do, he decided to visit the meadow and play a trick on Bobby Bobolink and his wife.
So when the Bobolinks were away from home on a short trip Mr. Catbird flew to their end of the meadow and hid in a bush not far from the spot where they had built their nest on the ground.
From his hiding place Mr. Catbird watched closely. And soon he saw Mrs. Bobolink, followed shortly by her husband, come skimming across the meadow and settle down in the grass.
Well, Mr. Catbird was so delighted with the trick he was about to play on them that first he spread his feathers, and then he tucked them close about his slim body, while he bobbed about on the branch where he sat, giving his tail a flirt now and then as if he were so amused that he simply couldn't keep still.
After spending some minutes in that fashion Mr. Catbird peeped out of his bush again and began what he expected would be a perfect imitation of one of Bobby Bobolink's songs. But somehow there seemed to be something wrong. They were very strange notes that he uttered. And the moment she heard them Mrs. Bobolink said aloud to her husband, "What in the world is that queer call? I never heard anything like it in all my days!"
Bobby Bobolink couldn't tell her. And since they had no idea who was lurking near their home nor exactly where he was, they kept quite still, hidden as they were by the tall grasses.
Mr. Catbird had heard what they said. And he was slightly upset, for he had intended that they should think there was a strange Bobolink in the meadow.
"I'll have to try again," he said to himself. "Next time I'll do better."

XIV
FRIGHTENING MRS. BOBOLINK
Not knowing who gave the strange cry near their home, Bobby Bobolink and his wife held their breaths and waited. They never dreamed that it was their good friend, Mr. Catbird, hidden in a bush near-by, who was trying to imitate one of Bobby's songs.
Meanwhile that fun-loving fellow smiled broadly to himself. And giving his tail an upward toss he opened his mouth once more, only to give voice to one of the oddest sounds that was ever heard in Pleasant Valley.
Mr. Catbird knew right away that he hadn't caught the trick of mocking Bobby Bobolink. So he stopped short.
"I wonder what's the matter with me," he murmured. "Can it be that I've caught a cold and didn't know it?"
He cleared his throat and made ready to attempt Bobby Bobolink's song once more. But he waited a moment, for he could hear Bobby talking to his wife.
"Don't be alarmed!" he was saying. "It sounded to me as if somebody had a frog in his throat."
"I hope you're not mistaken," was Mrs. Bobolink's somewhat doubting answer.
"I thought I heard him choke a moment ago," Bobby told her. "We'll keep still until we know where the noise comes from."
Mr. Catbird winced. He was not used to hearing anybody speak of his singing as "noise." And he made up his mind that he would sing a song in Bobby Bobolink's best manner. So again he opened his mouth.
He hadn't sung half a dozen notes before Bobby Bobolink's wife gave a shrill scream.
"Oh, dear!" she cried. "That's a terrible noise.