Three meadow birds went out in great glee,
All in the sunshiny weather;
Down by the pond, with the reeds waving free,
Where the ducks were all standing together.
"Good day Mrs. Duck," said the three meadow birds,
"From all the news we can gather,
You're a very good friend, of very few words."
Then one flew away with a feather.
"Quack!" said the duck, "That feather is mine,
I see through your ways altogether;
You want our feathers, your own nests to line,
All in the bright summer weather."
"What shall we use?" said the three meadow birds,
"There's no good in moss or in heather."
"We don't care a straw," said the old blue drake,
"If you line all your nests with sole leather."
"Quack! Quack! Quack! You must think we are slack!
You talk too polite altogether;
We've had quite enough of your high-flown stuff,
And we know, you are birds of a feather."
[Illustration: {DICKENS AND HIS CAT.}]