A few days ago I was passing through
Sonning, an old English village on the
Thames, when I was attracted to a field near
the road by hearing the merry sounds of the
village school at a game of cricket. I could
not resist the pleasure of pausing to watch the
boys at play. Before long my curiosity was
aroused by shouts of "Look out!" "Take care!"
"Mind where you're going!" whenever any
boy approached a certain spot, which seemed
to be within a few yards of one of the wickets.
I asked one of the party what such outcries
meant. He replied--"Oh, that's our lark,
sir!" On inquiry I found that some weeks
before, the boys discovered a titlark's nest
in the ground close to their cricket-piece.
One of the boys seems to have made the suggestion
that the school should take the lark
under their special patronage. The proposal
was adopted, and it became a daily
business to see, before settling to their
play, that all was right with the lark.
[Illustration]