ON May Day the feathered folk in Pleasant Valley began to stop, look and
listen. They were expecting somebody.
"Have you seen him?" Rusty Wren asked Jolly Robin.
Jolly Robin said that he hadn't; but he added that he was on the
lookout.
"Have you heard his song?" little Mr. Chippy inquired eagerly of Mr.
Blackbird.
"No!" that dusky rascal replied. "Not yet! Maybe he isn't coming here
this summer." Mr. Blackbird liked to tease little Mr. Chippy. And
generally when he tried to, he succeeded.
"Oh! Don't say that!" Mr. Chippy exclaimed. "If I couldn't hear his gay
voice I shouldn't care to spend a summer here myself."
Over the meadow, beyond the stone wall where Mr. Chippy made his home in
a wild grapevine, Mr. Meadowlark flew to the swampy place where the
rushes grew, just to find a Red-winged Blackbird that he knew, in order
to learn whether he had seen or heard the friend everybody was watching
for.
Perched upon a swaying last year's cattail, Mr. Red-winged Blackbird
shook his head in reply. And he said that no doubt it would be a week
before the looked-for arrival. "The season's a bit backward," Mr.
Red-winged Blackbird remarked. "So I don't expect to set eyes on him
to-day--though I have known him to get here as early as May Day."
Mr. Meadowlark confessed that he was disappointed.
"It would be a much gayer May Day," he said, "if his rollicking song
rang over the meadow."
"What's the matter with your own singing?" Mr. Red-winged Blackbird
asked him--meaning that in his opinion Mr. Meadowlark had no reason to
be ashamed of his own voice.
"My song is not like his," Mr. Meadowlark answered. And he sighed as he
spoke. "To be sure, some people are kind enough to say that my singing
is unusually sweet. But you know yourself that there isn't a songster
anywhere that can carol so joyfully as Bobby Bobolink."
Mr. Red-winged Blackbird did not dispute that statement. How could he,
when the birds were all waiting so eagerly to hear Bobby Bobolink's
voice?
"He has a way"--Mr. Meadowlark went on--"a way of making almost any
summer's day a gay holiday. He is just bubbling over with happiness;
and he can't seem to get his notes out fast enough."
"Yes!" Mr. Red-winged Blackbird chimed in. "He's a cheerful,
happy-go-lucky chap. And he wears gay clothes, too."
"What's the matter with your own clothes?" Mr. Meadowlark
inquired--meaning that in his opinion Mr. Red-winged Blackbird's black
suit, with the shoulders scarlet and buff, was about as striking as
anybody could want.
Mr. Red-winged Blackbird was pleased. Anybody could see that. He bowed
and spread his wings and tail, and uttered his well-known call,
"Conk-err-ee!" before he made any reply.
"People often compliment me on my taste in colors," he said at last.
"And for year-round wear I do think _my_ suit is about as good as
anybody could ask for. But you know yourself that during the first half
of the summer Bobby Bobolink makes a cheerful sight, when his black and
white and buff back flashes above the meadow."
And Mr. Meadowlark couldn't deny it; for he knew that it was true.