THE BOBOLINK

(THE REED BIRD.  THE RICE BIRD)

[Illustration:  Bobolink.]

“Why do you call the Bobolink a ‘harlequin,’ Uncle Roy?  What is a harlequin?” asked Dodo.

“Don’t you remember that Harlequin was the name of the man in the pantomime we saw last winter, who wore clothes of all sorts of colors, changed from one thing to another, and was always dancing about as if he could not possibly keep still?” “Y-e-s, I remember,” said Dodo, “but I don’t think he was a bit like this Bobolink; for that harlequin didn’t say a word, only made signs, and the Bobolink sings faster than any bird I ever heard before.”

“Yes, he sings now; but it is only for a short time.  Next month he will be dumb, and before you know it his beautiful shining black coat, with the white and buff trimmings, will have dropped off.  Then he will be changed to dull brown like his wife, and keep as quiet as poor Cinderella sitting in the ashes.

“Do you see any birds in that meadow of long grass?” asked the Doctor.

“I don’t see any in the grass,” said Rap; “but there are some Bobolinks all about in the trees along the edges, and more of them up in the air.  Where are their nests, Doctor?  I’ve never found a Bobolink’s nest!”

“Their nests are hidden in that long grass, and their mates also.  Whoever would find them must have the patience of an Indian, the eyes of a bird, and the cunning of a fox.

“Mrs. Bobolink finds a little hollow in the ground where the roots grow, and rounds up a nest from the grass stalks with finer grass tops inside.  Then she so arranges the weeds and stems above her home that there is no trace of a break in the meadow; and when she leaves the nest she never goes boldly out by the front door or bangs it behind her, but steals off through a by-path in the grass.  When she flies out of shelter at last, she has already run a good way off, so that, instead of telling the watcher where her home is, she tells him exactly where it is not.

“Bob earns his living these days by singing and going to market for the family, but he does both in a tearing hurry; for his housekeeping, like his honeymoon, is short.  He must lead his children out of the grass before the mowers overtake him, or the summer days grow short; for then he will have to spend some time at his tailor’s before he can follow the warm weather down South again.

“Twice a year Bob has to make the most complete change of plumage that falls to the lot of any bird.  His summer toilet is so tiresome and discouraging that he retires into the thickest reeds to make it.  Out he comes in August, leaving his lovely voice behind with his cast-off clothes, dressed like his wife, with hardly a word to say for himself, as he joins the flock into which various families have united.  He even loses his name, and is called Reedbird, after his hiding-place.  He grows reckless and says to his brothers, ’What do we care?  If we can’t sing any more, we can eat—­let us eat and be merry still!’ So they eat all they can, and wax exceedingly fat; the gunners know this, and come after them.