That night little Luke dreamed of the Magic Flower. The next morning, as soon as he had finished his breakfast, he ran down through the garden and into the meadow. He was eager to see his wild friends again and to try his new gifts, “Perhaps,” he thought, “it was only a dream after all.”
As soon as Bob Lincoln saw him, he came flying across the meadow to meet him, his black and white uniform gleaming in the bright sunlight. “Good morning, little boy, good morning,” he trilled, and his voice sounded like the tinkling of a silver bell.
“Good morning, Bob Lincoln,” said the little boy, delighted that he really could understand Bob Lincoln’s language. “How is Mrs. Bob Lincoln this morning?”
“Come and see, come and see,” trilled Bob Lincoln, in his sweetest and friendliest voice.
Little Luke walked over to the nest. When she heard him coming, Mrs. Bob Lincoln was scared and flew up from the nest.
But as soon as she saw who it was, she fluttered down upon the top of a tall weed and said, “Oh, it’s you, is it, little boy? I heard someone coming and I was frightened, but I am not afraid of you.” And so she sat swinging and teetering on the tall weed.
The little boy looked at the nest and admired the pretty eggs. “Oh, they’re coming on finely,” said Mrs. Bob Lincoln. “In a day or two I will show you five of the handsomest baby Bob Lincolns you will ever see. I heard them peeping inside of the shells this morning.”
The little boy looked at the father and mother birds. “Bob Lincoln,” said he, “I wish you would tell me why you and Mrs. Bob Lincoln are so unlike. Your coat is white and black; her dress is black and brown and yellow. You do not look as if you belonged to the same family.”
“Well,” said Bob Lincoln, “that is a long story.”
“Oh, please tell it,” said little Luke; “I want so much to hear it.”
“Well,” said Bob Lincoln, “we have both had our breakfast and I have sung my morning song. So if Mrs. Bob will excuse me [Mrs. Bob gracefully bowed her permission] I will take the time. You go over there and sit down under the old apple tree and I will come and find a comfortable twig and tell you all about it.”
When little Luke had seated himself cozily with his back against the trunk of the old apple tree, Bob Lincoln began his story.
“Long, long ago when the world was new,” said he, “the first Bob Lincoln family lived in a beautiful country in the distant north. In that country it was always summer. None of those who dwelt in that land knew what winter was.
“Ke-honk-a the Gray Goose, who spent half the year in northern Greenland, had mentioned it, but the people of the Summer Land did not understand him. They had never felt winds or seen ice or snow.