I can sing and build, for work is play."

And every once in a while he would fly over to the apple tree and hop from
branch to branch between the pink and white blossoms, looking for food.
He was very fond of those caterpillars in the tree, you see. In between
mouthfuls he would whistle just part of his song,

"A-ver-y-fine-day!"

Then he would take another bite, hop to another branch and whistle again:

"A-ver-y-fine-day!"

He certainly seemed to be happy over the beautiful weather.

Then he would whistle again as if he were talking to someone.

The three sleepy children listened.

"Now that nest, dear, now that nest, dear. We must build that nest, before
we rest."

To whom could he be talking?

They looked around. And there, hopping about on a spray of beautiful apple
blossoms, was another bird. It was Mother Oriole. She was almost like
Father Oriole, only her coat was not as bright as his. It is funny the
way birds are dressed, isn't it? What would you think if some Sunday
_your_ Father went to church in a black coat with a yellow vest, while
Mother wore some very dull colour? You would laugh. But that is the way