his black swallow-tail, and his white waistcoat.

"Til By'n! Til By'n!" he cried [Note: "To Town! To Town!"], and at
each cry ho made a quick little bow, so that his coat tails whisked
up behind him.

Up in the heather the lapwing flew about flapping her wings. The
spring had overtaken her so suddenly that she had not had time to
find a proper place for her nest. She had laid her eggs right in
the middle of a flat-topped mound. It was all wrong, she knew that
quite well; but it could not be helped now.

The lark laughed at it all; but the sparrows were all in a
hurry-scurry. They were not nearly ready. Some had not even a nest;
others had laid an egg or two; but the majority had sat on the
cow-house roof, week out, week in, chattering about the almanac.

Now they were in such a fidget they did not know where to begin.
They held a meeting in a great rose-bush, beside the Pastor's
garden-fence, all cackling and screaming together. The cock-sparrows
ruffled themselves up, so that all their feathers stood straight
on end; and then they perked their tails up slanting in the air,
so that they looked like little gray balls with a pin stuck in
them. So they trundled down the branches and ricochetted away
over the meadow.

All of a sudden, two dashed against each other. The rest rushed up,
and all the little balls wound themselves into one big one. It
rolled forward from under the bush, rose with a great hubbub a
little way into the air, then fell in one mass to the earth and