THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS.

DOWN in the South Land, one morning in March, there was a great stir among the birds. “Spring has come in the far North,” they said. “Jack Frost is going, the ice is melting, and now we’ll go home-home!”

Bluebirds, and robins, and bobolinks, how glad they were! They got up very early that morning, even for birds. They bathed in a tiny pond, and preened their feathers. They ate their breakfast and then they started, straight through the air, for the North.

Do you wonder how they knew the way? How does a bird know which way is north and which way is south? There is a “Careful Gardener” who tells the flowers when to bloom, and he tells the birds which way to fly.

They flew that day on and on; over the green fields bright with flowers; over the trees covered with green leaves. By and by, they came where the grass was not yet green; where there was snow in the hollows; where there was ice in the brooks. But they didn’t mind the cold, for they wore their very thickest feather coats.

ON THROUGH THE AIR.

That night they nestled down together, and slept in a big pine-tree. They found some dried berries on the bushes, for breakfast and supper. It was very dark in the morning; it rained. But they did not mind that; they liked it. They knew the rain would melt the snow, and make the grass and flowers grow.

“But we must put on our waterproofs,” they said.

Do birds wear waterproofs? Oh, yes! But they do not carry them in trunks. When a bird wants to take a journey, he just flies off. He does not have to pack a trunk. He has a tiny bag of oil under the tip of his wings. This is his waterproof.

With his bill he takes out the oil and spreads it over his feathers.

The raindrops cannot go through this oil waterproof, but they roll quickly off to the ground. After they had all put on their waterproofs, they flew on and on again, through the rain.

THE LITTLE COUNTRY CHILDREN.

They did not stay together that day. Part of them flew to the northeast. By and by these came in sight of a big gilded dome.

“I know where we are,” said one old robin. “That is Boston State House, and right down there is our old nest!” and down they flew into the Public Gardens. The Boston little men and women can see them there any day, busy about their nests, and merry as birds can be.

Part of the birds flew to the northwest, to the hills and woods and fields. They built their nests in the trees and on the ground. They built them in barns and in chimneys. They hid them in the grass and in the reeds by the brooks; and the little country children know where to find them.

A NEST.