Anne laughed, in spite of not knowing exactly why, saying, “I don’t think Jay will quite do; because when people are stupid and disagreeable at the same time, and do not know it, people often call them Jays.” Just then a sweet note came from the field,--a real April voice,--saying, “Spring o’ the year.” “It’s a Meadow Lark,” said Anne, “and I will name this dear little fellow with the even white face mark and black tail spot after it, and call him Lark for short, because I’m going to keep him for our very own.” “Aren’t we going to keep them all?” pleaded Tommy, looking up with beseeching eyes, while his chin quivered. “Not all, and perhaps only two, one for each of us; father said so last night. There are too many; but we may keep them all winter, so that they will be strong and well-grown before they go to the homes Miss Jule will find for them, or perhaps Mr. Hugh will keep them himself.” “Let’s call another Bobwhite,--this boy with the very white face,” said Anne, a moment later, after each pup had been held up in turn to see if its face suggested anything. “Yes, that’ll be fine; ’cause don’t you remember that one that used to come over here to feed, and brought the little ones one morning? Now it’s my turn,” said Tommy, picking up the prettiest of the three females, who had lovely even tan markings on the head, a white nose, and the manners of a finished coquette. “I’ll name her--I’ll name her--” he said, hesitating, and looking up into the trees, as no name occurred to him. “Phœbe, Phœbe,” called that demure fly-catcher, balancing on the telephone wire. “Yes, I’ll call her Phœbe,” said Tommy, in a tone of relief; and Anne thought it the very thing. “Now this one, Jack Waddles’s pet, and we will be through with the boys.” “You name him,” said Tommy, having found the matter more of a puzzle than a pleasure. “There is a lovely western sparrow, with a yellow vest and black cravat, that I’ve seen in the museum, and its name is Dickcissel. I’ll name him that, and we can call him Dick,” said Anne, after several more minutes spent in thinking. “That makes four after birds, so we might name the others for something else. This one that’s all white but one ear spot, we could call Blanche, only it’s hard to say.” “Lily’s nicer. I’ll let you call it after my dear old doggie,” said Tommy, as if conferring a great favour. “I don’t think she’s going to stay so very white,” replied Anne, after examining the pup’s coat critically. “I think she will have black and brown tick marks like her grandmother.” “Then call her Tiger Lily, they are all spotted,” cried Tommy, triumphantly, which tickled Anne so that she hugged him for his wit; and Tiger Lily the pup was, and lived to be a great hunter. [Illustration]