But those parents who cared to come had meanwhile had a chance to go into the little building, see the pictures, charts, and books on the shelf behind the desk, and chat with Miss Wilde in a friendly, informal way that was helpful to all concerned. Goldilocks had been there all the morning, but when Gray Lady arrived she brought with her a friend of “the General’s,” who was also a _Wise Man_ in one of the chief agricultural colleges of the country, who had promised to talk to the children. Gray Lady herself was to read them some bird poetry, and Miss Wilde a little story of her own invention, while as a finale the children themselves were to recite some verses where ten familiar birds were represented each by a child who wore a cap and shoulder cape, cleverly made of crêpe paper, that would give a clew, at least, to the bird he or she represented. These costumes had been made at the last Saturday meeting of the Kind Hearts’ Club, in the playroom at “the General’s,” and had caused no little fun, the idea of them having come from the caps in the mottoes at that orchard party, in September, eight months before, when the children first entered Birdland. This is the poem that Gray Lady read. She had a voice that sang even in speaking, and as Goldilocks often said, “When mother reads bird poetry you don’t hear the words, but the birds themselves.” BIRDS IN SPRING What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, And all the drowsy little stars have fallen asleep in light, ’Tis then a wandering wind awakes, and runs from tree to tree, And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille. This is the carol the Robin throws Over the edge of the valley; Listen how boldly it flows, Sally on sally: _Tirra-lirra, down the river,_ _Laughing water all a-quiver._ _Day is near, clear, clear._ _Fish are breaking,_ _Time for waking._ _Tup, tup, tup!_ _Do you hear? All clear._ _Wake up!_ The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark, And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark; Now forth she fares through friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew, While every voice cries out “Rejoice!” as if the world were new. This is the ballad the Bluebird sings, Unto his mate replying, Shaking the tune from his wings While he is flying: _Surely, surely, surely,_ _Life is dear_ _Even here._ _Blue above,_ _You to love,_ _Purely, purely, purely._