"Yes," answered Phyllis, "and I knew that you were a lark because of that whirring sound you made when flying." "Ah, but I am not really a lark at all," said the bird. "I am called the meadow lark, but in truth I belong to the blackbird family. The red-winged blackbird is an own cousin of mine. So also is the oriole, who builds a queer hanging nest in the tree-tops. "The oriole is very proud of her woven nest, but I should consider it a dangerous place for bird babies. My little ones will never be hurt by falling from their nest. "Neither can I imagine how any bird can dare to build in such an open place. "My home is hidden here amid the grasses. Sometimes we find places like this, where the grass blades naturally arch over and hide the nest. "Sometimes we weave a sort of arch over the nest with the downy, fine fibres from the grass leaves. "Did you notice the little lane down which I returned to my tiny home?" "No," said Phyllis, "I thought you just came through the grasses by the easiest way." "If you will look closely," said the meadow lark, pecking away at her own brown feathers, "if you look very, very closely, you will see the tiny path which leads directly to my door." Phyllis leaned down and peered very curiously among the grass stems. Sure enough, there was a tiny winding path, almost hidden from sight. It led directly to the meadow lark's nest. "You are a very wonderful little bird," she cried. "I shall have some very wonderful babies one of these fine days," said the meadow lark, proudly. "How safely they will be hidden from danger," said Phyllis. "Well," said the mother bird, shaking her head, sadly, "I am very sure that I build in a safer manner than my cousins. But, alas, even meadow larks are not free from danger." "I might have stepped on your nest?" said Phyllis. "Yes," said the bird, "but what makes me fear most are the field-mice and the snakes. They make great havoc in our nests when they discover them. Many a tiny fledgling has been swallowed by a great creeping, crawling snake. Many a beautiful egg has been eaten by the hungry little field-mice." "I hope no harm will come to your little home," said Phyllis. "I notice one thing which you have for a protection from harm." "What is that?" asked the meadow lark. "It is your colour." The meadow lark raised her head in gentle surprise. "And what has my colour to do with my danger?" she asked. "Why," said the little girl, feeling wondrous wise, "do you not see that the browns of your feathery dress are the same colours as the grass stems and the stubble amid which you brood and feed?" "Why, so it is," said the meadow lark. "My back is brown, edged with brownish white. That is like the grass stems. I am streaked with black and brown and cream colours. That is like the blades of grass. "My throat and breast are yellow like the stubble amid which I feed. You are wonderfully wise, Miss Phyllis."