"They must have," said Donald. "The woods were full of them." "I have read," said Uncle Robert, "that some small birds eat every day as much as their own weight in worms and insects." "Oh, my!" said Susie. "I wonder how many worms that would be." "The appetite of the small bird," said Mr. Leonard, looking at Donald with a smile, "must be something like that of a small boy." They had now left the woods and were going toward the timothy meadow to get the painted cups. Donald was right. One corner of the meadow was bright with the vivid red patches. The sun was setting when they reached home. As they passed the woodpile in the back yard Donald said: "I wonder how old that wood is! I'm going to see if I can count the rings." "Show them to me, Donald," said Susie. "I never saw them." Just then the clear, rich song of a bird rang out from the top of a tree on the edge of the woods. "Hark!" said Mr. Leonard. "That is the thrush." They listened until the song was ended. "What a lovely walk we have had!" said Susie. "I'm not a bit tired. Are you, mother?" "Well, a little," said Mrs. Leonard, "but we never had a more delightful afternoon. Thank you, dear," as Frank brought an easy-chair from the house to the porch for her. "Now I shall be rested in a few minutes." "Let me put your flowers in water with mine, mother," said Susie. "Tell Jane to bring our supper out here," said Mrs. Leonard. "It is too pleasant to go in the house." "And tell her to be quick about it," said Donald. "I'm starving!" "As hungry as a sparrow," said Uncle Robert, smiling. While they were eating, the twilight came on. "Listen!" whispered Frank, as a queer, clucking sound was heard among the bushes. Then came the cry: "Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!" "I wish I could see a whip-poor-will," said Donald. "They never let me get near enough to them to see how they look." "Let's try this one," said Frank. "It's very near." On tiptoe they slipped off the porch, but the shy bird heard them and flew away. Soon they heard it again: "Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!" And another one answered from the edge of the cornfield: "Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!" [Illustration: Whip-poor-will. ] CHAPTER X. THE THUNDERSHOWER. It had been growing warmer all day. When Susie looked at the thermometer at noon she wrote "82 degrees" in her little book. As they sat around the dinner table Uncle Robert asked: "Do you find it hot in the meadow to-day?" "Rather warm," replied Mr. Leonard, "but it is fine haying weather. By night we shall have the hay in off that twenty acres, and it will be the finest crop of timothy I have had in years." The haying had begun four days before. For a week Mr. Leonard had visited the field of timothy daily, and when he found the long heads of the graceful grass in full bloom he said: "It is ready. We must begin to-morrow."