"You are surprised at all these changes, my young friends," he said; "did I not tell you that the seasons never fail? This is the Spring, the time when everything comes forth to new life. The snow has overspread the earth and kept it warm all these months. It has covered the bulbs of the snowdrops, those white flowers that you so greatly admire, friend Blackbird. It covered them up carefully till the proper time arrived that they should spring forth. In the same way the buds on the trees have been wrapped up in their brown coats and kept warm during the bitter winter weather, and now that the sun is once more shining, the said brown coats are beginning to drop off, for the little green leaves are pushing their way into the world of warmth and sunshine. And then, not the least interesting change, your song has once more returned to you, the woods are full of sweet music,--ay, and you will see yet greater wonders, for truly 'the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land.'" Yes, the Rook was quite right; each day now brought about some fresh wonder--a few more green leaves, a few more white flowers; and presently between the snowdrop plants came up the slender green leaves, and the gold and purple blossoms of the crocus. About this time, too, the Blackbird noticed that many of his feathered friends were unusually busy. They seemed to have no time for talk. He met them flying hither and thither with feathers, small pieces of straw, or twigs, in their beaks. About this time also, the Blackbird himself felt a strong desire to have a nest of his own. But how could he build it by himself? He must find a partner to share his labours--and where could he find such a partner? He was almost in despair, so at last he determined to pour out his desire in song, as he perched one morning on the branch of a budding hawthorn.