The males are jolly minstrels once more, all black, white, and buff, hurrying home to their nesting grounds.

They think that rice newly sown and sprouting is good for the voice, and stop to gobble it up in spite of all objections.
"Their song is not easy to express in words.

'Bobolink,' from which they take their name, is the sound most frequently heard in it; but every bird-lover has tried to give it words, and some have written it down in rhyming nonsense verses, like poetry.

I think Mr.Lowell's are the best.
"'Ha! ha! ha! I must have my fun, Miss Silverthimble, thimble, thimble, if I break every heart in the meadow.

See! see! see!' is one translation." "That does sound exactly like a Bobolink," laughed Dodo; "and here is one now, right over in that tree, so crazy to sing that he doesn't mind us a bit." "Kick your slipper! Kick your slipper! Temperance! Temperance!" said Bob, as the white horses turned into the road again.