The song-sparrow sang a long sweet song. Then he stopped and looked around. Butterflies and bees and other insects were on the wing everywhere, floating, darting and dancing in the sunshine; but the bird did not seek to disturb any of them, he had had a good breakfast of berries, and he was happy.

He might well be happy, not only for delicious food and glorious sunshine and power to sing a lovely song, but for the fact that his home was near. And in that home were his young ones his tiny children, and his little wife.

So the song-sparrow raised his rufous head, and opening his mouth, and vibrating his throat, he sang again as if in thankfulness and praise.

“Listen, Richard,” said his little mate suddenly, and of course in her own tongue, “listen, listen.” She called him “Richard,” but if he were in a cage people would call him “Dickie.”

Richard stopped in the middle of his song, and bending down his head, while turning his right eye toward a pretty cottage close by, he listened attentively and with great delight.

“Jenny,” remarked he to his tiny wife, when the cottage song was done, “Master George is at the open window, the beautiful day has stirred his heart, and he has sung happily and well.”

“Yes,” said Jenny, “this must be Saturday, for his tone is unusually bright and happy.”

“It is always happy,” answered Richard.

“True,” said Jenny, “but it is happier to-day.”

“Well, be it so, we won’t differ, dear.”

“That is right, dear husband, we must show a good example to our children;” and the mother-sparrow nestled her little ones lovingly.

“There is only one thing that makes me anxious in this glad world,” remarked Richard as he looked down from the bush to the comfortable nest in the grass.

“What is it husband?”

“I am afraid of that snake I saw gliding outside and round the fence yesterday.”

“Ah, yes,” replied the little mother, “it makes my flesh creep to think of it; but I hope it won’t venture into the garden.”

“I trust not,” said Richard; “but if I were a man, and if I had a gun, I should make short work of it.”

“Aren’t guns wonderful things, husband? How they blow out fire and smoke, and what a deafening noise they make!”

“They are indeed wonderful, Jenny; but aren’t they fearful? Do you remember how the poor hare fell, although it was far away from the gun and running like a railway train?”

“I do, Richard; it tumbled over just as the fire burst out, and there was such a big blood spot on its side. Oh, guns are dreadful things.”

“They are, Jenny, and we ought to be thankful that nobody around this garden uses them,” said Richard, with a look of relief.

“Isn’t Master George a fine boy?” remarked Jenny.

“He is; he wouldn’t hurt a fly that is, pull off its legs and then its head and torment it, as wicked youngsters do.”

“I love to see him in the garden,” said Jenny; “somehow I feel safer when he is near. He is so big compared with you, Richard, and so kind. He comes gently towards our nest, and looks down on me with his interesting, dark grey eyes; then he gets down on his knees, and stretching out his forefinger he lightly strokes my head and wings, saying as he does so ’Don’t be frightened, birdie, I won’t hurt you.’ I was scared at first, and jumped out and flew away; but I don’t do that now.”

“Yes, we know our friends,” chimed in Richard, “and Master George is one of them.”

The two birds went on speaking to each other this way in praise of the kindly boy, and then the mother-bird said

“Sing me another song, Richard; I never tire of hearing your voice. Sing out, dear, with all your might, and make every one happy far and near.”

Richard was about to open his beak and fill the air with melody, when his quick eye detected something among the grass. He uttered a sharp note of warning, and the mother sparrow shrank close into the nest.

“The snake is coming,” shouted Richard. But Jenny did not move, she only kept flat and shuddered.

“Come from the nest, and we will mislead the reptile,” cried Richard.

Then both birds flew around and at and over the snake, doing their utmost to bewilder it; but it was no use the cunning creature glided on it knew its helpless prey was near; and the poor parents were frantic, as it raised its head and looked around.

“Mother,” said George, as he looked into the garden through the open window, “what can be wrong with our song-sparrows?”

His mother came forward, and seeing the birds fluttering about excitedly, she said

“Run, George, there is a cat or some other enemy at the nest.”

Without a moment’s delay the lad seized a cane, and running along the garden-walk and jumping over flower-beds and bushes, he came to the scene of the disturbance. He knew well where the nest was, and looking to that spot he was horrified to see the snake bending over it with arched neck and head, preparing to devour the helpless young song-sparrows. Springing fearlessly forward like a hound, George smote the snake on the head, and that one blow was enough. But grasping its tail he jerked it back from the nest, and stamped upon its head, to make sure that the life was gone. Then lifting it across his cane he went to the fence, and flung it over in indignant disgust.

Oh, how the parent song-sparrows rejoiced. The mother flew to the nest to examine and fondle her young, while the father-bird went up on the twig of a white rose-bush and sang a rapturous song of deliverance.

“Ever since then the male sparrow has shown his gratitude to George in a truly wonderful manner. When he goes into the garden the sparrow will fly to him, sometimes alighting on his head, at other times on his shoulder, all the while pouring out a tumultuous song of praise and gratitude.”

“How is it, Richard,” said Jenny one day, “that nearly all these great creatures called mankind look upon us as if we had very little understanding in our head? Is it because we are so little and wear feathers?”

“Oh, no, it is because our language is different. In fact, they really think we do not speak at all, and it seems to them that where there is no speech there is little or no thought.”

“What language does Master George speak, Richard?”

“English, dear, a beautiful language when well spoken and especially when well sung.”

“And what language do we speak, Richard?”

Sloping his head a little to the side, Richard thought for a moment and then replied with a funny twinkle in his eye

“Our language is Song-Sparrowish.”

“Dear me,” said Jenny, “it must be greater than English, when it needs such a big word. But Master George understands it, doesn’t he?”

“He does indeed, he does, because he is well acquainted with us. I overheard him say the other day that he understood our ways well, and that our musical language and gratitude were to him a great delight.”

“Here he comes,” exclaimed Jenny. “See, he opens the garden-gate. I do love to see his winsome, cheerful face.”

“And he is both brave and kind,” answered Richard, clearing his throat and preparing to deliver an eloquent speech in Song-Sparrowish.

“Now raise your song of gratitude, dear, and sing your very best.”