But the Cuckoo's labours were not ended when the gay, thoughtless girls had dispersed. For another group, this time of men and women, bent with age or trouble, now slowly wended their steps into the valley, and the question asked by each of them was:

'When shall I be set free from the cares and sorrows of this world?'

And although to some the answer might be short, to others it was long. For, notwithstanding years, trouble, and sickness, people contrive to live to a great age, so that in this case also the labours of the Cuckoo were not slight.

'Now, now, now, do you understand?' chattered the Magpie; 'how can the poor Cuckoo find time to make a nest of her own, when she has to answer all these questions every day, and all day long? The season for building goes by, and she is forced to take advantage of another bird's nest.'

'All very fine,' answered the other birds,

flying off to their neglected nests in a great hurry; she does not trouble your nest, and so you can afford to make excuses for her.'

'I only hope,' added the Hedge-sparrow charitably, that all the young people this year will be married, and that all the old and unhappy people will die; then there may perhaps be a chance for our homes to escape invasion.'

NE day, so long ago that to fix the true date would be impossible, a Mag

pie was seen flying in a restless, one might almost say inquisitive manner, north, south, east, and west.

The poor bird was thoroughly unhappy; all the zest had gone from her life, and for this reason: the time had come when no amount of prying could discover anything fresh or exciting in the affairs of her feathered neighbours. The secrets of their nests were laid bare to her; in vain had she peered and pryed into every hole and corner, beat about the bushes,

ΙΟ

and ransacked all round for something to find

out.

Her field of amusement was barren, at all events for a time, until new complications had arisen in the homes of her neighbours. Meanwhile, how was she to exist, deprived of her daily food? That was the question; and in an unhappy, querulous mood, the poor Magpie was flying to and fro, chattering to herself. Suddenly she perched on a branch of a tree, and looking down saw a Hoopoe running to and fro on a marshy piece of ground, collecting food for its young family, every now and then giving vent to a soft and happy 'hoop' on finding a particularly choice worm or insect.

'A poor-spirited creature, to find its pleasure in such a homely manner,' thought the Magpie, as, tired with her quick flight, she was watching with languid interest the Hoopoe's movements. 'Not such an ugly bird either, with that plumage.' Just at that moment the rays of the sun lighted up the

Hoopoe's golden

crest, causing a sudden idea to dart into the Magpie's head, which revived her drooping spirits: Why should that bird of all others wear a crown of feathers—why, why, why?' And the next moment she was flying round and round the Hoopoe, startling the gentle quiet bird by repeating rapidly, 'Why, why, why, how did you come by your crown? Tell me, tell me, quick, quick,-why, why, why?'

'I don't know,' stammered out the poor bewildered Hoopoe, whose wits are by no means equal to its plumage. I really can't tell you; I never heard. My father wore it before me, and I think my grandfather too; but I will ask my old grandmother when I go home, if you like, and will let you know next time you are passing this way.'

'Your old grandmother indeed!' laughed the Magpie contemptuously. 'If your wits come

from her, she won't be able to enlighten me! I will find out for myself, thank you.'