e food, and the farmers were
not sorry that he and his feathered friends should make a meal of that
same gray grub, for these insects sometimes destroy whole acres of
grass. They bury themselves in the turf, and then it turns brown and
dies. These grubs are mischievous indeed,--after remaining for some
time in the grub state, they change into cockchafers, and even then they
are by no means agreeable visitors.

"Good morning, my friend," said the polite old Rook, "this is a very
pleasant change of food after the hard winter berries, isn't it?"

"Indeed, it is," replied the Blackbird, picking up a grub, "but I like
better feeding near the hedgerows; however, this isn't bad after a hard
day's work."

"Oh, you are house building, are you?" said the Rook. "I hope you have
chosen wisely, and got a good mate to work with you, one who is
industrious and affectionate."

"I think I have," said the Blackbird, with a certain amount of proper
pride; "but you shall judge for yourself," he added, as he presented his
young wife to the Rook. The Rook made a quaint sort of movement with his
head, which, probably among birds, passed for a very grave and polite
bow, and after looking at her for a few moments, he nodded his
approval.

"We are all rather sad to-day," said the Rook, after a few moments of
silence; "we have just lost a very dear friend--indeed a cousin of
mine." The Blackbird looked grave and sympathetic, and the Rook
continued, "He started off yesterday evening to get some supper, and
found his way to some grass-land which was being destroyed by these
mischievous little grubs; he was busy pecking away at them, when all of
a sudden we, who were in a tree hard by, heard a fearful noise, and saw
a great deal of smoke. In another moment, as the smoke cleared away, we
saw my poor cousin lying on the ground. He was quite dead; a young
farmer had shot him with a terrible gun, thinking he was doing mischief;
the stupid fellow little knew what good service my cousin was engaged
upon in eating those grubs. This affair has made us all very sad
indeed," said the Rook, with a little extra huskiness in his voice:
"poor fellow, he had just begun building his first nest, and his young
widow is completely broken hearted."

The Blackbird was very grieved for his friend's trouble, and he felt
rather uncomfortable besides, for it occurred to him that the same
wretched man might very likely shoot him some evening, and then what
would beco