The Bobolink And The Owl
by
Having eaten his breakfast of beech-nuts, a bobolink thought he would show himself neighborly; so he hopped over to an old gloomy oak tree, where there sat a hooting owl, and after bowing his head gracefully, and waving his tail in the most friendly manner, he began chirruping cheerily, somewhat in this fashion:
“Good-morning, Mr. Owl! what a fine bright morning we have.”
“Fine!” groaned the owl, “fine, indeed! I don’t see how you can call it fine with that fierce sun glaring in one’s eyes.”
The bobolink was quite disconcerted by this outburst, but after jumping about nervously from twig to twig for a while, he began again:
“What a beautiful meadow that is which you can see from your south window! How sweet the flowers look! Really you have a pleasant view, if your house is a little gloomy.”
“Beautiful! did you say? Pleasant! What sort of taste you must have! I haven’t been able to look out of that window since May. The color of the grass is too bright, and the flowers are very painful. I don’t mind that view so much in November, but this morning I must find a shadier place, where the light won’t disturb my morning nap.”
And so, with a complaining “Hoo! hoo! hoo-ah!” he flapped his melancholy wings and flitted away into the depths of a swamp.
And a waggish old squirrel, who had heard the conversation, asked the bobolink how he could expect any one to like beautiful things who looked out of such great staring eyes.
The pleasantness of our surroundings depends far more upon the eyes we see with, than upon the objects about us.