"Common tree birds indeed!" shrieked the Catbird.

"That is what the boy called us," said the Chimney Swift, who then went
on with his story about what he had heard the children say.

"'Why you silly dear!' cried, the big girl, laughing a sweet little
laugh like the Bobolink's song, 'that only proves how little you know
about wild birds. Plenty of them are more brightly colored than your
Canary, and some of those that wear the plainest feathers sing more
beautifully than all the Canaries and cage birds in the world. This
summer, when you have made friends with these wild birds, and they have
let you see their homes and learn their secrets, you will make up your
mind that there are no _common birds_; for every one of them has
something very uncommon about it,'

"Then our brother B. Oriole began to sing in the sugar maple over the
shed. The sun was shining on his gay coat; the little girl pointed to
him and whispered, 'Hush, Nat! you see Olive is right; please empty the
stones out of your pocket.'"

The Chimney Swift had hardly finished his story when there was another
excitement.

"News, more news!" called the Bank Swallow joyfully. He had been taking
a skim over the meadows and orchard. "These House People do _not_ keep
cats!"

"They may not have any now, but that doesn't prove they never will,"
said a Robin crossly. He had just flown against a window, not
understanding about the glass, and had a headache in consequence.