The song of the cardinal

HI

HI!!

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

GIFT

Ci)e §>ong of tf)e Cardinal

**COME HERE! COME HERE!" ENTREATED THE CARDINAL

>ong of fyt Cardinal

BY

dSene

AUTHOR OF

FRECKLES," "A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST,
"THE HARVESTER," "LADDIE," ETC.,

NEW AND REFISED EDITION

GARDEN CITY NEW YORK

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

IQ22

Copyright, 1903, /pod, /p/5, by
DOUBLEDAY, P,\GE & COMPANY

QL

IN LOVING TRIBUTE

TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER

MARK STRATTON

"For him every work of God manifested a
new and hereto/ore unappreciated loveliness"

945859

ILLUSTRATIONS

"Come here! Come here!" entreated the cardinal . Frontispiece

Page
" He rocked on the orange branches and sang over his message

of encouragement to men " Facing page j

" She chose her location, with the eye of an artist " . e

" The heat and closeness of the Limberlost seemed a prison well

escaped " 13

" He kept on calling for rain " 3 1

" He sunned himself, fluffed and flirted " ,j

"The Wabash circled Horse-shoe Bend in a silver flood" .

" He sang to her a soft, little, whispered love song way down in

his throat" fa

" With tender, throaty murmurings he slowly edged nearer " . --

Clear and imperious arose the demand of the cardinal, " Come

here!" "Come here!" 83

" She turned adoring eyes to the cardinal " o^

" She was not much of an architect " „

" Time was when trees and underbrush were full of birds and

squirrels" IO-

" The male baby was a perfect copy of his big, crimson father " jjj

" Each man has his pertic'lar altar. Mine's in that cabin at the

bend of the river " j^I

" He climbed to the edge of the nest and reached so far that he

fell" 141

HE ROCKED ON THE ORANGE BRANCHES AND SANG OVER HIS
MESSAGE OF ENCOURAGEMENT TO MEN"

" Good cheer I Good cheer / " exulted the Cardinal

He darted through the orange
orchard searching for slugs
for his breakfast, and be
tween whiles he rocked on
the branches and rang over
his message of encourage
ment to men. The song of
the Cardinal was overflowing
with joy, for this was his
holiday, his playtime. The
southern world was rilled
with brilliant sunshine, gaudy
flowers, an abundance of fruit, myriads of insects,
and never a thing to do except to bathe, feast, and
be happy. No wonder his song was a prophecy of good
cheer for the future, for happiness made up the whole of
his past.

The Cardinal was only a yearling, yet his crest flared
high, his beard was crisp and black, and he was a very

T

C6e §ong of t&e Caroinal

prodigy in size and colouring. Fathers of his family that
had accomplished many migrations appeared small beside
him, and coats that had been shed season after season
seemed dull compared with his. It was as if a pulsing
heart of flame passed by when he came winging through
the orchard.

Last season the Cardinal had pipped his shell, away to
the north, in that paradise of the birds, the Limberlost.
There thousands of acres of black marsh-muck stretch
under summers' sun and winters' snows. There are
darksome pools of murky water, bits of swale, and high
morass. Giants of the forest reach skyward, or, coated
with velvet slime, lie decaying in sun-flecked pools, while
the underbrush is almost impenetrable.

The swamp resembles a big dining-table for the birds.
Wild grape-vines clamber to the tops of the highest trees,
spreading umbrella-wise over the branches, and their
festooned floating trailers wave as silken fringe in the play
of the wind. The birds loll in the shade, peel bark,
gather dried curlers for nest material, and feast on the
pungent fruit. They chatter in swarms over the wild-
cherry trees, and overload their crops with red haws, wild
plums, papaws, blackberries and mandrake. The alders
around the edge draw flocks in search of berries, and the

2

C&e ©on0 of t&e (XatDtnal

marsh grasses and weeds are weighted with seed hunters.
The muck is alive with worms; and the whole swamp
ablaze with flowers, whose colours and perfumes attract
myriads of insects and butterflies.

Wild creepers flaunt their red and gold from the tree-
tops, and the bumblebees and humming-birds make
common cause in rifling the honey-laden trumpets. The
air around the wild-plum and red-haw trees is vibrant
with the beating wings of millions of wild bees, and the
bee-birds feast to gluttony. The fetid odours of the
swamp draw insects in swarms, and fly-catchers tumble
and twist in air in pursuit of them.

Every hollow tree homes its colony of bats. Snakes
sun on the bushes. The water folk leave trails of shining
ripples in their wake as they cross the lagoons. Turtles
waddle clumsily from the logs. Frogs take graceful leaps
from pool to pool. Everything native to that section of
the country — underground, creeping, or a-wing — can be
found in the Limberlost; but above all it is the chosen
habitation of the birds.

Dainty green warblers nest in its tree- tops, and red-
eyed vireos choose a location below. It is the home of
bell-birds, finches, and thrushes. There are flocks of
blackbirds, grackles, and crows. Jays and catbirds quar-

3

C&e §ong of t&e Cardinal

rel constantly, and marsh-wrens keep up never-ending
chatter. Orioles swing their pendent purses from the
branches, and with the tanagers picnic on mulberries
and insects. In the evening, night-hawks dart on silent
wing; whippoorwills set up a plaintive cry that they con
tinue far into the night; and owls revel in moonlight and
rich hunting. At dawn, robins wake the echoes of each
new day with the admonition, "Cheer up! Cheer up!"
and a little later big black vultures go wheeling through
cloudland or hang there, like frozen splashes, searching
the Limberlost and the surrounding country for food. The
boom of the bittern resounds all day, and above it the
rasping scream of the blue heron, as he strikes terror to
the hearts of frogdom; while the occasional cries of a lost
loon, strayed from its flock in northern migration, fill the
swamp with sounds of wailing.

Flashing through the tree-tops of the Limberlost there
are birds whose colour is more brilliant than that of the
gaudiest flower lifting its face to light and air. The lilies
of the mire are not so white as the white herons that fish
among them. The ripest spray of goldenrod is not so
highly coloured as the burnished gold on the breast of the
oriole that rocks on it. The jays are bluer than the cal
amus bed they wrangle above with throaty chatter. The

4

"SHE CHOSE HER LOCATION WITH THE EYE OF AN ARTIST

'C6e ^cng of t&e CatDfttal

finches are a finer purple than the ironwort. For every
clump of foxfire flaming in the Limberlost, there is a car
dinal glowing redder on a bush above it. These may not
be more numerous than other birds, but their brilliant
colouring and the fearless disposition that keep them
forever hi evidence make them seem so.

The Cardinal was hatched in a thicket of sweetbrier
and blackberry. His father was a tough old widower of
many experiences and variable temper. He was the big
gest, most aggressive redbird in the Limberlost, and
easily reigned king of his kind. Catbirds, king-birds, and
shrikes gave him a wide berth, and not even the ever-
quarrelsome jays plucked up enough courage to antag
onize him. A few days after his latest bereavement, he
saw a fine, plump young female; and she so filled his eye
that he gave her no rest until she permitted his caresses,
and carried the first twig to the wild rose. She was very
proud to mate with the king of the Limberlost; and if
deep in her heart she felt transient fears of her lordly
master, she gave no sign, for she was a bird of goodly pro
portion and fine feather herself.

She chose her location with the eye of an artist, and the
judgment of a nest builder of more experience. It would
be difficult for snakes and squirrels to penetrate that

7

C&e %otiQ of tfce Cardinal

briery thicket. The white berry blossoms scarcely had
ceased to attract a swarm of insects before the sweets
of the roses recalled them; by the time they had faded,
luscious big berries ripened within reach and drew food
hunters. She built with far more than ordinary care.
It was a beautiful nest, not nearly so carelessly made as
those of her kindred all through the swamp. There was a
distinct attempt at a cup shape, and it really was neatly
lined with dried blades of sweet marsh grass. But it
was in the laying of her first egg that the queen cardinal
forever distinguished herself. She was a fine healthy
bird, full of love and happiness over her first venture in
nest-building, and she so far surpassed herself on that
occasion she had difficulty in convincing any one that
she was responsible for the result.

Indeed, she was compelled to lift beak and wing against
her mate in defense of this egg, for it was so unusually
large that he could not be persuaded short of force that
some sneak of the feathered tribe had not slipped in and
deposited it in her absence. The king felt sure there was
something wrong \vith the egg, and wanted to roll it from
the nest; but the queen knew her own, and stoutly bat
tled for its protection. She further increased their pros
pects by laying three others. After that the king made

8

Ci)e ^ong of tfee Cardinal

up his mind that she was a most remarkable bird,
and went away pleasure-seeking; but the queen settled
to brooding, a picture of joyous faith and contentment.

Through all the long days, when the heat became
intense, and the king was none too thoughtful of her appe
tite or comfort, she nestled those four eggs against her
breast and patiently waited. The big egg was her treas
ure. She gave it constant care. Many times in a day
she turned it; and always against her breast there was the
individual pressure that distinguished it from the others.
It was the first to hatch, of course, and the queen felt that
she had enough if all the others failed her; for this egg
pipped with a resounding pip, and before the silky down
was really dry on the big terra-cotta body, the young
Cardinal arose and lustily demanded food.

The king came to see him and at once acknowledged
subjugation. He was the father of many promising
cardinals, yet he never had seen one like this. He set
the Limberlost echoes rolling with his jubilant rejoicing.
He unceasingly hunted for llie ripest berries and seed.
He stuffed that baby from morning until night, and never
came with food that he did not find him standing a-top the
others calling for more. The queen was just as proud of
him and quite as foolish in her idolatry, but she kept

9

ong of tbe CarDfnal

tally and gave the remainder every other worm in turn.
They were unusually fine babies, but what chance has
merely a fine baby in a family that possesses a prodigy?
The Cardinal was as large as any two of the other nest
lings, and so red the very down on him seemed tinged with
crimson; his skin and even his feet were red.

He was the first to climb to the edge of the nest and the
first to hop on a limb. He surprised his parents by find
ing a slug, and winged his first flight to such a distance
that his adoring mother almost went into spasms lest his
strength might fail, and he would fall into the swamp
and become the victim of a hungry old turtle. He re
turned safely, however; and the king was so pleased he
hunted him an unusually ripe berry, and perching before
him, gave him his first language lesson. Of course, the
Cardinal knew how to cry "Pee" and "Chee" when he
burst his shell; but the king taught him to chip with ac
curacy and expression, and he learned that very day that
male birds of the cardinal family always call "Chip," and
the females "Chook." In fact, he learned so rapidly and
was generally so observant, that before the king thought
:t wise to give the next lesson, he found him on a limb, his
beak closed, his throat swelling, practising his own render
ing of the tribal calls, "Wheat! Wheat! Wheat!" "Here!

Cfu ^ong of tfje CarDinal

Here! Here!" and "Cheer! Cheer! Cheer!" This so de
lighted the king that he whistled them over and over and
helped the youngster all he could.

He was so proud of him that this same night he gave
him his first lesson in tucking his head properly and going
to sleep alone. In a few more days, when he was sure of
his wing strength, he gave him instructions in flying. He
taught him how to spread his wings and slowly sail from
tree to tree; how to fly in short broken curves, to avoid the
aim of a hunter; how to turn abruptly in air and make
a quick dash after a bug or an enemy. He taught him the
proper angle at which to breast a stiff wind, and that he
always should meet a storm head first, so that the water
would run as the plumage lay.

His first bathing lesson was a pronounced success.
The Cardinal enjoyed water like a duck. He bathed,
splashed, and romped until his mother was almost crazy
for fear he would attract a watersnake or turtle; but the
element of fear was not a part of his disposition. He
learned to dry, dress, and plume his feathers, and showed
such remarkable pride in keeping himself immaculate,
that although only a youngster, he was already a bird of
such great promise, that many of the feathered inhabitants
of the Limberlost came to pay him a call.

ii

Cije ^on0 of t&e CatDinal

Next, the king took him on a long trip around the
swamp, and taught him to select the proper places to
hunt for worms; how to search under leaves for plant-lice
and slugs for meat; which berries were good and safe, and
the kind of weeds that bore the most and best seeds. He
showed him how to find tiny pebbles to grind his food,
and how to sharpen and polish his beak.

Then he took up the real music lessons, and taught him
how to whistle and how to warble and trill. "Good
Cheer! Good Cheer!" intoned the king. "Coo Cher!
Coo Cher ! " imitated the Cardinal. These songs were only
studied repetitions, but there was a depth and volume in
his voice that gave promise of future greatness, when age
should have developed him, and experience awakened his
emotions. He was an excellent musician for a youngster.

He soon did so well in caring for himself, in finding
food and in flight, and grew so big and independent, that
he made numerous excursions alone through the Limber-
lost; and so impressive were his proportions, and so ag
gressive his manners, that he suffered no molestation.
In fact, the reign of the king promised to end speedily;
but if he feared it he made no sign, and his pride in his
wonderful offspring was always manifest. After the Car
dinal had explored the swamp thoroughly, a longing for

12

Cfce ®on0 of tfje Cardinal

a wider range grew upon him; and day after day he lin
gered around the borders, looking across the wide cul
tivated fields, almost aching to test his wings in one long,
high, wild stretch of flight.

A day came when the heat of late summer set the marsh
steaming, and the Cardinal, flying close to the borders,
caught the breeze from the upland; and the vision of
broad fields stretching toward the north so enticed Mm
that he spread his wings, and following the line of trees
and fences as much as possible, he made his first journey
from home. That day was so delightful it decided his for
tunes. It would seem that the swamp, so appreciated by
his kindred, should have been sufficient for the Cardinal,
but it was not. With every mile he winged his flight, came
a greater sense of power and strength, and a keener love for
the bioad sweep of field and forest. His heart bounded
with the zest of rocking on the wind, racing through
the sunshine, and sailing over the endless panorama of
waving corn fields, meadows, orchards, and woodlands.

The heat and closeness of the Limberlost seemed a
prison well escaped, as on and on he flew in straight un
tiring flight. Crossing a field of half-ripened corn that
sloped to the river, the Cardinal saw many birds feeding
there, so he alighted on a tall tree to watch them. Soon

§ong of tbz Cardinal

he decided that he would like to try this new food. He
found a place where a crow had left an ear nicely laid
open, and clinging to the husk, as he saw the others do, he
stretched to his full height and drove his strong sharp
beak into the creamy grain. After the stifling swamp
hunting, after the long exciting flight, to rock on this
swaying corn and drink the rich milk of the grain, was to
the Cardinal his first taste of nectar and ambrosia. He
lifted his head when he came to the golden kernel, and
chipping it in tiny specks, he tasted and approved with
all the delight of an epicure in a delicious new dish.

Perhaps there were other treats in the next field. He
decided to fly even farther. But he had gone only a short
distance wiien he changed his course and turned to the
South, for below him was a long, shining, creeping thing,
fringed with willows, while towering above them were
giant sycamore, maple, tulip, and elm trees that caught
and rocked with the wind; and the Cardinal did not know
what it was. Filled with wonder he dropped lower and
lower. Birds were everywhere, many flying over and
dipping into it; but its clear creeping silver was a mystery
to the Cardinal.

The beautiful river of poetry and song that the In
dians first discovered, and later with the French, named

16

C&e §>ong of tjje CatDinal

Ouabache; the winding shining river that Logan and Me-
shin-go-me-sia loved; the only river that could tempt Wa-
ca-co-nah from the Salamonieand Mississinewa; the river
beneath whose silver sycamores and giant maples Chief
Godfrey travelled many miles to pitch his camp-fires, was
never more beautiful than on that perfect autumn day.

With his feathers pressed closely, the Cardinal alighted
on a willow, and leaned to look, quivering with excitement
and uttering explosive "chips"; for there he was, face to
face with a big redbird that appeared neither peaceful
nor timid. He uttered an impudent " Chip " of challenge,
•which, as it left his beak, was flung back to him. The
Cardinal flared his crest and half lifted his wings, stiffening
them at the butt; the bird he was facing did the same.
In his surprise he arose to his full height with a dexterous
little side step, and the other bird straightened and side
stepped exactly with him. This was too insulting for the
Cardinal. Straining every muscle, he made a dash at the
impudent stranger.

He struck the water with such force that it splashed
above the willows, and a kingfisher, stationed on a stump
opposite him, watching the shoals for minnows, saw it.
He spread his beak and rolled forth rattling laughter,
until his voice reechoed from point to point down the

e @>ong of tfje Cardinal

river. The Cardinal scarcely knew how he got out, but
he had learned a new lesson. That beautiful, shining,
creeping thing was water; not thick, tepid, black marsh
water, but pure, cool, silver water. He shook his plum
age, feeling a degree redder from shame, but he would not
be laughed into leaving. He found it too delightful. In
a short time he ventured down and took a sip, and it was
the first real drink of his life. Oh, but it was good!

When thirst from the heat and his long flight was
quenched, he ventured in for a bath, and that was a new
and delightful experience. How he splashed and splashed,
and sent the silver drops flying! How he ducked and
soaked and cooled in that rippling water, in which he
might remain as long as he pleased and splash his fill;
for he could see the bottom for a long distance all
around, and easily could avoid anything attempting to
harm him. He was so wet when his bath was finished he
scarcely could reach a bush to dry and dress his plumage.

Once again in perfect feather, he remembered the bird
of the water, and returned to the willow. There in the
depths of the shining river the Cardinal discovered him
self, and his heart swelled big with just pride. Was that
broad full breast his? Where had he seen any othei
cardinal with a crest so high it waved in the wind? How,

18

C6e §ong of t&e Cardinal

big and black his eyes were, and his beard was almost as
long and crisp as his father's. He spread his wings and
gloated on their sweep, and twisted and flirted his tail.
He went over his toilet again and dressed every feather
on him. He scoured the back of his neck with the butt
of his wings, and tucking his head under them, slowly drew
it out time after time to polish his crest. He turned and
twisted. He rocked and paraded, and every glimpse he
caught of his size and beauty filled him with pride. He
strutted like a peacock and chattered like a jay.

When he could find no further points to admire, some
thing else caught his attention. When he "chipped"
there was an answering " Chip" across the river; certainly
there was no cardinal there, so it must be that he was hear
ing his own voice as well as seeing himself. Selecting
a conspicuous perch he sent an incisive "Chip!" across
the water, and in kind it came back to him. Then he
"chipped" softly and tenderly, as he did in the Limber-
lost to a favourite little sister who often came and perched
beside him in the maple where he slept, and softly and
tenderly came the answer. Then the Cardinal understood.
"Wheat! Wheat! Wheat!" He whistled it high, and he
whistled it low. "Cheer! Cheer! Cheer!" He whistled
it tenderly and sharply and imperiously. "Here! Here!

19

C6e §)ong of tjje Cardinal

Here!" At this ringing command, every bird, as far as
the river carried his voice, came to investigate and re
mained to admire. Over and over he rang every change
he could invent. He made a gallant effort at warbling
and trilling, and then, with the gladdest heart he ever
had known, he burst into ringing song: "Good Cheer!
Good Cheer ! Good Cheer ! "

As evening came on he grew restless and uneasy, so he
slowly winged his \vay back to the Limberlost; but that
day forever spoiled him for a swamp bird. In the night
he restlessly ruffled his feathers, and sniffed for the breeze
of the meadows. He tasted the corn and the clear water
again. He admired his image in the river, and longed for
the sound of his voice, until he began murmuring, " Wheat !
Wheat ! Wheat!" in his sleep. In the earliest dawn a
robin awoke him singing, "Cheer up! Cheer up!" and he
answered with a sleepy "Cheer! Cheer! Cheer!" Later
the robin sang again with exquisite softness and tender
ness: "Cheer up, Dearie! Cheer up, Dearie! Cheer up!
Cheer up! Cheer!" The Cardinal, now fully awakened,
shouted lustily, "Good Cheer! Good Cheer!" and after
that it was only a short time until he was on his way
toward the shining river. It was better than before, and
every following day found him feasting in the corn field

20

Ct)e %ong of tfu CarDinal

and bathing in the shining water; but he always returned
to his family at nightfall.

When black frosts began to strip the Limberlost, and
food was almost reduced to dry seed, there came a day
on which the king marshalled his followers and gave the
magic signal. With dusk he led them southward, mile
after mile, until their breath fell short, and their wings
ached with unaccustomed flight; but because of the trips
to the river, the Cardinal was stronger than the others, and
he easily kept abreast of the king. In the early morning,
even before the robins were awake, the king settled in the
Everglades. But the Cardinal had lost all liking for
swamp life, so he stubbornly set out alone, and in a short
time he had found another river. It was not quite so
delightful as the shining river; but still it was beautiful,
and on its gently sloping bank was an orange orchard.
There the Cardinal rested, and found a winter home after
his heart's desire.

The following morning, a golden-haired little girl and
an old man with snowy locks came hand in hand through
the orchard. The child saw the redbird and immediately
claimed him, and that same day the edict went forth that
a very dreadful time was in store for any one who harmed
or even frightened the Cardinal. So in security began a

21

Cfje ^ong of tfie CatDinaS

series of days that were pure delight. The orchard was
alive with insects, attracted by the heavy odours, and
slugs infested the bark. Feasting was almost as good as
in the Limberlost, and always there was the river to drink
from and to splash in at will.

In those days the child and the old man lingered for
hours in the orchard, watching the bird that every day
seemed to grow bigger and brighter. What a picture his
coat, now a bright cardinal red, made against the waxy
green leaves ! How big and brilliant he seemed as he raced
and darted in play among the creamy blossoms! How the
little girl stood with clasped hands worshipping him, as
with swelling throat he rocked on the highest spray and
sang his inspiring chorus over and over: "Good Cheer!
Good Cheer! " Every day they came to w^atch and listen.
They scattered crumbs; and the Cardinal grew so friendly
that he greeted their coming with a quick "Chip! Chip!"
while the delighted child tried to repeat it after him. Soon
they became such friends that when he saw them ap
proaching he would call softly "Chip! Chip!" and then
with beady eyes and tilted head await her reply.

Sometimes a member of his family from the Everglades
found his way into the orchard, and the Cardinal, having
grown to feel a sense of proprietorship, resented the ini

22

Cbe @>ong of tfje Cardinal

trusion and pursued him like a streak of flame. Whenever
any straggler had this experience, he returned to the
swamp realizing that the Cardinal of the orange orchard
was almost twice his size and strength, and so startlingly
red as to be a wonder.

One day a gentle breeze from the north sprang up and
stirred the orange branches, wafting the heavy perfume
across the land and out to sea, and spread in its stead a
cool, delicate, pungent odour. The Cardinal lifted his
head and whistled an inquiring note. He was not certain,
and went on searching for slugs, and predicting happiness
in full round notes: "Good Cheer! Good Cheer!" Again
the odour swept the orchard, so strong that this time there
was no mistaking it. The Cardinal darted to the top
most branch, his crest flaring, his tail twitching nervously.
"Chip! Chip!" he cried with excited insistence, "Chip!
Chip!"

The breeze was coming stiffly and steadily now, unlike
anything the Cardinal ever had known, for its cool breath
told of ice-bound fields breaking up under the sun. Its
damp touch was from the spring showers washing the face
of the northland. Its subtle odour was the commingling
of myriads of unfolding leaves and crisp plants, upspring-
ing; its pungent perfume was the pollen of catkins.

23

C6e %ong of tie CatDlnal

tip in the land of the Limberlost, old Mother Nature,
with strident muttering, had set about her annual house-
cleaning. With her efficient broom, the March wind,
she was sweeping every nook and cranny clean. With
her scrub-bucket overflowing with April showers, she was
washing the face of all creation, and if these measures
failed to produce cleanliness to her satisfaction, she gave
a final polish with storms of hail. The shining river was
filled to overflowing; breaking up the ice and carrying a
load of refuse, it went rolling to the sea. The ice and
snow had not altogether gone; but the long-pregnant
earth was mothering her children. She cringed at every
step, for the ground was teeming with life. Bug and
worm were working to light and warmth. Thrusting
aside the mold and leaves above them, spring beauties,
hepaticas, and violets lifted tender golden-green heads.
The sap was flowing, and leafless trees were covered with
swelling buds. Delicate mosses were creeping over every
stick of decaying timber. The lichens on stone and fence
were freshly painted in unending shades of gray and green.
Myriads of flowers and vines were springing up to cover
last year's decaying leaves. "The beautiful uncut hair
of graves" was creeping over meadow, spreading beside
roadways, and blanketing every naked spot.

24

C&e &ong of tjje CatDfnal

The Limberlost was waking to life even ahead of the
fields and the river. Through the winter it had been the
barest and dreariest of places; but now the earliest signs
of returning spring were in its martial music, for when the
green hyla pipes, and the bullfrog drums, the bird voices
soon join them. The catkins bloomed first; and then, in
an incredibly short time, flags, rushes, and vines were like
a sea of waving green, and swelling buds were ready to
burst. In the upland the smoke was curling over sugar-
camp and clearing; in the forests animals were rousing from
their long sleep; the shad were starting anew their never-
ending journey up the shining river; peeps of green were
mantling hilltop and valley; and the northland was ready
for its dearest springtime treasures to come home again.

From overhead were ringing those first glad notes,
caught nearer the Throne than those of any other bird,
"Spring o' year! Spring o' year!"; while stilt-legged
little killdeers were scudding around the Limberlost
and beside the river, flinging from cloudland their "Kill
deer! Kill deer!" call. The robins in the orchards were
pulling the long dried blades of last year's grass from be
neath the snow to line their mud- walled cups; and the
bluebirds were at the hollow apple tree. Flat on the top
rail, the doves were gathering their few coarse sticks and

25

C&e §ong of tbe CarDfnal

twigs together. It was such a splendid place to set their
cradle. The weatherbeaten, rotting old rails were the
very colour of the busy dove mother. Her red-rimmed eye
fitted into the background like a tiny scarlet lichen cup.
Surely no one would ever see her! The Limberlost and
shining river, the fields and forests, the wayside bushes
and fences, the stumps, logs, hollow trees, even the bare
brown breast of Mother Earth, were all waiting to cradle
their own again; and by one of the untold miracles each
would return to its place.

There was intoxication in the air. The subtle, pungent,
ravishing odours on the wind, of unfolding leaves, ice-
water washed plants, and catkin pollen, were an elixir to
humanity. The cattle of the field were fairly drunk with
it, and herds, dry-fed during the winter, were coming to
their first grazing with heads thrown high, romping, bel
lowing, and racing like wild things.

The north wind, sweeping from icy fastnesses, caught
this odour of spring, and carried it to the orange orchards
and Everglades; and at a breath of it, crazed with excite
ment, the Cardinal went flaming through the orchard, for
with no one to teach him, he knew what it meant. The
call had come. Holidays were over.

It was time to go home, time to riot in crisp freshness,

26

Cfce ^ong of tie Cardinal

time to go courting, time to make love, time to possess his
own, time for mating and nest-building. All that day
he flashed around, nervous with dread of the unknown,
and palpitant with delightful expectation; but with the
coming of dusk he began his journey northward.

When he passed the Everglades, he winged his way
slowly, and repeatedly sent down a challenging "Chip,"
but there was no answer. Then the Cardinal knew that
the north wind had carried a true message, for the king
and his followers were ahead of him on their way to the
Limberlost. Mile after mile, a thing of pulsing fire, he
breasted the blue-black night, and it was not so very long
until he could discern a flickering patch of darkness sweep
ing the sky before him. The Cardinal flew steadily in a
straight sweep, until with a throb of triumph in his heart,
he arose in his course, and from far overhead, flung down
a boastful challenge to the king and his followers, as he
sailed above them and was lost from sight.

It was still dusky with the darkness of night when he
crossed the Limberlost, dropping low enough to see its
branches laid bare, to catch a gleam of green in its swelling
buds, and to hear the wavering chorus of its frogs. But
there was no hesitation in his flight. Straight and sure
he winged his way toward the shining river; and it was

27

Cfje %ons of t&c Cardinal

only a few more miles until the rolling waters of its spring
time flood caught his eye. Dropping precipitately, he
plunged his burning beak into the loved water; then he
flew into a fine old stag sumac and tucked his head under
his wing for a short rest. He had made the long flight
in one unbroken sweep, and he was sleepy. In utter con
tent he ruffled his feathers and closed his eyes, for he was
beside the shining river; and it would be another season
before the orange orchard would ring again with his
"Good Cheer! Good Cheeri"

year! Wet year!" prophesied the Cardinal

The sumac seemed to fill
his idea of a perfect loca
tion from the very first. He
perched on a limb, and be
tween dressing his plumage
and pecking at last year's
sour dried berries, he sent
abroad his prediction. Old
Mother Nature verified his
wisdom by sending a dash
ing shower, but he cared not
at all for a wetting. He knew
how to turn his crimson suit into the most perfect
of water-proof coats; so he flattened his crest, sleeked
his feathers, and breasting the April downpour, kept on
calling for rain. He knew he would appear brighter
when it was past, and he seemed to know, too, that
every day of sunshine and shower would bring nearer
his heart's desire.

29

C&e ®on0 of tkt CatDinal

He was a very Beau Brummel while he waited. From
morning until night he bathed, dressed his feathers,
Sunned himself, fluffed and flirted. He strutted and
"chipped" incessantly. He claimed that sumac for his
very own, and stoutly battled for possession with many
intruders. It grew on a densely wooded slope, and the
shining river went singing between grassy banks, whitened
with spring beauties, below it. Crowded around it were
thickets of papaw, wild grape-vines, Chorn, dogwood, and
red haw, that attracted bug and insect; and just across
the old snake fence was a field of mellow mould sloping to
the river, that soon would be plowed for corn, turning out
numberless big fat grubs.

He was compelled almost hourly to wage battles for his
location, for there was something fine about the old stag
sumac that attracted homestead seekers. A sober pair
of robins began laying their foundations there the morning
the Cardinal arrived, and a couple of blackbirds tried to
take possession before the day had passed. He had little
urouble with the robins. They were easily conquered,
and with small protest settled a rod up the bank in a
wild-pmm tree; but the air was thick with "chips,"
chatter, and red and black feathers, before the black
birds acknowledged defeat. They were old-timers, and

30

"HE KEPT ON CALLING FOR RAIN

C6e @>ong of t6c Cardinal

knew about the grubs and the young corn; but
they also knew when they were beaten, so they moved
down stream to a scrub oak, trying to assure each other
that it was the place they really had wanted from the
first.

The Cardinal was left boasting and strutting in the
sumac, but in his heart he found it lonesome business.
Being the son of a king, he was much too dignified to beg
for a mate, and besides, it took all his time to guard the
sumac; but his eyes were wide open to all that went on
around him, and he envied the blackbird his glossy, de
voted little sweetheart, with all his might. He almost
strained his voice trying to rival the love-song of a skylark
that hung among the clouds above a meadow across the
river, and poured down to his mate a story of adoring
love and sympathy. He screamed a "Chip" of such sav
age jealousy at a pair of killdeer lovers that he sent them
scampering down the river bank without knowing that
the crime of which they stood convicted was that of being
mated when he was not. As for the doves that were al
ready brooding on the line fence beneath the maples,
the Cardinal was torn between two opinions.

He was alone, he was love-sick, and he was holding the
finest building location beside the shining river for his

33

€t)c ^ong of tbe CatDinal

mate, and her slowness in coming made their devotion
difficult to endure when he coveted a true love; but it
seemed to the Cardinal that he never could so forget him
self as to emulate the example of that dove lover. The
dove had no dignity; he was so effusive he was a nuisance.
He kept his dignified Quaker mate stuffed to discomfort;
he clung to the side of the nest trying to help brood until
he almost crowded her from the eggs. He pestered her
with caresses and cooed over his love-song until every
chipmunk on the line fence was familiar with his story.
The Cardinal's temper was worn to such a fine edge that
he darted at the dove one day and pulled a big tuft of
feathers from his back. When he had returned to the
sumac, he was compelled to admit that his anger lay quite
as much in that he had no one to love as because the dove
was disgustingly devoted.

Every morning brought new arrivals — trim young
females fresh from their long holiday, and big boastful
males appearing their brightest and bravest, each singer
almost splitting his throat in the effort to captivate the
mate he coveted. They came flashing down the river
bank, like rockets of scarlet, gold, blue, and black; rocking
on the willows, splashing in the water, bursting into jets
of melody, making every possible display of their beauty

34

€be ^>ong of tbe Caroina!

and music; and at times fighting fiercely when they dis
covered that the females they were wooing favoured their
rivals and desired only to be friendly with them.

The heart of the Cardinal sank as he watched. There
was not a member of his immediate family among them.
He pitied himself as he wondered if fate had in store for
him the trials he saw others suffering. Those dreadful
feathered females! How they coquetted! How they
flirted! How they sleeked and flattened their plumage,
and with half-open beaks and sparkling eyes, hopped
closer and closer as if charmed. The eager singers, with
swelling throats, sang and sang in a very frenzy of ex
travagant pleading, but just when they felt sure their
little loves were on the point of surrender, a rod distant
above the bushes would go streaks of feathers, and there
was nothing left but to endure the bitter disappointment,
follow them, and begin all over. For the last three days
the Cardinal had been watching his cousin, rose-breasted
Grosbeak, make violent love to the most exquisite
little female, who apparently encouraged his advances,
only to see him left sitting as blue and disconsolate as
any human lover, when he discovers that the maid who
has coquetted with him for a season belongs to another
man.

35

C&e &ong of tie Cardinal

The Cardinal flew to the very top of the highest syca
more and looked across country toward the Limberlost.
Should he go there seeking a swamp mate among his
kindred? It was not an endurable thought. To be sure,
matters were becoming serious. No bird beside the
shining river had plumed, paraded, or made more music
than he. Was it all to be wasted? By this time he con
fidently had expected results. Only that morning he had
swelled with pride as he heard Mrs. Jay tell her quarrel
some husband that she wished she could exchange him for
the Cardinal. Did not the gentle dove pause by the su
mac, when she left brooding to take her morning dip in
the dust, and gaze at him with unconcealed admiration?
No doubt she devoutly wished her plain pudgy husband
wore a scarlet coat. But it is praise from one's own sex
that is praise indeed, and only an hour ago the lark had
reported that from his lookout above cloud he saw no
other singer anywhere so splendid as the Cardinal of the
sumac. Because of these things he held fast to his con
viction that he was a prince indeed; and he decided to
remain in his chosen location and with his physical and
vocal attractions compel the finest little cardinal in the
fields to seek him.

He planned it all very carefully: how she would hear

36

C6e %ons of t&e CatUfttal

his splendid music and come to take a peep at him; how
she would be captivated by his size and beauty; how she
would come timidly, but come, of course, for his approval;
how he would condescend to accept her if she pleased him
in all particulars; how she would be devoted to him; and
how she would approve his choice of a home, for the sumac
was in a lovely spot for scenery, as well as nest-building.
For several days he had boasted, he had bantered, he had
challenged, he had on this last day almost condescended
to coaxing, but not one little bright-eyed cardinal female
had come to offer herself.

The performance of a brown thrush drove him wild with!
envy. The thrush came gliding up the river bank, a
rusty-coated, sneaking thing of the underbrush, and tak
ing possession of a thorn bush just opposite the sumac^
he sang for an hour in the open. There was no way to
improve that music. It was woven fresh from the warp
and woof of his fancy. It was a song so filled with the joy
and gladness of spring, notes so thrilled with love's plead,
ing and passion's tender pulsing pain, that at its close
there were a half-dozen admiring thrush females gathered
around. With care and deliberation the brown thrush
selected the most attractive, and she followed him to the
thicket as if charmed.

37

C6e ^>ong of t6e CatDfnal

It was the Cardinal's dream materialized for another
before his very eyes, and it filled him with envy. If that
plain brown bird that slinked as if he had a theft to ac
count for, could, by showing himself and singing for an
hour, win a mate, why should not he, the most gorgeous
bird of the woods, openly flaunting his charms and dis
coursing his music, have at least equal success? Should
he, the proudest, most magnificent of cardinals, be com
pelled to go seeking a mate like any common bird? Per
ish the thought!

He went to the river to bathe. After finding a spot
where the water flowed crystal-clear over a bed of white
limestone, he washed until he felt that he could be no
cleaner. Then the Cardinal went to his favourite sun-
parlour, and stretching on a limb, he stood his feathers
on end, and sunned, fluffed and prinked until he was im
maculate.

On the tip-top antler of the old stag sumac, he perched
and strained until his jetty whiskers appeared stubby. He
poured out a tumultuous cry vibrant with every passion
raging in him. He caught up his own rolling echoes and
changed and varied them. He improvised, and set the
shiniag river ringing, " Wet year ! Wet year ! "

He whistled and whistled until all birdland and even

38

Cbe %>ong of t&e CatDinal

mankind heard, for the farmer paused at his kitchen door,
with his pails of foaming milk, and called to his wife :

"Hear that, Maria! Jest hear it! I swanny, if that
bird doesn't stop predictin' wet weather, I'll get so scared
I won't durst put in my corn afore June. They's some
birds like killdeers an' bobwhites 'at can make things
pretty plain, but I never heard a bird 'at could jest speak
words out clear an' distinct like that fellow. Seems to
come from the river bottom. B'lieve I'll jest step down
that way an' see if the lower field is ready for the plow
yet."

"Abram. Johnson," said his wife, "bein's you set up
for an honest man, if you want to trapes through slush
an' drizzle a half-mile to see a bird, why say so, but don't
for land's sake lay it on to plowin' 'at you know in all
conscience won't be ready for a week yet 'thout pre-
tendin' to look."

Abram grinned sheepishly. "I'm willin' to call it the
bird if you are, Maria. I've been hearin' him from the
barn all day, an' there's somethin' kind o' human in his
notes 'at takes me jest a little diffmnt from any other bird
I ever noticed. I'm really curious to set eyes on him.
Seemed to me from his singin' out to the barn, it 'ud be
mighty near like meetin' folks."

39

^ong of t&e CatDinal

"Bosh!" exclaimed Maria. "I don't s'pose he sings
a mite better 'an any other bird. It's jest the old Wabash
rollin' up the echoes. A bird singin' beside the river al
ways sounds twict as fine as one on the hills. I've
knowed that for forty year. Chances are 'at he'll be
gone 'fore you get there."

As Abram opened the door, "Wet year! Wet year!"
pealed the flaming prophet.

He went out, closing the door softly, and with an utter
disregard for the corn field, made a bee line for the musi
cian.

"I don't know as this is the best for twinges o' rheu-
matiz," he muttered, as he turned up his collar and drew
his old hat lower to keep the splashing drops from his face.
"I don't jest rightly s'pose I should go; but I'm free to
admit I'd as lief be dead as not to answer when I get a call,
an' the fact is, I'm called down beside the river."

"Wet year! Wet year!" rolled the Cardinal's predic
tion.

"Thanky, old fellow! Glad to hear you! Didn't jest
need the information, but I got my bearin's rightly from
it! I can about pick out your bush, an' it's well along
towards evenin', too, an' must be mighty near your bed
time. Looks as if you might be stayin' round these parts !

40

HE SUNNED HIMSELF, FLUFFED AND FLIRTED

e ^>ong of tfje Cardinal

I'd like it powerful well if you'd settle right here, say 'bout
where you are. An' where are you, anyway? "

Abram went peering and dodging beside the fence,
peeping into the bushes, searching for the bird. Suddenly
there was a whir of wings and a streak of crimson.

"Scared you into the next county, I s'pose," he mut
tered.

But it came nearer being a scared man than a fright
ened bird, for the Cardinal flashed straight toward him
until only a few yards away, and then, swaying on a bush,
it chipped, cheered, peeked, whistled broken notes, and
manifested perfect delight at the sight of the white-haired
old man. Abram stared in astonishment.

"Lord A'mighty!" he gasped. "Big as a blackbird,
red as a live coal, an' a-comin' right at me. You are
somebody's pet, that's what you are! An' no, you ain't
either. Settin' on a sawed stick in a little wire house
takes all the ginger out of any bird, an' their feathers are
always mussy. Inside o' a cage never saw you, for they
ain't a feather out o' place on you. You are finer'n a
piece o' red satin. An' you got that way o' swingin' an'
dancin' an' high-steppin' right out in God A'mighty's big
woods^a teeterin' in the wind, an' a dartin' 'crost the water.
Cage never touched you! But you are somebody's pet

43

C&e %ong of tfcc CatDfnal

jest the same. An' I look like the man, an* you are
tryin' to tell me so, by gum!"

Leaning toward Abram, the Cardinal turned his head
from side to side, and peered, "chipped," and waited for
an answering "Chip" from a little golden-haired child,
but there was no way for the man to know that.

"It's jest as sure as fate," he said. "You think you
know me, an' you are tryin' to tell me somethin'. Wish
to land I knowed what you want! Are you tryin' to tell
me 'Howdy'? Well, I don't 'low nobody to be politer
'an I am, so far as I know."

Abram lifted his old hat, and the raindrops glistened on
his white hair. He squared his shoulders and stood very
erect.

"Howdy, Mr. Redbird! How d'ye find yerself this
evenin'? I don't jest riccolict ever seein' you before,
but I'll never meet you agin 'thout knowin' you. When
d'you arrive? Come through by the special midnight
flyer, did you? Well, you never was more welcome any
place in your life. I'd give a right smart sum this minnit
if you'd say you came to settle on this river bank. How
do you like it? To my mind it's jest as near Paradise as
you'll strike on earth.

"Old Wabash is a twister for curvin' and windin' round,

44

Cfje ^ottg of tfje Cardinal

an* it's limestone bed half the way, an' the water's as
pretty an' clear as in Maria's springhouse. An' as for
trimmin', why say, Mr. Redbird, I'll jest leave it to you
if she ain't all trimmed up like a woman's spring bunnit.
Look at the grass a-creepin' right down till it's a trailin'
in the water! Did you ever see jest quite such fine fringy
willers? An' you wait a little, an' the flowerin' mallows

•

'at grows long the shinin' old river are fine as garden
hollyhocks. Maria says 'at they'd be purtier 'an hers
if they were only double; but, Lord, Mr. Redbird, they are!
See 'em once on the bank, an' agin in the water! An*
back a little an' there's jest thickets of papaw, an' thorns,
an' wild grape-vines, an' crab, an' red an' black haw, an*
dogwood, an' sumac, an' spicebush, an' trees! Lord!
Mr. Redbird, the sycamores, an' maples, an' tulip, an'
ash, an' elm trees are so bustin' fine 'long the old Wabash
they put 'em into poetry books an' sing songs about 'em.
What do you think o' that? Jest back o' you a little
there's a sycamore split into five trunks, any one o' them
a famous big tree, tops up 'mong the clouds, an* roots
diggin' under the old river; an' over a little farther 's a
maple 'at's eight big trees in one. Most anything you
can name, you can find it 'long this ole Wabash, if you
only know where to hunt for it.

45

Cbe ^ong ot tfce CarUfnal

"They's mighty few white men takes the trouble to
look, but the Indians used to know. They'd come ca-
noein' an' fishin' down the river an' camp under these very
trees, an' Ma 'ud git so mad at the old squaws. Settlers
wasn't so thick then, an' you had to be mighty careful
not to rile 'em, an' they'd come a-trapesin' with their wild
berries. Woods full o' berries! Anybody could get 'em
by the bushel for the pickin', an' we hadn't got on to
raisin* much wheat, an' had to carry it on horses over
into Ohio to get it milled. Took Pa five days to make the
trip; an' then the blame old squaws 'ud come, an' Ma 'ud
be compelled to hand over to Jem her big white loaves.
Jest about set her plumb crazy. Used to get up in the
night, an' fix her yeast, an' bake, an' let the oven cool, an'
hide the bread out in the wheat bin, an' get the smell of
it all out o' the house by good daylight, so's 'at she could
say there wasn't a loaf in the cabin. Oh! if it's good
pickin' you're after, they's berries for all creation 'long
the river yet; an' jest wait a few days till old April gets
done showerin' an' I plow this corn field ! "

Abram set a foot on the third rail and leaned his elbows
on the top. The Cardinal chipped delightedly and hopped
and tilted closer.

"I hadn't jest 'lowed all winter I'd tackle this field

46

Cfie ^ong of tDe CarDfnal

again. Fve turned it every spring for forty year. Bought
it when I was a young fellow, jest married to Maria.
Shouldered a big debt on it; but I always loved these
slopin' fields, an' my share of this old Wabash hasn't
been for sale nor tradin* any time this past forty year.
I've hung on to it like grim death, for it's jest that much
o' Paradise I'm plumb sure of. First time I plowed
this field, Mr. Redbird, I only hit the high places. Jest
married Maria, an' I didn't touch earth any too frequent
all that summer. I've plowed it every year since, an*
I've been 'lowin' all this winter, when the rheumatiz was
gettin' in its work, 'at I'd give it up this spring an' turn
it to medder; but I don't know. Once I got started,
b'lieve I could go it all right an' not feel it so much, if
you'd stay to cheer me up a little an' post me on the
weather. Hate the doggondest to own I'm worsted, an*
if you say it's stay, b'lieve I'll try it. Very sight oj you
kinder warms the cockles o' my heart all up, an' every skip
you take sets me a-wantin' to be jumpin', too.

"What on earth are you lookin' for? Man! I b'lieve
it's grub! Somebody's been feedin' you ! An' you want
me to keep it up? Well, you struck it all right, Mr. Red-
bird. Feed you? You bet I will! You needn't even
'rastle for grubs if you don't want to. Like as not you're

47

Cbe ^ong of tfte Cardinal

feelin' hungry right now, pickin' bein' so slim these airly
days. Land's sake! I hope you don't feel you've come
too soon. I'll fetch you everything on the place it's
likely a redbird ever teched, airly in the mornin' if you'll
say you'll stay an' wave your torch 'long my river bank
this summer. I haven't a scrap about me now. Yes, I
have, too! Here's a handful o' corn I was takin' to the
banty rooster; but shucks! he's fat as a young shoat now.
Corn's a leetle big an' hard for you. Mebby I can split
it up a mite."

Abram took out his jack-knife, and dotting a row of
grains along the top rail, he split and shaved them down
as fine as possible; and as he reached one end of the
rail, the Cardinal, with a spasmodic "Chip!" dashed
down and snatched a particle from the other, and
flashed back to the bush, tested, approved, and chipped
his thanks.

"Pshaw now!" said Abram, staring wide-eyed.
"Doesn't that beat you? So you really are a pet? Best
kind of a pet in the whole world, too ! Makin' everybody
'at sees you happy, an' havin' some chance to be happy
yourself. An' I look like your friend? Well! Well! I'm
monstrous willin' to adopt you if you'll take me; an',
as for f eedin', from to-morrow on Til find time to set your

48

C&e %ons of t&e CarDfnal

little table 'long this same rail every day. I s'pose Maria
'ull say 'at I'm gone plumb crazy; but, for that matter, if
I ever get her down to see you jest once, the trick's done
with her, too, for you're the prettiest thing God ever made
in the shape of a bird, 'at I ever saw. Look at that top
knot a wavin' in the wind! Maybe praise to the face is
open disgrace; but I'll take your share an' mine, too, an*
tell you right here an' now 'at you're the blamedest pretti
est thing 'at I ever saw.

"But Lord! You ortn't be so careless! Don't you
know you ain't nothin' but jest a target? Why don't
you keep out o' sight a little? You come a-shinneyin*
up to nine out o' ten men 'long the river like this, an' your
purty, coaxin', palaverin' way won't save a feather on
you. You'll get the little red heart shot plumb outen
your little red body, an' that's what you'll get. It's a
dratted shame! An' there's law to protect you, too.
They's a good big fine for killin' such as you, but nobody
seems to push it. Every fool wants to test his aim,
an' you're the brightest thing on the river bank for a
mark.

"Well, if you'll stay right where you are, it 'ull be a
sorry day for any cuss 'at teches you; 'at I'll promise you,
Mr. Redbird. This land's mine, an' if you locate on it,

49

Cbe §)ong of tfee CatDinal

you're mine till time to go back to that other old fellow 'at
looks like me. Wonder if he's any willinger to feed you
an' stand up for you 'an I am?"

"Here! Here! Here!" whistled the Cardinal.

"Well, I'm mighty glad if you're sayin' you'll stay!
Guess it will be all right if you don't meet some o' them
Limberlost hens an' tole off to the swamp. Lord! the
Limberlost ain't to be compared with the river, Mr. Red-
bird. You're foolish if you go! Talkin' 'bout goin', I
must be goin' myself, or Maria will be comin' down the
line fence with the lantern; an', come to think of it, I'm
a little moist, not to say downright damp. But then you
warned me, didn't you, old fellow? Well, I told Maria
seein' you 'ud be like meetin' folks, an' it has been-
Good deal more'n I counted on, an' I've talked more'n
I have in a whole year. Hardly think now 'at I've
the reputation o' being a mighty quiet fellow, would
you?"

Abram straightened and touched his hat brim in a
trim half military salute. "Well, good-bye, Mr. Redbird.
Never had more pleasure meetin' anybody in my life
'cept first time I met Maria. You think about the
plowin', an', if you say 'stay', it's a go! Good-bye; an*
do be a little more careful o' yourself. See you in the

5°

C6e @ong of t6e CatDfnal

mornin', right after breakfast, no count taken o* the
weather."

"Wet year! Wet year!" called the Cardinal after his
retreating figure.

Abram turned and gravely saluted the second time.
The Cardinal went to the top rail and feasted on the sweet
grains of corn until his craw was full, and then nestled in
the sumac and went to sleep. Early next morning he
was abroad and in fine toilet, and with a full voice from
the top of the sumac greeted the day — "Wet year! Wet
year!"

Far down the river echoed his voice until it so closely
resembled some member of his family replying that he
followed, searching the banks mile after mile on either
side, until finally he heard voices of his kind. He located
them, but it was only several staid old couples, a long
time mated, and busy with their nest-building. The Car
dinal returned to the sumac, feeling a degree lonelier than
ever.

He decided to prospect in the opposite direction, and
taking wing, he started up the river. Following the
channel, he winged his flight for miles over the cool spark
ling water, between the tangle of foliage bordering the
banks. When he came to the long cumbrous structures

5*

C6e ^ong of t&e_CatDinat

of wood with which men had bridged the river, where the
shuffling feet of tired farm horses raised clouds of dust
and set the echoes rolling with their thunderous hoof
beats, he was afraid; and rising high, he sailed over them
in short broken curves of flight. But where giant maple
and ash, leaning, locked branches across the channel in
one of old Mother Nature's bridges for the squirrels, he
knew no fear, and dipped so low beneath them that his
image trailed a wavering shadow on the silver path he
followed.

He rounded curve after curve, and frequently stopping
on a conspicuous perch, flung a ringing challenge hi the
face of the morning. With every mile the way he fol
lowed grew more beautiful. The river bed was limestone,
and the swiftly flowing water, clear and limpid. The
banks were precipitate in some places, gently sloping in
others, and always crowded with a tangle of foliage.

At an abrupt curve in the river he mounted to the sum
mit of a big ash and made boastful prophecy, "Wet year!
Wet year!" and on all sides there sprang up the voices of
his kind. Startled, the Cardinal took wing. He followed
the river in a circling flight until he remembered that here
might be the opportunity to win the coveted river mate,
and going slower to select the highest branch on which to

52

C&e §ong of t&e Cardinal

display his charms, he discovered that he was only a few
yards from the ash from which he had made his prediction.
The Cardinal flew over the narrow neck and sent another
call, then without awaiting a reply, again he flashed up the
river and circled Horseshoe Bend. When he came to the
same ash for the third time, he understood.

The river circled in one great curve. The Cardinal
mounted to the tip-top limb of the ash and looked around
him. There was never a fairer sight for the eye of man or
bird. The mist and shimmer of early spring were in the
air. The Wabash rounded Horseshoe Bend in a silver
circle, rimmed by a tangle of foliage bordering both its
banks; and inside lay a low open space covered with wav
ing marsh grass and the blue bloom of sweet calamus.
Scattered around were mighty trees, but conspicuous
above any, in the very center, was a giant sycamore, split
at its base into three large trees, whose waving branches
seemed to sweep the face of heaven, and whose roots, like
miserly fingers, clutched deep into the black muck of
Rainbow Bottom.

It was in this lovely spot that the rainbow at last materi
alized, and at its base, free to all humanity who cared to
seek, the Great Alchemist had left His rarest treasures —
the gold of sunshine, diamond water-drops, emerald foli-

53

C6c ^ong of t&e Cardinal

age, and sapphire sky. For good measure, there were
added seeds, berries, and insects for the birds; and wild
flowers, fruit, and nuts for the children. Above all, the
sycamore waved its majestic head.

It made a throne that seemed suitable for the son of the
king; and mounting to its topmost branch, for miles the
river carried his challenge: "Ho, cardinals! Look this
way! Behold me! Have you seen any other of so great
size? Have you any to equal my grace? Who can whistle
so loud, so clear, so compelling a note? Who will
fly to me for protection? Who will come and be my
mate?"

He flared his crest high, swelled his throat with rolling
notes, and appeared so big and brilliant that among the
many cardinals that had gathered to hear, there was not
one to compare with him.

Black envy filled their hearts. Who was this flaming
dashing stranger, flaunting himself in the faces of their
females? There were many unmated cardinals in Rauv
bow Bottom, and many jealous males. A second time
the Cardinal, rocking and flashing, proclaimed himself;
and there was a note of feminine approval so strong that
ke caught it. Tilting on a twig, his crest flared to full
height, his throat swelled to bursting, his heart too big

54

C&e &ong of tbt CatDfnal

for his body, the Cardinal shouted his challenge for the
third time; when clear and sharp arose a cry in answer,
"Here! Here! Here!" It came from a female that had
accepted the caresses of the brightest cardinal in Rainbow
Bottom only the day before, and had spent the morning
carrying twigs to a thicket of red haws.

The Cardinal, with a royal flourish, sprang in air to
seek her; but her outraged mate was ahead of him, and
with a scream she fled, leaving a tuft of feathers in her
mate's beak. In turn the Cardinal struck him like a
flashing rocket, and then red war waged in Rainbow Bot
tom. The females scattered for cover with all their
might. The Cardinal worked in a kiss on one poor little
bird, too frightened to escape him; then the males closed
in, and serious business began. The Cardinal would have
enjoyed a fight vastly with two or three opponents; but
a half-dozen made discretion better than valour. He
darted among them, scattering them right and left, and
made for the sycamore. With all his remaining breath,
he insolently repeated his challenge; and then headed
down stream for the sumac with what grace he could
command.

There was an hour of angry recrimination before sweet
peace brooded again in Rainbow Bottom. The newly

57

Cfce ^onff of tbe Cardinal

mated pair finally made up; the females speedily resumed
their coquetting, and forgot the captivating stranger — all
save the poor little one that had been kissed by accident.
She never had been kissed before, and never had expected
that she would be, for she was a creature of many misfor
tunes of every nature.

She had been hatched from a fifth egg to begin with;
and every one knows the disadvantage of beginning life
with four sturdy older birds on top of one. It was a
meager egg, and a feeble baby that pipped its shell. The
remainder of the family stood and took nearly all the food
so that she almost starved in the nest, and she never really
knew the luxury of a hearty meal until her elders had
flown. That lasted only a few days; for the others
went then, and their parents followed them so far afield
that the poor little soul, clamouring alone in the nest,
almost perished. Hunger-driven, she climbed to the
edge and exercised her wings until she managed some
sort of flight to a neighbouring bush. She missed the
twig and fell to the ground, where she lay cold and
shivering.

She cried pitifully, and was almost dead when a brown-
faced, barefoot boy, with a fishing-pole on his shoulder,
passed and heard her.

53

C6e %ong of tfje Caruinal

"Poor little thing, you are almost dead," he said. "I
know what I'll do with you. I'll take you over and set
you in the bushes where I heard those other redbirds, and
then your mammy will feed you."

The boy turned back and carefully set her on a limb
close to one of her brothers, and there she got just enough
food to keep her alive.

So her troubles continued. Once a squirrel chased her,
and she saved herself by crowding into a hole so small her
pursuer could not follow. The only reason she escaped a
big blue racer when she went to take her first bath, was
that a hawk had his eye on the snake and snapped it up
at just the proper moment to save the poor, quivering
little bird. She was left so badly frightened that she
could not move for a long tune.

All the tribulations of birdland fell to her lot. She was
so frail and weak she lost her family in migration, and
followed with some strangers that were none too kind.
Life in the South had been full of trouble. Once a bullet
grazed her so closely she lost two of her wing quills, and
that made her more timid than ever. Coming North, she
had given out again and finally had wandered into Rain
bow Bottom, lost and alone.

She was such a shy, fearsome little body, the females

59

C&e &ong of t&e Cardinal

all flouted her; and the males never seemed to notice that
there was material in her for a very fine mate. Every
other female cardinal in Rainbow Bottom had several
males courting her, but this poor, frightened, lonely one
had never a suitor; and she needed love so badly! No one
ever before had sought her; now she had been kissed by
this magnificent stranger!

Of course, she knew it really was not her kiss. He had
intended it for the bold creature that had answered his
challenge, but since it came to her, it was hers, in a way,
after all. She hid in the underbrush for the remainder of
the day, and was never so frightened in all her life. She
brooded over it constantly, and morning found her at the
down curve of the horseshoe, straining her ears for the
rarest note she ever had heard. All day she hid and
waited, and the following days were filled with longing,
but he never came again.

So one morning, possessed with courage she did not
understand, and filled with longing that drove her against
her will, she started down the river. For miles she sneaked
through the underbrush, and watched and listened; until
at last night came, and she returned to Rainbow Bottom.
The next morning she set out early and flew to the spot
from which she had turned back the night before. From

60

C&e ^ong of t&e CatDinal

there she glided through the bushes and underbrush,
trembling and quaking, yet pushing stoutly onward, strain-*
ing her ears for some note of the brilliant stranger's.

It was mid-forenoon when she reached the region of the
sumac, and as she hopped warily along, only a short dis
tance from her, full and splendid, there burst the voice of
the singer for whom she was searching. Ske sprang into
air, and fled a mile before she realized that she was flying)
Then she stopped and listened, and rolling with the river,
she heard those bold true tones. Close to earth, she went
back again, to see if, unobserved, she could find a spot
where she might watch the stranger that had kissed her.
When at last she reached a place where she could see him
plainly, his beauty was so bewildering, and his song so
enticing that she gradually hopped closer and closer with
out knowing she was moving.

High in the sumac the Cardinal had sung until his
throat was parched, and the fountain of hope was almost
dry. There was nothing save defeat from overwhehning
numbers in Rainbow Bottom. He had paraded, and made
all the music he ever had been taught, and improvised
much more. Yet no one had come to seek him. Was it
of necessity to be the Limberlost then? This one day
more he would retain his dignity and his location. He

61

Cfje Sottg of tbe Cardinal

tipped, tilted, and flirted. He whistled, and sang, and
trilled. Over the lowland and up and down the shining
river, ringing hi every change he could invent, he sent for
the last time his prophetic message, "Wet year! Wet
year!"

"Come here! Come here!" entreated the Cardinal

He felt that his music was
not reaching his standard as
he burst into this new song.
He was almost discouraged.
No way seemed open to him
but flight to the Limberlost,
and he so disdained the swamp
that love-making would lose
something of its greatest
charm if he were driven there
for a mate. The time seemed
ripe loi stringent measures,
and the Cardinal was ready to take them; but how could
he stringently urge a little mate that would not come on
his imploring invitations? He listlessly pecked at the
berries and flung abroad an inquiring "Chip!" With
just an atom of hope, he frequently mounted to his choir-
loft and issued an order that savoured far more of a plea,
"Come here! Come here!" and then, leaning, he listened

Cbe §ong of t&c Cardinal

intently to the voice of the river, lest he fail to catch the
faintest responsive "Chook!" it might bear.

He could hear the sniffling of carp wallowing beside
the bank. A big pickerel slashed around, breakfasting on
minnows. Opposite the sumac, the black bass, with
gamy spring, snapped up, before it struck the water, every
luckless, honey-laden insect that fell from the feast of
sweets in a blossom-whitened wild crab. The sharp
bark of the red squirrel and the low of cattle, lazily chew
ing their cuds among the willows, came to him. The
hammering of a woodpecker on a dead sycamore, a little
above him, rolled to his straining ears like a drum beat.

The Cardinal hated the woodpecker more than he dis
liked the dove. It was only foolishly effusive, but the
woodpecker was a veritable Bluebeard. The Cardinal
longed to pull the feathers from his back until it was as
red as his head, for the woodpecker had dressed his suit
in finest style, and with dulcet tones and melting tender
ness had gone a-courting. Sweet as the dove's had been
his wooing, and one more pang the lonely Cardinal had
suffered at being forced to witness his felicity; yet scarcely
had his plump, amiable little mate consented to his
caresses and approved the sycamore, before he turned on
her, pecked her severely, and pulled a tuft of plumage

64

Cfje @>on0 of tlje Cardinal

from her breast. There was not the least excuse for this
tyrannical action; and the sight filled the Cardinal with,
rage. He fully expected to see Madam Woodpecker
divorce herself and flee her new home, and he most ear
nestly hoped that she would; but she did no such thing.
She meekly flattened her feathers, hurried work in a
lively manner, and tried in every way to anticipate and
avert her mate's displeasure. Under this treatment he
grew more abusive, and now Madam Woodpecker dodged
every time she came within his reach. It made the Car
dinal feel so vengeful that he longed to go up and drum
the sycamore with the woodpecker's head until he taught
him how to treat his mate properly.

There was plenty of lark music rolling with the river,
and that morning brought the first liquid golden notes of
the orioles. They had arrived at dawn, and were over
joyed with their home-coming, for they were darting from
bank to bank singing exquisitely on wing. There seemed
no end to the bird voices that floated with the river, and
yet there was no beginning to the one voice for which the
Cardinal waited with passionate longing.

The oriole's singing was so inspiring that it tempted the
Cardinal to another effort, and perching where he gleamed
crimson and black against the April sky, he tested his

67

Cfce §on0 of t&e Cardinal

voice, and when sure of his tones, he entreatingly called?
" Come here ! Come here ! ' '

Just then he saw her ! She came daintily over the earth,
soft as down before the wind, a rosy flush suffusing her
plumage, a coral beak, her very feet pink — the shyest,
most timid little thing alive. Her bright eyes were
popping with fear, and down there among the ferns,
anemones and last year's dried leaves, she tilted her
sleek crested head and peered at him with frightened
wonder.

< It was for this the Cardinal had waited, hoped, and
planned for many days. He had rehearsed what he con
ceived to be every point of the situation, and yet he was
not prepared for the thing that suddenly happened to him.
He had expected to reject many applicants before he
selected one to match his charms; but instantly this shy
little creature, slipping along near earth, taking a sur
reptitious peep at him, made him feel a very small bird,
and he certainly never before had felt small. The crush'
ing possibility that somewhere there might be a cardinal
that was larger, brighter, and a finer musician than he,
staggered him; and worst of all, his voice broke suddenly.

Half screened by the flowers, she seemed so little, so
shy, so delightfully sweet. He "chipped" carefully once

68

Cfje ^>ong of tfjc CatDfnal

or twice to steady himself and clear his throat, for un
accountably it had grown dry and husky; and then he
tenderly tried again. " Come here ! Come here ! " implored
the Cardinal. He forgot all about his dignity. He knew
that his voice was trembling with eagerness and hoarse
with fear. He was afraid to attempt approaching her,
but he leaned toward her, begging and pleading. He
teased and insisted, and he did not care a particle if he
did. It suddenly seemed an honour to coax her. He
rocked on the limb. He side-stepped and hopped and
gyrated gracefully. He fluffed and flirted and showed
himself to every advantage. It never occurred to him
that the dove and the woodpecker might be wratching,
though he would not have cared in the least if they had
been; and as for any other cardinal, he would have at
tacked the combined forces of the Limberlost and Rain
bow Bottom.

He sang and sang. Every impulse of passion in his
big, crimson, palpitating body was thrown into those notes;
but she only turned her head from side to side, peering
at him, seeming sufficiently frightened to flee at a breath,
and answered not even the faintest little "Chook!" of
encouragement.

The Cardinal rested a second before he tried again.

69

€0e §ong of t&e CatOfnal

That steadied him and gave him better command of
himself. He could tell that his notes were clearing and
growing sweeter. He was improving. Perhaps she was
interested. There was some encouragement in the fact
that she was still there. The Cardinal felt that his time
had come.

"Come here! Come here!" He was on his mettle now.
Surely no cardinal could sing fuller, clearer, sweeter notes!
He began at the very first, and rollicked through a story
of adventure, colouring it with every wild, dashing,
catchy note he could improvise. He followed that with a
rippling song of the joy and fulness of spring, in notes as
light and airy as the wind-blown soul of melody, and with
swaying body kept time to his rhythmic measures. Then
he glided into a song of love, and tenderly, pleadingly,
passionately, told the story as only a courting bird can
tell it. Then he sang a song of ravishment ; a song quaver
ing with fear and the pain tugging at his heart. He al
most had run the gamut, and she really appeared far
more as if she intended to flee than to come to him.
He was afraid to take even one timid little hop toward
her.

In a fit of desperation the Cardinal burst into the passion

song. He arose to his full height, leaned toward her with

70

€6e &on0 of t&e Cardinal

outspread quivering wings, and crest flared to the utmost,
and rocking from side to side in the intensity of his fer
vour, he poured out a perfect torrent of palpitant song.
His cardinal body swayed to the rolling flood of his ecstatic
tones, until he appeared like a flaming pulsing note of
materialized music, as he entreated, coaxed, commanded,
and plead. From sheer exhaustion, he threw up his
head to round off the last note he could utter, and breath
lessly glancing down to see if she were coming, caught
sight of a faint streak of gray in the distance. He had
planned so to subdue the little female he courted that she
would come to him; he was in hot pursuit a half day's
journey away before he remembered it.

No other cardinal ever endured such a chase as she led
him in the following days. Through fear and timidity
she had kept most of her life in the underbrush. The
Cardinal was a bird of the open fields and tree-tops. He
loved to rock with the wind, and speed arrow-like in great
plunges of flight. This darting and twisting over logs,
among leaves, and through tangled thickets, tired, tried,
and exasperated him more than hundreds of miles of open
flight. Sometimes he drove her from cover, and then she
wildly dashed up-hill and down-dale, seeking another
thicket; but wherever she went, the Cardinal was only a

C&e %ong of tjje CatDtnal

breath behind her, and with every passing mile his passion
for her grew.

There was no time to eat, bathe, or sing; only mile after
mile of unceasing pursuit. It seemed that the little creat
ure could not stop if she would, and as for the Cardinal,
he was in that chase to remain until his last heart-beat.
It was a question how the frightened bird kept in advance.
She was visibly the worse for this ardent courtship. Two
tail feathers were gone, and there was a broken one beating
from her wing. Once she had flown too low, striking her
head against a rail until a drop of blood came, and she
cried pitifully. Several times the Cardinal had cornered
her, and tried to hold her by a bunch of feathers, and
compel her by force to listen to reason; but she only broke
from his hold and dashed away a stricken thing, leaving
"him half dead with longing and remorse.

But no matter how baffled she grew, or where she fled
in her headlong flight, the one thing she always remem
bered, was not to lead the Cardinal into the punishment
that awaited him in Rainbow Bottom. Panting for
breath, quivering with fear, longing for well-concealed
retreats, worn and half blinded by the disasters of flight
through strange country, the tired bird beat her aimless
way; but she would have been torn to pieces before she

72

€i)e ^ong of t&e Cardinal

would have led her magnificent pursuer into the wrath
of his enemies.

Poor little feathered creature! She had been fleeing
some kind of danger all her life. She could not realize
that love and protection had come in this splendid guise,
and she fled on and on.

Once the Cardinal, aching with passion and love, fell
behind that she might rest, and before he realized that
another bird was close, an impudent big relative of his,
straying from the Limberlost, entered the race and pur
sued her so hotly that with a note of utter panic she
wheeled and darted back to the Cardinal for protection.
When to the rush of rage that possessed him at the sight
of a rival was added the knowledge that she was seeking
him in her extremity, such a mighty wave of anger swept
the Cardinal that he appeared twice his real size. Like a
flaming brand of vengeance he struck that Limberlost
upstart, and sent him rolling to earth, a mass of battered
feathers. With beak and claw he made his attack, and
when he so utterly demolished his rival that he hopped
away trembling, with dishevelled plumage stained with his
own blood, the Cardinal remembered his little love and
hastened back, confidently hoping for his reward.

She was so securely hidden, that although he went

73

Cte 9ong of tfje CatDfnal

searching, calling, pleading, he found no trace of her the
remainder of that day. The Cardinal almost went dis
tracted; and his tender imploring cries would have moved
any except a panic-stricken bird. He did not even know
in what direction to pursue her. Night closed down, and
found him in a fever of love-sick fear, but it brought rest
and wisdom. She could not have gone very far. She
was too worn. He would not proclaim his presence.
Soon she would suffer past enduring for food and water. -

He hid in the willows close where he had lost her, and
waited with what patience he could; and it was a wise plan.
Shortly after dawn, moving stilly as the break of day,
trembling with fear, she came slipping to the river for a
drink. It was almost brutal cruelty, but her fear must
be overcome someway; and with a cry of triumph the
Cardinal, in a plunge of flight, was beside her. She gave
him one stricken look, and dashed away. The chase
began once more and continued until she was visibly
breaking.

There was no room for a rival that morning. The
Cardinal flew abreast of her and gave her a caress or at
tempted a kiss whenever he found the slightest chance.
She was almost worn out, her flights were wavering and
growing shorter. The Cardinal did his utmost. If she

74

C&e §ong of t&e Cat&fnal

paused to rest, he crept close as he dared, and piteously
begged: "Come here! Come here!"

When she took wing, he so dexterously intercepted her
course that several times she found refuge in his sumac
without realizing where she was. When she did that, he
perched just as closely as he dared; and while they both
rested, he sang to her a soft little whispered love song,
deep in his throat; and with every note he gently edged
nearer. She turned her head from him, and although
she was panting for breath and palpitant with fear, the
Cardinal knew that he dared not go closer, or she would
dash away like the wild thing she was. The next time
she took whig, she found him so persistently in her course
that she turned sharply and fled panting to the sumac.
When this had happened so often that she seemed to
recognize the sumac as a place of refuge, the Cardinal
slipped aside and spent all his remaining breath in an ex
ultant whistle of triumph, for now he was beginning to see
his way. He dashed into mid-air, and with a gyration
that would have done credit to a flycatcher, he snapped up
a gadfly.

With a tender "Chip!" from branch to branch, slowly,
cautiously, he came with it. Because he was half starved
himself, he knew that she must be almost famished.

75

Cfce ^>ong of t&c CarDina!

Holding it where she could see, he hopped toward her,
eagerly, carefully, the gadfly in his beak, his heart in his
mouth. He stretched his neck and legs to the limit as he
reached the fly toward her. What matter that she took it
with a snap, and plunged a quarter of a mile before eating
it? She had taken food from him! That was the be
ginning. Cautiously he impelled her toward the sumac,
and with untiring patience kept her there the remainder
of the day. He carried her every choice morsel he could
find hi the immediate vicinity of the sumac, and occa
sionally she took a bit from his beak, though oftenest he
was compelled to lay it on a limb beside her. At dusk she
repeatedly dashed toward the underbrush; but the Cardi
nal, with endless patience and tenderness, maneuvered
her to the sumac, until she gave up, and beneath the
shelter of a neighbouring grape-vine, perched on a limb
that was the Cardinal's own chosen resting-place, tucked
her tired head beneath her wing, and went to rest. When
she was soundly sleeping, the Cardinal crept as closely
as he dared, and with one eye on his little gray love, and
the other roving for any possible danger, he spent a night
of watching.

He was almost worn out; but this was infinitely better
than the previous night, at any rate, for now he not only

76

**WITH TENDER, THROATY MURMURINGS HE SLOWLY EDGED

NEARER"

Cfje @>ong of t&e CatDfnal

knew where she was, but she was fast asleep in his own
favourite place. Huddled on the limb, the Cardinal
gloated over her. He found her beauty perfect. To be
sure, she was dishevelled; but she could make her toilet.
There were a few feathers gone ; but they would grow speed
ily. She made a heart-satisfying picture, on which the
Cardinal feasted his love-sick soul, by the light of every
straying moonbeam that slid around the edges of the
grape leaves.

Wave after wave of tender passion shook him. In his
throat half the night he kept softly calling to her: " Come
here! Come here!"

Next morning, when the robins announced day beside
the shining river, she awoke with a start; but before she
could decide in which direction to fly, she discovered a
nice fresh grub laid on the limb close to her, and very
sensibly remained for breakfast. Then the Cardinal
went to the river and bathed. He made such delightful
play of it, and the splash of the water sounded so refresh
ing to the tired draggled bird, that she could not resist
venturing for a few dips. When she wras wet she could
not fly well, and he improved the opportunity to pull her
broken quills, help her dress herself, and bestow a few
extra caresses. He guided her to his favourite place for

79

C6c ^ottff of t&e CatDfnal

a sun bath; and followed the farmer's plow in the corn
field until he found a big sweet beetle. He snapped off
its head, peeled the stiff wing shields, and daintily offered
it to her. He was so delighted when she took it from his
beak, and remained in the sumac to eat it, that he estab
lished himself on an adjoining thorn-bush, where the
snowy blossoms of a wild morning-glory made a fine back
ground for his scarlet coat. He sang the old pleading
song as he never had sung it before, for now there was a
tinge of hope battling with the fear in his heart.

Over and over he sang, rounding, fulling, swelling
every note, leaning toward her in coaxing tenderness,
flashing his brilliant beauty as he swayed and rocked, for
her approval; and all that he had suffered and all that he
hoped for was in his song. Just when his heart was grow
ing sick within him, his straining ear caught the faintest,
most timid call a lover ever answered. Only one implor
ing, gentle "Chook!" from the sumac! His song broke
in a suffocating burst of exultation. Cautiously he hopped
from twig to twig toward her. With tender throaty mur-
murings he slowly edged nearer, and wonder of wonders!
with tired eyes and quivering wings, she reached him her
beak for a kiss.

At dinner that day, the farmer said to his wife:

80

C6e ^ong of tfce CatDlnal

"Maria, if you want to hear the prettiest singin', an'
see the cutest sight you ever saw, jest come down along
the line fence an' watch the antics o' that redbird we been,
hearin'."

"I don't know as redbirds are so scarce 'at I've any call
to wade through slush a half-mile to see one," answered
Maria.

"Footin's pretty good along the line fence," said Abram,
"an' you never saw a redbird like this fellow. He's as
big as any two common ones. He's so red every bush he
lights on looks like it was afire. It's past all question,
he's been somebody's pet, an' he's taken me for the man.
I can get in six feet of him easy. He's the finest bird I
ever set eyes on; an' as for singin', he's dropped the
weather, an' he's askin' folks to his housewarmin' to-day.
He's been there alone for a week, an' his singin's been
first-class; but to-day he's picked up a mate, an' he's as
tickled as ever I was. I am really consarned for fear he'll
burst himself."

Maria sniffed.

"Course, don't come if you're tired, honey," said tne
farmer. " I thought maybe you'd enjoy it. He's a-douV
me a power o' good. My joints are limbered up till I
catch myself pretty near runnin', on the up furrow, an'

81

Cfte §ong of t&e Car&inal

then, down towards the fence, I go slow so's to stay near
him as long as I can."

Maria stared. ' ' Abram Johnson, have you gone daft? "
she demanded.

Abram chuckled. "Not a mite dafter'n you'll be,
honey, once you set eyes on the fellow. Better come, if
you can. You're invited. He's askin' the whole endurin*
country to come."

Maria said nothing more; but she mentally decided she
had no time to fool with a bird, when there were house
keeping and spring sewing to do. As she recalled Abram's
enthusiastic praise of the singer, and had a \vhiff of the
odour-laden air as she passed from kitchen to spring-
house, she was compelled to admit that it was a tempta
tion to go; but she finished her noon work and resolutely
sat down with her needle. She stitched industriously, her
thread straightening with a quick nervous sweep, learned
through years of experience; and if her eyes wandered
riverward, and if she paused frequently with arrested
hand and listened intently, she did not realize it. By two
o'clock, a spirit of unrest that demanded recognition had
taken possession of her. Setting her lips firmly, a scowl
clouding her brow, she stitched on. By half past two her
hands dropped in her lap, A-bram's new hickory shirt slid

82

C&e &ong of tfje CatDfnal

to the floor, and she hesitatingly arose and crossed the
room to the closet, from which she took her overshoes, and
set them by the kitchen fire, to have them ready in case
she wanted them.

"Pshaw!" she muttered, "I got this shirt to finish this
afternoon. There's butter an' bakin' in the morniny,
an' Mary Jane Simms is comin' for a visit in the after
noon."

She returned to the window and took up the shirt, sew
ing with unusual swiftness for the next half -hour; but
by three she dropped it, and opening the kitchen door,
gazed toward the river.

Every intoxicating delight of early spring was in the air.
The breeze that fanned her cheek was laden with subtle
perfume of pollen and the crisp fresh odour of unfolding
leaves. Curling skyward, like a beckoning finger, went
a spiral of violet and gray smoke from the log heap Abram
was burning; and scattered over spaces of a mile were half a
dozen others, telling a story of the activity of his neigh
bours. Like the low murmur of distant music came the
beating wings of hundreds of her bees, rimming the
water trough, insane with thirst. On the wood-pile the
guinea cock clattered incessantly: "Phut rack! Phut
rack!" Across the dooryard came the old turkey-gobbler

85

e §ong of t&e CarDinal

with fan tail and a rasping scrape of wing, evincing his
delight in spring and mating time by a series of explosive
snorts. On the barnyard gate the old shanghai was
lustily challenging to mortal combat one of his kind three
miles across country. From the river arose the strident
scream of her blue gander jealously guarding his harem.
In the poultry-yard the hens made a noisy cackling party,
and the stable lot was filled with cattle bellowing for the
freedom of the meadow pasture, as yet scarcely ready for
grazing. It seemed to the little woman, hesitating in the
doorway, as if all nature had entered into a conspiracy
to lure her from her work, and just then, clear and im
perious, arose the demand of the Cardinal: "Come here!
Come here!"

Blank amazement filled her face. "As I'm a livrn*
woman!" she gasped. "He's changed his song! That's
what Abram meant by me bein' invited. He's askin'
folks to see his mate. I'm goin'."

The dull red of excitement sprang into her cheeks. She
hurried on her overshoes, and drew an old shawl over her
head. She crossed the dooryard, followed the path
through the orchard, and came to the lane. Below the
barn she turned back and attempted to cross. The mud
was deep and thick, and she lost an overshoe; but with

86

^ong of tfce Cardinal

the help of a stick she pried it out, and balancing on the
other foot, replaced it.

"Joke on me if I'd a-tumbled over in this mud," she
muttered.

She entered the barn, and came out a minute later,
carefully closing and buttoning the door, and recrossing
the lane, started down the line fence toward the river.

Half-way across the field Abram saw her coming. No
need to recount how often he had looked in that direction
during the afternoon. He slapped the lines on the old
gray's back and came tearing down the slope, his eyes
flashing, his cheeks red, his hands firmly gripping the
plow that rolled up a line of black mould as he passed.

Maria, staring at his flushed face and shining eyes,
recognized that his whole being proclaimed an inward
exultation.

"Abram Johnson," she solemnly demanded, "have you
got the power? "

"Yes," cried Abram, pulling off his old felt hat, and
gazing into the crown as if for inspiration. "You've said
it, honey! I got the power! Got it of a little red bird!
Power o' spring! Power o' song! Power o' love! If
that poor little red target for some ornery cuss's bullet
can get all he's getting out o' life to-day, there's no cause

87

C&e ^otiff of tie CarDinal

why a reasonin' thinkin' man shouldn't realize some o*
his blessings. You hit it, Maria; I got the power. It's
the power o' God, but I learned how to lay hold of it from
that little red bird. Come here, Maria!"

Abram wrapped the lines around the plow handle, and
cautiously led his wife to the fence. He found a piece of
thick bark for her to stand on, and placed her where she
would be screened by a big oak. Then he stood behind
her and pointed out the sumac and the female bird.

"Jest you keep still a minute, an' you'll feel paid for
comin' all right, honey," he whispered.

"I don't know as I ever saw a worse-lookin' specimen
'an she is," answered Maria.

"She looks first-class to him. There's no kick comin'
on his part, I can tell you," replied Abram.

The bride hopped shyly through the sumac. She
pecked at the dried berries, and frequently tried to improve
her plumage, which certainly had been badly draggled;
and there was a drop of blood dried at the base of her
beak. She plainly showed the effects of her rough experi
ence, and yet she was a most attractive bird; for the dim-
pies in her plump body showed through the feathers, and
instead of the usual wickedly black eyes of the cardinal
family, hers were a soft tender brown touched by a

88

Cfte §ong of tfce Caminal

light there was no mistaking. She was a beautiful bird,
and she was doing all in her power to make herself dainty
again. Her movements clearly indicated how timid she
was, and yet she remained in the sumac as if she feared to
leave it; and frequently peered expectantly among the
tree-tops.

There was a burst of exultation down the river. The
little bird gave her plumage a fluff, and watched anxiously.
On came the Cardinal like a flaming rocket, calling to her
on wing. He alighted beside her, dropped into her beak
a morsel of food, gave her a kiss to aid digestion, caress
ingly ran his beak the length of her wing quills, and flew
to the dogwood. Mrs. Cardinal enjoyed the meal. It
struck her palate exactly right. She liked the kiss and
caress, cared, in fact, for all that he did for her, and with
the appreciation of his tenderness came repentance for
the dreadful chase she had led him in her foolish fright,
and an impulse to repay. She took a dainty hop toward
the dogwood, and the invitation she sent him was ex
quisite. With a shrill whistle of exultant triumph the
Cardinal answered at a headlong rush.

The farmer's grip tightened on his wife's shoulder, but
Maria turned toward him with blazing, tear-filled eyes.
"An' you call yourself a decent man, Abram Johnson ?"

89

§on0 of tfce Cardinal

^'Decent?" quavered the astonished Abram. "De-
'rent ? I believe I am."

"I believe you ain't," hotly retorted his wife. "You
don't know what decency is, if you go peekin' at them.
They ain't birds! They're more'n birds! They're folks!
Jest common human folks!"

"Maria," plead Abram, "Maria, honey."

"I am plumb ashamed of you," broke in Maria. "How
d'you s'pose she'd feel if she knew there was a man here
peekin' at her? Ain't she got a right to be lovin' and
tender? Ain't she got a right to pay him best she knows?
They're jest common human bein's, an' I don't know
where you got privilege to spy on a female when she's
doin' the best she knows."

Maria broke from his grasp and started down the line
fence.

In a few strides Abram had her in his arms, his withered
cheek with its springtime bloom pressed against her
equally withered, tear-stained one.

"Maria," he whispered, waveringly, "Maria, honey,
I wasn't meanin' any disrespect to the sex."

Maria wiped her eyes on the corner of her shawl. " I
'don't s'pose you was, Abram," she admitted; " but you're
jest like all the rest o' the men. You never think!

CO

Cte §ong of t&e Carafnal

Now you go on with your plowin' an' let that little
female alone."

She unclasped his arms and turned homeward.

"Honey," called Abram softly, "since you brought 'em
that pocketful o' wheat, you might as well let me have it."

"Landy!" exclaimed Maria, blushing; "I plumb forgot
my wheat! I thought maybe, bein' so early, pickin' was
scarce, an' if you'd put out a little wheat an' a few crumbs,
they'd stay an' nest in the sumac, as you're so fond o'
them."

"Jest what I'm fairly prayin' they'll do, an' I been
carry in' stuff an' pettin' him up best I knowed for a week,"
said Abram, as he knelt, and cupped his shrunken hands,
while Maria guided the wheat from her apron into them.
"I'll scatter it along the top rail, an' they'll be after it in
fifteen minutes. Thank you, Maria. 'Twas good o'
you to think of it."

Maria watched him steadily. How dear he was! How
dear he always had been! How happy they were to
gether! "Abram," she questioned, hesitatingly, "is
there anything else I could do for — for your birds ? "

They were creatures of habitual repression, and the
inner glimpses they had taken of each other that day were
surprises they scarcely knew how to meet. Abram said

QI

^ong of t&e Car&fnal

nothing, because he could not. He slowly shook his head,
and turned to the plow, his eyes misty. Maria started
toward the line fence, but she paused repeatedly to listen;
and it was no wonder, for all the redbirds from miles down
the river had gathered around the sumac to see if there
were a battle in birdland; but it was only the Cardinal,
turning somersaults in the air, and screaming with burst
ing exuberance: "Come here! Come here!"

"So dear I So dear!" crooned the Cardinal

She had taken possession of
the sumac. The location was
her selection and he loudly
applauded her choice. She
placed the first twig, and
after exairiining it carefully,
he spent the day carrying her
others just as much like it as
possible. If she used a dried
grass blade, he carried grass
blades until she began drop
ping them on the ground.
If she worked in a bit of wild grape- vine bark, he peeled
grape-vines until she would have no more. It never oc
curred to him that he was the largest cardinal in the woods,
in those days, and he had forgotten that he wore a red
coat. She was not a skilled architect. Her nest certainly
was a loose ramshackle affair; but she had built it, and
had allowed him to help her. It was hers; and he im-

95

of t6e Catuinal

provised a paean in its praise. Every morning he perched
on the edge of the nest and gazed hi songless wonder at
each beautiful new egg; and whenever she came to brood
she sat as if entranced, eyeing her treasures in an ecstasy
of proud possession.

Then she nestled them against her warm breast, and
turned adoring eyes toward the Cardinal. If he sang
from the dogwood, she faced that way. If he rocked on
the wild grape-vine, she turned in her nest. If he went
to the corn field for grubs, she stood astride her eggs and
peered down, watching his every movement with uncon
cealed anxiety. The Cardinal forgot to be vain of his
beauty; she delighted in it every hour of the day. Shy
and timid beyond belief she had been during her courtship;
but she made reparation by being an incomparably gener
ous and devoted mate.

And the Cardinal! He was astonished to find himself
capable of so much and such varied feeling. It was not
enough that he brooded while she went to bathe and ex
ercise. The daintiest of every morsel he found was carried
to her. When she reaised to swallow another particle, he
perched on a twig close by the nest many times in a day;
and with sleek feathers and lowered crest, gazed at her in
silent worshipful adoration.

96

e %on0 of tjje CatDfnal

Up and down the river bank he flamed and rioted. In
the sumac he uttered not the faintest " Chip!" that might
attract attention. He was so anxious to be inconspicuous
that he appeared only half his real size. Always on leav
ing he gave her a tender little peck and ran his beak the
length of her wing — a characteristic caress that he de
lighted to bestow on her.

If he felt that he was disturbing her too often, he perched
on the dogwood and sang for life, and love, and happiness.
His music was in a minor key now. The high, exultant,
ringing notes of passion were mellowed and subdued. He
was improvising cradle songs and lullabies. He was telling
her how he loved her, how he would fight for her, how he
was watching over her, how he would signal if any danger
were approaching, how proud he was of her, what a per
fect nest she had built, how beautiful he thought her
eggs, what magnificent babies they would produce. Full
of tenderness, melting with love, liquid with sweetness,
the Cardinal sang to his patient little brooding mate:
"So dear! So dear!"

The farmer leaned on his corn-planter and listened to
him intently. "I swanny! If he hasn't changed his
song again, an' this time I'm blest if I can tell what he's
saying!" Every time the Cardinal lifted his voice, the

97

CJje ^ong of t&e CatDinal

clip of the corn-planter ceased, and Abram hung on the
notes and studied them over.

One night he said to his wife: "Maria, have you been
noticin' the redbird of late? He's charged to a new tune,
an' this time I'm completely stalled. I can't for the life
of me make out what he's saying. S'pose you step down,
to-morrow an' see if you can catch it for me. I'd give a
pretty to know!"

Maria felt flattered. She always had believed that
she had a musical ear. Here was an opportunity to
test it and please Abram at the same time. She
hastened her work the following morning, and very
early slipped along the line fence. Hiding behind the
oak, with straining ear and throbbing heart, she eagerly
listened. "Clip, clip," came the sound of the planter,
as Abram's dear old figure trudged up the hill. "Chip!
Chip!" came the warning of the Cardinal, as> he flew to
his mate.

He gave her some food, stroked her wing, and flying
to the dogwood, sang of the love that encompassed him.
As he trilled forth his tender caressing strain, the heart
of the listening woman translated as did that of the brood
ing bird.

With shining eyes and flushed cheeks, she sped

98

e %ons of t&e Caroutal

the fence. Panting and palpitating with excitement,
she met Abram half-way on his return trip. Forget
ful of her habitual reserve, she threw her arms around
his neck, and Drawing his face to hers, she cried: "Oh,
Abram! I got it! I got it! I know what he's saying!
Oh, Abram, my love! My own! To me so dear! So
dear!"

"So dear! So dear!" echoed the Cardinal.

The bewilderment in Abram's face melted into com
prehension. He swept Maria from her feet as he lifted
his head.

"On my soul! You have got it, honey! That's what
he's saying, plain as gospel! I can tell it plainer'n any
thing he's sung yet, now I sense it."

He gathered Maria in his arms, pressed her head against
his breast with a trembling old hand, while the face he
turned to the morning was beautiful.

"I wish to God," he said quaveringly, " 'at every crea
ture on earth was as well fixed as me an' the redbird!"
Clasping each other, they listened with rapt faces, as,
mellowing across the corn field, came the notes of the
Cardinal: "So dear! So dear!"

After that Abram's devotion to his bird family became
a mild mania. He carried food to the top rail of the line

101

C6e %ong of tfce Cardinal

fence every day, rain or shine, with the same regularity
that he curried and fed Nancy in the barn. From caring
for and so loving the Cardinal, there grew in his tender old
heart a welling flood of sympathy for every bird that
homed on his farm.

He drove a stake to mark the spot where the killdeer
hen brooded in the corn field, so that he would not drive
Nancy over the nest. When he closed the bars at the
end of the lane, he always was careful to leave the third
one down, for there was a chippy brooding in the opening
where it fitted when closed. Alders and sweetbriers
grew in his fence corners undisturbed that spring if he
discovered that they sheltered an anxious-eyed little
mother. He left a square yard of clover unmowed,
because it seemed to him that the lark, singing nearer
the Throne than any other bird, was picking up stray
notes dropped by the Invisible Choir, and with un
equalled purity and tenderness, sending them ringing
down to his brooding mate, whose home and happi
ness would be despoiled by the reaping of that spot
of green. He delayed burning the brush-heap from
the spring pruning, back of the orchard, until fall,
when he found it housed a pair of fine thrushes; for
the song o£ the thrush delighted him almost as much

102

€!)e §ong of tfce Cardinal

as that of the lark. He left a hollow limb on the old
red pearmain apple-tree, because when he came to cut
it there was a pair of bluebirds twittering around, frantic
with anxiety.

His pockets were bulgy with wheat and crumbs, and
his heart was big with happiness. It was the golden
springtime of his later life. The sky never had seemed
so blue, or the earth so beautiful. The Cardinal had
opened the fountains of his soul; life took on a new
colour and joy; while every work of God manifested
a fresh and heretofore unappreciated loveliness. His
very muscles seemed to relax, and new strength arose
to meet the demands of his uplifted spirit. He had
not finished his day's work with such ease and plea
sure in years; and he could see the influence of his
rejuvenation in Maria. She was flitting around her
house with broken snatches of song, even sweeter to
Abram's ears than the notes of the birds; and in recent
days he had noticed that she dressed particularly for her
afternoon's sewing, putting on her Sunday lace collar
and a white apron. He immediately went to town and
bought her a finer collar than she ever had owned in her
life.

Then he hunted a sign painter, and came home bearing

103

Cfce §>ong of tbt Cardinal

a number of pine boards on which gleamed in big, shiny
black letters:

NO HUNTING ALLOWED ON
THIS FARM

He seemed slightly embarrassed when he showed them
to Maria. "I feel a little mite onfriendly, putting up
signs like that 'fore my neighbours," he admitted, "but
the fact is, it ain't the neighbours so much as it's boys
that need raising, an' them town creatures who call them
selves sportsmen, an' kill a hummin'-bird to see if they
can hit it. Time was when trees an' underbrush were full
o' birds an' squirrels, any amount o' rabbits, an' the fish
fairly crowdin' in the river. I used to kill all the quail
an' wild turkeys about here a body needed to make an'
appetizing change. It was always my plan to take a
little an' leave a little. But jest look at it now. Surprise
o' my life if I get a two-pound bass. Wild turkey gobblin'
would scare me most out of my senses, an', as for the birds,
there are jest about a fourth what there used to be, an*
the crops eaten to pay for it. I'd do all I'm tryin' to
for any bird, because of its song an' colour, an' pretty
teeterin' ways, but I ain't so slow but I see I'm paid in

104

0*

e %on$ of tbc Cardinal

what they do for me. Up go these signs, an' it won't be
a happy day for anybody I catch trespassin' on my
birds."

Maria studied the signs meditatively. "You shouldn't
be forced to put 'em up," she said conclusively. "If it's
been decided 'at it's good for 'em to be here, an' laws
made to protect 'em, people ought to act with some sense,
an' leave them alone. I never was so int'rested in the
birds in all my life; an' I'll jest do a little lookin' out my
self. If you hear a spang o' the dinner bell when you're
out in the field, you'll know it means there's some one
sneakin' 'round with a gun."

Abram caught Maria, and planted a resounding smack
on her cheek, where the roses of girlhood yet bloomed for
him. Then he filled his pockets with crumbs and grain,
and strolled to the river to set the Cardinal's table. He
could hear the sharp incisive "Chip!" and the tender
mellow love-notes as he left the barn; and all the way
to the sumac they rang in his ears.

The Cardinal met him at the corner of the field, and
hopped over bushes and the fence only a few yards from
him. When Abram had scattered his store on the rail,
the bird came tipping and tilting, daintily caught up a
crumb, and carried it to the sumac. His mate was

107

C&e &ong of tfce Carcina

pleased to take it; and he carried her one morsel after an
other until she refused to open her beak for more. He
made a light supper himself; and then swinging on the
grape-vine, he closed the day with an hour of music. He
repeatedly turned a bright questioning eye toward Abram,
but he never for a moment lost sight of the nest and the
plump gray figure of his little mate. As she brooded over
her eggs, he brooded over her; and that she might realize
the depth and constancy of his devotion, he told her re
peatedly, with every tender inflection he could throw into
his tones, that she was " So dear ! So dear ! "

The Cardinal had not known that the coming of the
mate he so coveted would fill his life with such unceasing
gladness, and yet, on the very day that happiness seemed
at fullest measure, there was trouble in the sumac. He
had overstayed his time, chasing a fat moth he particu
larly wanted for his mate, and she, growing thirsty past
endurance, left the nest and went to the river. Seeing
her there, he made all possible haste to take his turn at
brooding, so he arrived just in time to see a pilfering red
squirrel starting away with an egg.

With a vicious scream the Cardinal struck him full
force. His rush of rage cost the squirrel an eye; but it
lost the father a birdiing, for the squirrel dropped the

108

€&e §ong of ttje CatDinaf

egg outside the nest. The Cardinal mournfully carried
away the tell-tale bits of shell, so that any one seeing
them would not look up and discover his treasures. That
left three eggs; and the brooding bird mourned over the
lost one so pitifully that the Cardinal perched close to the
nest the remainder of the day, and whispered over and
over for her comfort that she was " So dear! So dear!"

109

"See here! See here!" demanded the Cardinal

The mandate repeatedly rang
from the topmost twig of the
thorn tree, and yet the Cardi
nal was not in earnest. He
was beside himself with a new
and delightful excitement,
and he found it impossible to
refrain from giving vent to
his feelings. He was com
manding the farmer and
every furred and feathered
denizen of the river bottom
to see; then he fought like a wild thing if any of them ven
tured close, for great things were happening in the sumac.
In past days the Cardinal had brooded an hour every
morning while his mate went to take her exercise, bathe,
and fluff in the sun parlour. He had gone to her that
morning as usual, and she looked at him with anxious
eyes and refused to move. He had hopped to the very

no

C&e §ong of t&e CatDfnal1

edge of the nest and repeatedly urged her to go. SHe
only ruffled her feathers, and nestled the eggs she was
brooding to turn them, but did not offer to leave. The
Cardinal reached over and gently nudged her with his
beak, to remind her that it was his time to brood; but
she looked at him almost savagely, and gave him a sharp
peck; so he knew she was not to be bothered. He carried
her every dainty he could find and hovered near her, tense
with anxiety, almost all the day.

It was late in the afternoon before she went after the
drink for which she was half famished. She scarcely had
reached a willow and bent over the water before the Car
dinal was on the edge of the nest. He examined it closely,
but he could see no change. He leaned to give the eggs
careful scrutiny, and from somewhere there came to him
the faintest little "Chip!" he ever had heard. Up went
1 the Cardinal's crest, and he dashed to the willow. There
was no danger in sight; and his mate was greedily dipping
her rosy beak in the water. He went back to the cradle
and listened intently, and again that feeble cry came to
him. Under the nest, around it, and all through the
sumac he searched, until at last, completely baffled,
he came back to the edge. The sound was so much
plainer there, that he suddenly leaned, caressing the

"3

Cf)e %ong of tte CatDinal

eggs with his beak; then the Cardinal knew! He had
been hearing the first faint cries of his shell-incased
babies!

With a wild scream he made a flying leap through the
air. His heart was beating to suffocation. He started
in a race down the river. If he alighted on a bush he took
only one swing, and springing from it flamed on in head
long flight. He flashed to the top of the tallest tulip
tree, and cried cloud ward to the lark: "See here! See
here!" He dashed to the river bank and told the
killdeers, and then visited the underbrush and informed
the thrushes and wood robins. Father-tender, he grew
so delirious with joy that he forgot his habitual aloof
ness, and fraternized with every bird beside the shin
ing river. He even laid aside his customary caution,
went chipping into the sumac, and caressed his mate
so boisterously she gazed at him severely and gave
his wing a savage pull to recall him to his sober
senses.

That night the Cardinal slept in the sumac, very close
to his mate, and he shut only one eye at a time. Early
in the morning, when he carried her the first food, he
found that she was on the edge of the nest, dropping bits
of shell outside; and creeping to peep, he saw the tiniest

114

e ^ong of t&e CarDtnal

coral baby, with closed eyes, and little patches of soft
silky down. Its beak was wide open, and though his
heart was even fuller than on the previous day, the Car
dinal knew what that meant; and instead of indulging in
another celebration, he assumed the duties of paternity,
and began sear ching for food, for now there were two empty
crops in his family. On the f ollowring day there were four.
Then he really worked. How eagerly he searched, and
how gladly he flew to the sumac with every rare morsel!
The babies were too small for the mother to leave; and
for the first few days the Cardinal was constantly on
wing.

If he could not find sufficiently dainty food for them in
the trees and bushes, or among the offerings of the farmer,
he descended to earth and searched like a wood robin. He
forgot he needed a bath or owned a sun parlour; but every
where he went, from his full heart there constantly burst
the cry : " See here ! See here ! "

His mate made never a sound. Her eyes were bigger
and softer than ever, and in them glowed a steady love-
light. She hovered over those three red mites of nestlings
so tenderly! She was so absorbed in feeding, stroking,
and coddling them she neglected herself until she became
quite lean. When the Cardinal came every few minutes

Cbe ^ong of tfje CarDfnal

with food, she was a picture of love and gratitude for his
devoted attention, and once she reached over and softly
kissed his wing. " See here ! See here ! " shrilled the Car
dinal; and in his ecstasy he again forgot himself and sang
in the sumac. Then he carried food with greater activity
than ever to cover his lapse.

The farmer knew that it lacked an hour of noon, but he
was so anxious to tell Maria the news that he could not
endure the suspense another minute. There was a new
song from the sumac. He had heard it as he turned
the first corner with the shovel plow. He had listened
eagerly, and had caught the meaning almost at once —
"See here! See here!" He tied the old gray mare to
the fence to prevent her eating the young corn, and went
immediately. By leaning a rail against the thorn tree
he was able to peer into the sumac, and take a good look
at the nest of handsome birdlings, now well screened with
the umbrella-like foliage. It seemed to Abram that he
never could wait until noon. He critically examined the
harness, in the hope that he would find a buckle missing,
and tried to discover a flaw in the plow that would send
him to the barn for a file; but he could not invent the
ghost of an excuse for going. So, when he had waited
until an hour of noon, he could endure it no longer.

116

Cte §ong of t&e Catnfnal

"Got news for you, Maria," he called from the well,'
where he was making a great pretense of thirst.

"Oh I don't know," answered Maria, with a superior
smile. "If it's about the redbirds, he's been up to the
garden three tunes this morning yellin', 'See here!' fit
to sph't; an' I jest figured that their little ones had hatched.
Is that your news? "

"Well I be durned!" gasped the astonished Abram.

Mid-afternoon Abram turned Nancy and started the
plow down a row that led straight to the sumac. He
intended to stop there, tie to the fence, and go to the
river bank, in the shade, for a visit with the Cardi
nal. It was very warm, and he was feeling the heat
so much, that in his heart he knew he would be glad
to reach the end of the row and the rest he had promised
himself.

The quick nervous strokes of tjhe dinner bell, "Clang!
Clang! " came cutting the air clearly and sharply. Abram
stopped Nancy with a jerk. It was the warning Maria had
promised to send him if she saw prowlers with guns. He
shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the points of
the compass through narrowed lids with concentrated
vision. He first caught a gleam of light playing on a
gun-barrel, and then he could discern the £ gure of a man

117

e ^ong of t&e Cardinal

clad in hunter' soutfit leisurely walking down the lane,
toward the river.

Abram hastily hitched Nancy to the fence. By making
the best time he could, he reached the opposite corner,
and was nibbling the midrib of a young corn blade
and placidly viewing the landscape when the hunter
passed.

" Howdy ! " he said in an even cordial voice.

The hunter walked on without lifting his eyes or mak
ing audible reply. To Abram's friendly old-fashioned
heart this seemed the rankest discourtesy; and there was
a flash in his eye and a certain unnatural quality in his
voice as he lifted a hand for parley.

"Hold a minute, my friend," he said. "Since you art
on my premises, might I be privileged to ask if you have
seen a few signs 'at I have posted pertainin' to the use of a
gun?"

"I am not blind," replied the hunter; "and my educa
tion has been looked after to the extent that I can make
out your notices. From the number and size of them, I
think I could do it, old man, if I had no eyes."

The scarcely suppressed sneer, and the "old man"
grated on Abram's nerves amazingly, for a man of sixty
years of peace. The gleam in his eyes grew stronger,

'118

C6e §>ong of t&e CatDtnal

and there was a perceptible lift of his shoulders as he
answered:

"I meant 'em to be read an' understood! From the
main road passin' that cabin up there on the bank, straight
to the river, an' from the furthermost line o' this field
to the same, is my premises, an' on every foot of 'em
the signs are in full force. They're in a little fuller
force in June, when half the bushes an' tufts o' grass
are housin' a young bird family, 'an at any other
time. They're sort o' upholdin' the legislature's act,
providing for the protection o' game an' singin' birds)
an' maybe it 'ud be well for you to notice 'at I'm not
so old but I'm able to stand up for my rights before any
livin' man."

There certainly was an added tinge of respect in the
'hunter's tones as he asked: "Would you consider it tres
pass if a man simply crossed your land, following the
line of the fences to reach the farm of a friend?"

"Certainly not!" cried Abram, cordial in his relief.
" To be sure not ! Glad to have you convenience yourself.
I only wanted to jest call to your notice 'at the birds are
protected on this farm."

"I have no intention of interfering with your precious
birds, I assure you," replied the hunter. "And if you

vl

119

e §ong of tfce Car&fnal

require an explanation of the gun in June, I confess I
d'd hope to be able to pick off a squirrel for a very sick
friend. But I suppose for even such cause it would not
be allowed on your premises."

" Oh pshaw now ! " said Abram. " Man alive ! I'm not
onreasonable. O' course in case o' sickness I'd be glad if
you could run across a squirrel. All I wanted was to have
a clear understandin' about the birds. Good luck, an'
good day to you!"

Abram started across the field to Nancy, but he re
peatedly turned to watch the gleam of the gun-barrel, as
the hunter rounded the corner and started down the river
bank. He saw him leave the line of the fence and dis
appear in the thicket.

"Coin' straight for the sumac," muttered Abram.
"It's likely I'm a fool for not stayin' right beside him past
that point. An' yet — I made it fair an' plain, an' he
passed his word 'at he wouldn't touch the birds."

He untied Nancy, and for the second time started
toward the sumac. He had been plowing carefully, his
attention divided between the mare and the corn; but he
uprooted half that row, for his eyes wandered to the Car
dinal's home as if he were fascinated, and his hands were
shaking with undue excitement as he gripped the plow

1 20

C6e %ong of t&e Cardinal

handles. At last he stopped Nancy, and stood gazing
eagerly toward the river.

"Must be jest about the sumac," he whispered. "Lord!
but I'll be glad to see the old gun-barrel gleamin' safe
t'other side o' it."

There was a thin puff of smoke, and a screaming
echo went rolling and reverberating down the Wabash.
Abram 's eyes widened, and a curious whiteness settled on
his lips. He stood as if incapable of moving. "Clang!
Clang!" came Maria's second warning.

The trembling slid from him, and his muscles hard
ened. There was no trace of rheumatic stiffness in his
movements. With a bound he struck the chain-traces
from the singletree at Nancy's heels. He caught the
names, leaped on her back, and digging his heels into her
sides, he stretched along her neck like an Indian and raced
across the corn field. Nancy's twenty years slipped from
her as her master's sixty had from him. Without under
standing the emergency, she knew that he required all the
speed there was hi her; and with trace-chains rattling and
beating on her heels, she stretched out until she fairly
swept the young corn, as she raced for the sumac. Once
Abram straightened, and slipping a hand into his pocket,
drew out a formidable jack-knife, opening it as he rode.

121

Ci)e §ong of t&e Cardinal

When he reached the fence, he almost flew over Nancy's
head. He went into a fence corner, and with a few slashes
severed a stout hickory withe, stripping the leaves and
topping it as he leaped the fence.

He grasped this ugly weapon, his eyes dark with anger
as he appeared before the hunter, who supposed him at
the other side of the field.

"Did you shoot at that redbird?" he roared.

As his gun was at the sportman's shoulder, and he was
still peering among the bushes, denial seemed useless.
"Yes, I did," he replied, and made a pretense of turning
to the sumac again.

There was a forward impulse of Abram's body. "Hit
'im?" he demanded with awful calm.

"Thought I had, but I guess I only winged him."

Abram's fingers closed around his club. At the sound
of his friend's voice, the Cardinal came darting through
the bushes a wavering flame, and swept so closely to him
for protection that a whig almost brushed his cheek.

" See here ! See here ! " shrilled the bird in deadly panic.
There was not a cut feather to be seen on him.

Abram's relief was so great he seemed to shrink an inch
in height.

"Young man, you better thank your God you missed

122

€&e ^ong of tlje CarDfna!

that bird," he said solemnly, "for if you'd killed him, I'd
a-mauled this stick to ribbons on you, an' I'm most afraid
I wouldn't a-knowed when to quit."

He advanced a step in his eagerness, and the hunter,
mistaking his motive, levelled his gun.

"Drop that!" shouted Abram, as he broke through the
bushes that clung to him, tore the clothing from his
shoulders, and held him back. "Drop that! Don't
you dare point a weapon at me; on my own premises, an*
after you passed your word.

"Your word!" repeated Abram, with withering scorn,
his white, quivering old face terrible to see. "Young
man, I got a couple o' things to say to you. You'r*
shaped like a man, an' youY dressed like a man, an' yet
the smartest person livin' would never take you for any
thing but an egg-suckin' dog, this minute. All the time
God ever spent on you was wasted, an' your mother's had
the same luck. I s'pose God's used to having creatures 'at
He's made go wrong, but I pity your mother. Goodness
knows a woman suffers an' works enough over her chil
dren, an' then to fetch a boy to man 's estate an' have him,
of his own free will an' accord, be a liar! Young man,
truth is the corner-stone o' the temple o' character. No
body can put up a good buildin' without a solid founda-

^ong of t&e CarDinal

tion; an' you can't do solid character buildin' with a lie
at the base. Man 'at's a liar ain't fit for anything! Can't
trust him in no sphere or relation o' life; or in any way,
shape, or manner. You passed out your word like a
man, an' like a man I took it an' went off trustin' you,
an' you failed me. Like as not that squirrel story was
a lie, too! Have you got a sick friend who is needin'
squirrel broth? "

The hunter shook his head.

"No? That wasn't true either? I'll own you make
me curious. 'Ud you mind tellin' me what was your idy
in cookin' up that squirrel story? "

The hunter spoke with an effort. "I suppose I wanted
to do some tiling to make you feel small," he admitted, in a
husky voice.

"You wanted to make me feel small," repeated Abram,
wonderingly. "Lord! Lord! Young man, did you ever
hear o' a boomerang? It's a kind o' weapon used in
Borneo, er Australy, er some o' them furrin parts, an
it's so made 'at the heathens can pitch it, an' it cuts a
circle an' comes back to the fellow 'at throwed. I can't
see myself, an' I don't know how small I'm lookin'; but
I'd rather lose ten year o' my life 'an to have anybody
catch me lookin' as little as you do right now. I guess we

124

C&e &ong of tjje Cardinal

look about the way we feel in this world. I'm feelin*
near the size o' Goliath at present; but your size is such
'at it hustles me to see any man in you at all. An' you
wanted to make me feel small! My, oh, my! An' you
so young yet, too!

"An' if it hadn't a-compassed a matter o' breakin' your
word, what 'ud you want to kill the redbird for, anyhow?
Who give you rights to go 'round takin' such beauty an*
joy out of the world? Who do you think made this world
an' the things 'at's in it? Maybe it's your notion 'at
somebody about your size whittled it from a block o'
wood, scattered a little sand for earth, stuck a few seeds
for trees, an' started the oceans with a waterin'-pot!
I don't know what paved streets an' stall feedin' do for
a man, but any one 'at's lived sixty year on the ground
knows 'at this whole old earth is jest teemin' with work
'at's too big for anything but a God, an' a mighty big
God at that!

"You don't never need bother none 'bout the diskivries
o' science, for if science could prove 'at the earth was a
red hot slag broken from the son, 'at balled an' cooled
flyin' through space until the force o' gravity caught an*
held it, it doesn't prove what the sun broke from, or why it
balled an' didn't cool. Sky over your head, earth under

125

C&e §ong of t&e Cardinal

foot, trees around you, an* river there — all full o' life
'at you ain't no mortal right to touch, 'cos God made it,
an' it's His! Course, I know 'at He said distinct 'at man,
was to have 'dominion over the beasts o' the field, an*
the fowls o' the air.' An' that means 'at you're free to
smash a copper-head instead of letting it sting you. Means
'at you better shoot a wolf than to let it carry off your
lambs. Means 'at it's right to kill a hawk an' save your
chickens; but God knows 'at shootin' a redbird just to see
the feathers fly isn't having dominion over anything;
it's jest makin' a plumb beast o' yerself. Passes me, how
you can face up to the Almighty, an' draw a bead on a
thing like that ! Takes more gall'n I got !

"God never made anything prettier 'an that bird, anr
He must a-been mighty proud o' the job. Jest cast your
eyes on it there ! Ever see anything so runnin' over with
dainty, pretty, coaxin' ways? Little red creatures, full
0* hist'ry, too! Ever think o' that? Last year's bird,
hatched hereabout, like as not. Went South for winter,
an' made friends 'at's been feedin', an' teachin' it to trust
mankind. Back this spring in a night, an' struck that
sumac over a month ago. Broke me all up first time I
ever set eyes on it.

"Biggest reddest redbird I ever saw; an' jest a master

126

e ^ong of t&e CatDinal

hand at king's English! Talk plain as you can! Don't
know what he said down South, but you can bank on it,
it was sumpin' pretty fine. When he settled here, he was
discoursin' on the weather, an' he talked it out about
proper. He'd say, 'Wet year! Wet year!' jest like
that! He got the 'wet' jest as good as I can, an', if he
drawed the 'ye-ar' out a little, still any blockhead could
a- told what he was sayin', an' in a voice pretty an' clear
as a bell. Then he got love-sick, an' begged for comp'ny
until he broke me all up. An' if I'd a-been a hen red-
bird I wouldn't a-been so long comin'. Had me pulverized
in less'n no time! Then a little hen comes 'long, an' stops
with him; an' 'twas like an organ playin' prayers to hear
him tell her how he loved her. Now they've got a nest
full o' the cunningest little topknot babies, an' he's split-
tin' the echoes, calling for the whole neighbourhood to
come see 'em, he's so mortal proud.

"Stake my life he's never been fired on afore! He's
pretty near wild with narvousness, but he's got too much
spunk to leave his fam'ly, an' go off an' hide from crea
tures like you. They's no caution in him. Look at him
tearin' 'round to give you another chance !

"I felt most too rheumaticky to tackle field work this
spring until he come 'long, an' the fire o' his coat an' song

127

€6e %ong of ttjc Cardinal

got me warmed up as I ain't been in years. Work's gone
like it was greased, an' my soul's been singin' for joy o' life
an' happiness ev'ry minute o' the time since he come.
Been carry in' him grub to that top rail once an' twice a
day for the last month, an' I can go in three feet o' him.
My wife comes to see him, an' brings him stuff; an' we
about worship him. Who are you, to come long an*
wipe out his joy in life, an' our joy in him, for jest nothin'?
You'd a left him to rot on the ground, if you'd a hit him;
an' me an' Maria's loved him so!

" D'you ever stop to think how full this world is o' things
to love, if your heart's jest big enough to let 'em in? We
love to live for the beauty o' the things surroundin' us,
an' the joy we take in bein' among 'em. An' it's my belief
'at the way to make folks love us, is for us to be able to
'predate what they can do. If a man's puttin' his heart
an' soul, an' blood, an' beef-steak, an' bones into pain tin*
picters, you can talk farmin' to him all day, an' he's dumb;
but jest show him 'at you see what he's a-drivin' at in his
work, an' he'll love you like a brother. Whatever any
body succeeds in, it's success 'cos they so love it 'at they
put the best o' then-selves into it; an' so, lovin' what they
do, is lovin' them.

41 It 'ud 'bout kill a painter-man to put the best o' him-

128

C&e ^ong of tlje Cardinal

self into his picture, an' then have some fellow like you
come 'long an' pour turpentine on it jest to see the paint
run; an' I think it must pretty well use God up, to figure
out how to make an' colour a thing like that bird, an' then
have you walk up an' shoot the little red heart out of it,
jest to prove 'at you can! He's the very life o' this river
bank. I'd as soon see you dig up the underbrush, an'
dry up the river, an' spoil the picture they make against
the sky, as to hev' you drop the redbird. He's the red
life o' the whole thing! God must a-made him when his
heart wras pulsin' hot with love an' the lust o' creatin' in-
com-^ar-able things; an' He jest saw how pretty it 'ud
be to dip his featherin' into the blood He was puttin' in his
veins.

"To my mind, ain't no better way to love an' worship
God, 'an to protect an' 'predate these fine gifts He's
given for our joy an' use. Worshipin' that bird's a kind
o' religion with me. Getting the beauty from the sky,
an' the trees, an' the grass, an' the water 'at God made, is
nothin' but doin' Him homage. Whole earth's a sanctu
ary. You can worship from sky above to grass under
foot.

"Course, each man has his particular altar. Mine's
in that cabin up at the bend o' the river. Maria lives

129

e §ong of tbe CatDtnal

there. God never did cleaner work, 'an when He made
Maria. Lovin' her's sacrament. She's so clean, an' pure,
an' honest, an' big-hearted! In forty year I've never
jest durst brace right up to Maria an' try to put in words
what she means to me. Never saw nothin' else as beau
tiful, or as good. No flower's as fragrant an' smelly as
her hair on her pillow. Never tapped a bee tree with
honey sweet as her lips a-twitchin' with a love quiver.
Ain't a bird long the ol' Wabash with a voice up to hers.
Love o' God ain't broader'n her kindness. When she's
been home to see her folks, I've been so hungry for her
}at I've gone to her closet an' kissed the hem o' her skirts
more'n once. I've never yet dared kiss her feet, but
I've always wanted to. I've laid out 'at if she dies
first, I'll do it then. An' Maria 'ud cry her eyes out if
you'd a-hit the redbird. Your trappin's look like you
could shoot. I guess 'twas God made that shot fly the
mark. I guess — "

"If you can stop, for the love of mercy do it!" cried
the hunter. His face was a sickly white, his temples
wet with sweat, and his body trembling. " I can't endure
any more. I don't suppose you think I've any human
instincts at all; but I have a few, and I see the way to
arouse more. You probably won't believe me, but I'll

130

\

"tACH MAN HAS HIS PERTIC*LAR ALTAR. MINE'S IN THAT CABIN
AT THE BEND O* THE RTVFR"

^ong of t&e Cardinal

never kill another innocent harmless thing; and I will
never lie again so long as I live."

He leaned his gun against the thorn tree, and dropped
the remainder of his hunter's outfit beside it on the ground.

"I don't seem a fit subject to 'have dominion/" he said.
Til leave those things for you; and thank you for what
you have done for me."

There was a crash through the bushes, a leap over the
fence, and Abram and the Cardinal were alone.

The old man sat down suddenly on a fallen limb of the
sycamore. He was almost dazed with astonishment.
He held up his shaking hands, and watched them won-
deringly, and then cupped one over each trembling knee
to steady himself. He outlined his dry lips with the tip
of his tongue, and breathed in heavy gusts. He glanced
toward the thorn tree.

"Left his gun," he hoarsely whispered, "an it's fine as a
fiddle. Lock, stock, an' barrel just a-shinin'. An' all
that heap o' leather fixin's. Must a-cost a lot o' money.
Said he wasn't fit to use 'em! Lept the fence like a>
panther, an' cut dirt across the corn field. An' left me the
gun! Well! Well! WeU! Wonder what I said? I
must a-been almost fierce."

" See here ! See here ! ' ' shrilled the Caniinal.

Cfce §ong of t&e Cardinal

Abram looked him over carefully. He was quivering
With fear, but in no way injured.

"My! but that was a close call, ol' fellow," said Abram.
" Minute later, an' our fun 'ud a-been over, an' the sum
mer jest spoiled. Wonder if you knew what it meant,
an' if you'll be gun-shy after this. Land knows, I hope
so; for a few more such doses 'ull jest lay me up."

He gathered himself together at last, set the gun over
the fence, and climbing after it, caught Nancy, who had
feasted to plethora on young corn. He fastened up the
trace-chains, and climbing to her back, laid the gun across (
his lap and rode to the barn. He attended the mare with
particular solicitude, and bathed his face and hands in the
water trough to make himself a little more presentable to
Maria. He started to the house, but had only gone a
short way when he stopped, and after standing in thought
for a time, turned back to the barn and gave Nancy an
other ear of corn.

"After all, it was all you, ol' girl," he said, patting
her shoulder, " I never on earth could a-made it on time
afoot."

He was so tired he leaned for support against her, for
the unusual exertion and intense excitement were telling on
sorely, and as he rested he confided to her: "I don't

Cfte @>ong of t&e CarDina!

know as I ever in my life was so riled, Nancy. I'm afraid
I was a little mite fierce."

He exhibited the gun, and told the story very soberly
at supper time; and Maria was so filled with solicitude
for him and the bird, and so indignant at the act of the
hunter, that she never said a word about Abram's torn
clothing and the hours of patching that would ensue.
She sat looking at the gun and thinking intently for a long
time; and then she said pityingly:

"I don't know jest what you could a-said 'at 'ud make
a man go off an' leave a gun like that. Poor fellow! I
do hope, Abram, you didn't come down on him too awful
strong. Maybe he lost his mother when he was jest a
little tyke, an' he hasn't had much teachin'."

Abram was completely worn out, and went early to bed.
Far in the night Maria felt him fiimbling around her face
in an effort to learn if she were covered; and as he drew
the sheet over her shoulder he muttered in worn and sleepy
tones : " I'm afraid they's no use denyin' it, Maria, I was
jest mortal fierce."

In the sumac the frightened little mother cardinal was
pressing her precious babies close against her breast; and
all through the night she kept calling to her mate, " Chook!
Chook!" and was satisfied only when an answering

Cbc ^ong of tbe Cardinal

"Chip!" came. As for the Cardinal, he had learned a
new lesson. He had not been under fire before. Never
again would he trust any one carrying a shining thing that
belched fire and smoke. He had seen the hunter coming,
and had raced home to defend his mate and babies, thus
making a brilliant mark of himself; and as he would not
have deserted them, only the arrival of the farmer had
averted a tragedy in the sumac. He did not learn to use
caution for himself; but after that, if a gun came down
the shining river, he sent a warning "Chip!" to his mate,
telling her to crouch low in her nest and keep very quiet,
and then, in broken waves of flight, and with chirp and
flutter, he exposed himself until he had lured danger from
his beloved ones.

When the babies grew large enough for their mother
to leave them a short time, she assisted in food hunting,
and the Cardinal was not so busy. He then could find
time frequently to mount to the top of the dogwood, and
cry to the world, "See here! See here!" for the cardinal
babies were splendid. But his music was broken inter
mittent vocalizing now, often uttered past a beakful of
food, and interspersed with spasmodic "chips" if danger
threatened his mate and nestlings.

Despite all their care, it was not so very long until

136

e ^ong of tljc Cardinal

trouble came to the sumac; and it was all because the
first-born was plainly greedy; much more so than either
his little brother or his sister, and he was one day ahead of
them in strength. He always pushed himself forward,
cried the loudest and longest, and so took the greater part
of the food carried to the nest; and one day, while he was
still quite awkward and uncertain, he climbed to the edge
and reached so far that he fell. He rolled down the river
bank, splash! into the water; and a hungry old pickerel,
sunning in the weeds, finished him at a snap. He made a
morsel so fat, sweet, and juicy that the pickerel lingered
close for a week, waiting to see if there would be any more
accidents.

The Cardinal, hunting grubs in the corn field, heard the
frightened cries of his mate, and dashed to the sumac in
time to see the poor little ball of brightly tinted feathers
disappear in the water and to hear the splash of the fish.
He called in helpless panic and fluttered over the spot.
He watched and waited until there was no hope of the
nestling coming up, then he went to the sumac to try to
comfort his mate. She could not be convinced that her
young one was gone, and for the remainder of the day filled
the air with alarm cries and notes of wailing.

The two that remained were surely the envy of Bird--

Cfie @>ong of tfje Cardinal

land. The male baby was a perfect copy of his big crim
son father, only his little coat was gray; but it was so
highly tinged with red that it was brilliant, and his beak
and feet were really red; and how his crest did flare, and
how proud and important he felt, when he found he could
raise and lower it at will. His sister was not nearly so
bright as he, and she was almost as greedy as the lost
brother. With his father's chivalry he allowed her to
crowd in and take the most of the seeds and berries, so
that she continually appeared as if she could swallow no
more, yet she was constantly calling for food.

She took the first flight, being so greedy she forgot to
be afraid, and actually flew to a neighbouring thorn tree
to meet the Cardinal, coming with food, before she real
ized what she had done. For once gluttony had its proper
reward. She not only missed the bite, but she got her
little self mightily well scared. With popping eyes and
fear-flattened crest, she clung to the thorn limb, shivering
at the depths below; and it was the greatest comfort when
her brother plucked up courage and came sailing across
to her. But, of course, she could not be expected to admit
that. When she saw how easily he did it, she flared her
crest, turned her head indifferently, and inquired if he
did not find flying a very easy matter, once he mustered

138

C6c ^ong of tf)c Cardinal

courage to try it; and she made him very much ashamed
indeed because he had allowed her to be the first to leave
the nest. From the thorn tree they worked their way to
the dead sycamore; but there the lack of foliage made
them so conspicuous that their mother almost went into
spasms from fright, and she literally drove them back to
the sumac.

The Cardinal was so inordinately proud, and made such
a brave showing of teaching them to fly, bathe, and all the
other things necessary for young birds to know, that it was
a great mercy they escaped with their lives. He had
mastered many lessons, but he never could be taught how
to be quiet and conceal himself. With explosive "chips"
flaming and flashing, he met dangers that sent all the
other birds beside the shining river racing to cover. Con
cealment he scorned; and repose he never knew.

It was a summer full of rich experience for the Cardinal.
After these first babies were raised and had flown, two
more nests were built, and two other broods flew around
the sumac. By fall the Cardinal was the father of a
small flock, and they were each one neat, trim, beautiful
river birds.

He had lived through spring with its perfumed air, pale
flowers, and burning heart hunger. He had known sum-

139

C6e %on$ of t&e Cardinal

mer in its golden mood, with forests pungent with spice-
bush and sassafras; festooned with wild grape, woodbine,
and bittersweet; carpeted with velvet moss and starry
mandrake peeping from beneath green shades; the never-
ending murmur of the shining river; and the rich fulfil
ment of love's fruition.

Now it was fall, and all the promises of spring were ac
complished. The woods were glorious in autumnal tints.
There were ripened red haws, black haws, and wild grapes
only waiting for severe frosts, nuts rattling down, scurry
ing squirrels, and the rabbits' flash of gray and brown.
The waysides were bright with the glory of goldenrod,
and royal with the purple of asters and ironwort. There
was the rustle of falling leaves, the flitting of velvety
butterflies, the whir of wings trained southward, and the
call of the king crow gathering his followers.

Then to the Cardinal came the intuition that it was
time to lead his family to the orange orchard. One day
they flamed and rioted up and down the shining river,
raced over the corn field, and tilted on the sumac. The
next, a black frost had stripped its antlered limbs. Stark
and deserted it stood, a picture of loneliness.

O bird of wonderful plumage and human-like song!
What a precious thought of Divinity to create such beauty

140

HE CLIMBED TO THE EDGE OF THE NEST AND REACHED SO FAR
THAT HE FEI.I "

C&e @>ong of t&e Cardinal

and music for our pleasure! Brave songster of the flam
ing coat, too proud to hide your flashing beauty, too fear-j
less to be cautious of the many dangers that beset you^
from the top of the morning we greet you, and hail you.
King of Birdland, at your imperious command: "See here!
See here I "

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UC SOUTHERN REG ONALj

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