I transferred him to the cage, for a moment his confidence lasted
still. He mounted the perch, shook his plumage, and spoke out
bravely and cheerily. Then all at once came on the terror.


The dawn came on this morning with its old splendor. The birds
in my yard, as of old, poured forth their songs. But those loud,
long, clear, melodious, deep-hearted, passionate, best-loved notes!
As the chorus swelled from shadowy shrubs and vines to the sparking
tree-tops I listened for some sound from Georgiana's room, but over
there I saw only the soft, slow flapping of the white curtains like
signals of distress.

Towards ten o'clock, wandering restless, I snatched up a book, which
I had no wish to read, and went to the arbor where I had so often
discoursed to Sylvia about children's cruelty to birds. Through
the fluttering leaves the sunlight dripped as a weightless shower
of gold, and the long pendants of young fruit swayed gently in
their cool waxen greenness. Where some rotting planks crossed the
top of the arbor a blue-jay sat on her coarse nest; and presently
the mate flew to her with a worm, and then talked to her in a low
voice, as much as saying that they must now leave the place forever.
I was thinking how love softens even the voice of this file-throated
screamer, when along the garden walk came the rustle of a woman's
clothes, and, springing up, I stood face to face with Georgiana.

"What have you done?" she implored.

"What have _you_ done? I answered as quickly.