to tell the difference. Father says it's a strain of the same blood.
But they are not all as pretty as Sami. Isn't he a duck?"

"He is at home in the rain, anyway. Why doesn't he come in?"

"He's afraid of you."

"That's unusual--until one has seen me."

"Sami doesn't need to see a stranger."

"Well, that's primitive enough, surely! Let's call him in."

"I'd like to, but Sami won't come for calling."

"Oh, won't he? Leave the door open and watch him."

As absorbed now as the girl herself, the professor put his finger to
his lips and whistled--a low, clear whistle, rather like the calling
of a meditative bird. Several times he whistled so, on different
notes; and then, to her surprise, the watching girl saw the little
wild thing outside stir in answer to the call. Sami came out from
behind the post and stood listening, for all the world like an
inquiring squirrel. The whistle sounded again, a plaintive, seeking
sound, infinitely alluring. It seemed to draw the heart like a
living thing. Slowly at first and then with the swift, gliding
motion of the woods, the wide-eyed youngster approached the open
door and stood there waiting, poised and ready for advance or
flight. Again the whistle came, and to it came Sami, straight as a
bird to its calling mate.