She did not see him, for her eyes were lifted to a little bobolink
that had come flying down the wind. One does not hear the bobolink
at his best unless one goes to hear him; for sheer glorified
happiness there is in all our land no bird like him at the hour of
sunrise, when he is drunk with the morning breeze and the sight of
the dew-filled roses. At present a shower had just passed and the
bobolink may have thought that another dawn had come; or perhaps he
saw the maiden. At any rate, he perched himself upon the topmost
leaf of the maple tree, still half-flying, as if scorning even that
much support; and there he sang his song. First he gave his long
prelude that one does not often hear--a few notes a score of times
repeated, and growing swift and loud, and more and more strenuous
and insistent; as sometimes the orchestra builds up its climax, so
that the listener holds his breath and waits for something, he knows
not what. Then he paused a moment and turned his head to see if the
girl were watching, and filled his throat and poured out his
wonderful gushing music, with its watery and bell-like tone that
only the streamlet can echo, from its secret places underneath the
banks. Again and again he gave it forth, the white patches on his
wings flashing in the sunlight and both himself and his song one
thrill of joy.

The girl's face was lit up with delight as she tripped down the
meadow path. A gust of wind came up behind her, and bowed the grass
and the flowers before her and swung the bird upon the tree; and so
light was the girl's step that it seemed to lift her and sweep her
onward. As it grew stronger she stretched out her arms to it and
half leaned upon it and flung her head back for the very fullness of
her happiness. The wind tossed her skirts about her, and stole
another tress of hair, and swung the lily which she had plucked and