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, bellowing, 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 excitement, 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, 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
sweeping the sky before him. The Cardinal flew steadily in a