abroad his prediction. Old Mother Nature verified his wisdom by
sending a dashing 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.

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, thorn, 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 trouble with the robins. They were easily
conquered, and with small protest settled a rod up the bank in a
wild-plum tree; but the air was thick with "chips," chatter, and
red and black feathers, before the blackbirds acknowledged