defeat. They were old-timers, and knew about the grubs and the
young corn; but they also knew when they were beaten, so they
moved down stream to a scrub oak, trying to assure each other
that it was the place they really had wanted from the first.

The Cardinal was left boasting and strutting in the sumac, but in
his heart he found it lonesome business. Being the son of a
king, he was much too dignified to beg for a mate, and besides,
it took all his time to guard the sumac; but his eyes were wide
open to all that went on around him, and he envied the blackbird
his glossy, devoted little sweetheart, with all his might. He
almost strained his voice trying to rival the love-song of a
skylark that hung among the clouds above a meadow across the
river, and poured down to his mate a story of adoring love and
sympathy. He screamed a "Chip" of such savage jealousy at a pair
of killdeer lovers that he sent them scampering down the river
bank without knowing that the crime of which they stood convicted
was that of being mated when he was not. As for the doves that
were already brooding on the line fence beneath the maples, the
Cardinal was torn between two opinions.

He was alone, he was love-sick, and he was holding the finest
building location beside the shining river for his mate, and her
slowness in coming made their devotion difficult to endure when
he coveted a true love; but it seemed to the Cardinal that he
never could so forget himself as to emulate the example of that
dove lover. The dove had no dignity; he was so effusive he was a
nuisance. He kept his dignified Quaker mate stuffed to
discomfort; he clung to the side of the nest trying to help brood
until he almost crowded her from the eggs. He pestered her with