caresses and cooed over his love-song until every chipmunk on the
line fence was familiar with his story. The Cardinal's temper
was worn to such a fine edge that he darted at the dove one day
and pulled a big tuft of feathers from his back. When he had
returned to the sumac, he was compelled to admit that his anger
lay quite as much in that he had no one to love as because the
dove was disgustingly devoted.

Every morning brought new arrivals--trim young females fresh from
their long holiday, and big boastful males appearing their
brightest and bravest, each singer almost splitting his throat in
the effort to captivate the mate he coveted. They came flashing
down the river bank, like rockets of scarlet, gold, blue, and
black; rocking on the willows, splashing in the water, bursting
into jets of melody, making every possible display of their
beauty and music; and at times fighting fiercely when they
discovered that the females they were wooing favoured their
rivals and desired only to be friendly with them.

The heart of the Cardinal sank as he watched. There was not a
member of his immediate family among them. He pitied himself as
he wondered if fate had in store for him the trials he saw others
suffering. Those dreadful feathered females! How they coquetted!
How they flirted! How they sleeked and flattened their plumage,
and with half-open beaks and sparkling eyes, hopped closer and
closer as if charmed. The eager singers, with swelling throats,
sang and sang in a very frenzy of extravagant pleading, but just
when they felt sure their little loves were on the point of
surrender, a rod distant above the bushes would go streaks of
feathers, and there was nothing left but to endure the bitter