went to the top rail and feasted on the sweet grains of corn
until his craw was full, and then nestled in the sumac and went
to sleep. Early next morning he was abroad and in fine toilet,
and with a full voice from the top of the sumac greeted the
day--"Wet year! Wet year!"

Far down the river echoed his voice until it so closely resembled
some member of his family replying that he followed, searching
the banks mile after mile on either side, until finally he heard
voices of his kind. He located them, but it was only several
staid old couples, a long time mated, and busy with their
nest-building. The Cardinal returned to the sumac, feeling a
degree lonelier than ever.

He decided to prospect in the opposite direction, and taking
wing, he started up the river. Following the channel, he winged
his flight for miles over the cool sparkling water, between the
tangle of foliage bordering the banks. When he came to the long
cumbrous structures of wood with which men had bridged the river,
where the shuffling feet of tired farm horses raised clouds of
dust and set the echoes rolling with their thunderous hoof beats,
he was afraid; and rising high, he sailed over them in short
broken curves of flight. But where giant maple and ash, leaning,
locked branches across the channel in one of old Mother Nature's
bridges for the squirrels, he knew no fear, and dipped so low
beneath them that his image trailed a wavering shadow on the
silver path he followed.

He rounded curve after curve, and frequently stopping on a
conspicuous perch, flung a ringing challenge in the face of the