larger, brighter, and a finer musician than he, staggered him;
and worst of all, his voice broke suddenly to his complete
embarrassment.

Half screened by the flowers, she seemed so little, so shy, so
delightfully sweet. He "chipped" carefully once or twice to
steady himself and clear his throat, for unaccountably it had
grown dry and husky; and then he tenderly tried again. "Come
here! Come here!" implored the Cardinal. He forgot all about his
dignity. He knew that his voice was trembling with eagerness and
hoarse with fear. He was afraid to attempt approaching her, but
he leaned toward her, begging and pleading. He teased and
insisted, and he did not care a particle if he did. It suddenly
seemed an honour to coax her. He rocked on the limb. He
side-stepped and hopped and gyrated gracefully. He fluffed and
flirted and showed himself to every advantage. It never occurred
to him that the dove and the woodpecker might be watching, though
he would not have cared in the least if they had been; and as for
any other cardinal, he would have attacked the combined forces of
the Limberlost and Rainbow Bottom.

He sang and sang. Every impulse of passion in his big, crimson,
palpitating body was thrown into those notes; but she only turned
her head from side to side, peering at him, seeming sufficiently
frightened to flee at a breath, and answered not even the
faintest little "Chook!" of encouragement.

The Cardinal rested a second before he tried again. That
steadied him and gave him better command of himself. He could
tell that his notes were clearing and growing sweeter. He was