Cardinal, with endless patience and tenderness, maneuvered her to
the sumac, until she gave up, and beneath the shelter of a
neighbouring grapevine, perched on a limb that was the Cardinal's
own chosen resting-place, tucked her tired head beneath her wing,
and went to rest. When she was soundly sleeping, the Cardinal
crept as closely as he dared, and with one eye on his little gray
love, and the other roving for any possible danger, he spent a
night of watching for any danger that might approach.

He was almost worn out; but this was infinitely better than the
previous night, at any rate, for now he not only knew where she
was, but she was fast asleep in his own favourite place. Huddled
on the limb, the Cardinal gloated over her. He found her beauty
perfect. To be sure, she was dishevelled; but she could make her
toilet. There were a few feathers gone; but they would grow
speedily. She made a heart-satisfying picture, on which the
Cardinal feasted his love-sick soul, by the light of every
straying moonbeam that slid around the edges of the grape leaves.

Wave after wave of tender passion shook him. In his throat half
the night he kept softly calling to her: "Come here! Come here!"

Next morning, when the robins announced day beside the shining
river, she awoke with a start; but before she could decide in
which direction to fly, she discovered a nice fresh grub laid on
the limb close to her, and very sensibly remained for breakfast.
Then the Cardinal went to the river and bathed. He made such
delightful play of it, and the splash of the water sounded so
refreshing to the tired draggled bird, that she could not resist
venturing for a few dips. When she was wet she could not fly