There was a burst of exultation down the river. The little bird
gave her plumage a fluff, and watched anxiously. On came the
Cardinal like a flaming rocket, calling to her on wing. He
alighted beside her, dropped into her beak a morsel of food, gave
her a kiss to aid digestion, caressingly ran his beak the length
of her wing quills, and flew to the dogwood. Mrs. Cardinal
enjoyed the meal. It struck her palate exactly right. She liked
the kiss and caress, cared, in fact, for all that he did for her,
and with the appreciation of his tenderness came repentance for
the dreadful chase she had led him in her foolish fright, and an
impulse to repay. She took a dainty hop toward the dogwood, and
the invitation she sent him was exquisite. With a shrill whistle
of exultant triumph the Cardinal answered at a headlong rush.

The farmer's grip tightened on his wife's shoulder, but Maria
turned toward him with blazing, tear-filled eyes. "An' you call
yourself a decent man, Abram Johnson?"

"Decent?" quavered the astonished Abram. "Decent? I believe I
am."

"I believe you ain't," hotly retorted his wife. "You don't know
what decency is, if you go peekin' at them. They ain't birds!
They're folks!"

"Maria," pled Abram, "Maria, honey."

"I am plumb ashamed of you," broke in Maria. "How d'you s'pose
she'd feel if she knew there was a man here peekin' at her?
Ain't she got a right to be lovin' and tender? Ain't she got a