as he knelt, and cupped his shrunken hands, while Maria guided
the wheat from her apron into them. "I'll scatter it along the
top rail, an' they'll be after it in fifteen minutes. Thank you,
Maria. 'T was good o' you to think of it."

Maria watched him steadily. How dear he was! How dear he always
had been! How happy they were together! "Abram," she asked,
hesitatingly, "is there anything else I could do for--your
birds?"

They were creatures of habitual repression, and the inner
glimpses they had taken of each other that day were surprises
they scarcely knew how to meet. Abram said nothing, because he
could not. He slowly shook his head, and turned to the plow, his
eyes misty. Maria started toward the line fence, but she paused
repeatedly to listen; and it was no wonder, for all the redbirds
from miles down the river had gathered around the sumac to see if
there were a battle in birdland; but it was only the Cardinal,
turning somersaults in the air, and screaming with bursting
exuberance: "Come here! Come here!"



Chapter 4

"So dear! So dear!" crooned the Cardinal


She had taken possession of the sumac. The location was her
selection and he loudly applauded her choice. She placed the