people ought to act with some sense, an' leave them alone. I
never was so int'rested in the birds in all my life; an' I'll
jest do a little lookin' out myself. If you hear a spang o' the
dinner bell when you're out in the field, you'll know it means
there's some one sneakin' 'round with a gun."

Abram caught Maria, and planted a resounding smack on her cheek,
where the roses of girlhood yet bloomed for him. Then he filled
his pockets with crumbs and grain, and strolled to the river to
set the Cardinal's table. He could hear the sharp incisive
"Chip!" and the tender mellow love-notes as he left the barn; and
all the way to the sumac they rang in his ears.

The Cardinal met him at the corner of the field, and hopped over
bushes and the fence only a few yards from him. When Abram had
scattered his store on the rail, the bird came tipping and
tilting, daintily caught up a crumb, and carried it to the sumac.
His mate was pleased to take it; and he carried her one morsel
after another until she refused to open her beak for more. He
made a light supper himself; and then swinging on the grape-vine,
he closed the day with an hour of music. He repeatedly turned a
bright questioning eye toward Abram, but he never for a moment
lost sight of the nest and the plump gray figure of his little
mate. As she brooded over her eggs, he brooded over her; and
that she might realize the depth and constancy of his devotion,
he told her repeatedly, with every tender inflection he could
throw into his tones, that she was "So dear! So dear!"

The Cardinal had not known that the coming of the mate he so
coveted would fill his life with such unceasing gladness, and