the river bottom to see; then he fought like a wild thing if any
of them ventured close, for great things were happening in the sumac.

In past days the Cardinal had brooded an hour every morning while
his mate went to take her exercise, bathe, and fluff in the sun
parlour. He had gone to her that morning as usual, and she
looked at him with anxious eyes and refused to move. He had
hopped to the very edge of the nest and repeatedly urged her to
go. She only ruffled her feathers, and nestled the eggs she was
brooding to turn them, but did not offer to leave. The Cardinal
reached over and gently nudged her with his beak, to remind her
that it was his time to brood; but she looked at him almost
savagely, and gave him a sharp peck; so he knew she was not to be
bothered. He carried her every dainty he could find and hovered
near her, tense with anxiety.

It was late in the afternoon before she went after the drink for
which she was half famished. She scarcely had reached a willow
and bent over the water before the Cardinal was on the edge of
the nest. He examined it closely, but he could see no change.
He leaned to give the eggs careful scrutiny, and from somewhere
there came to him the faintest little "Chip!" he ever had heard.
Up went the Cardinal's crest, and he dashed to the willow. There
was no danger in sight; and his mate was greedily dipping her
rosy beak in the water. He went back to the cradle and listened
intently, and again that feeble cry came to him. Under the nest,
around it, and all through the sumac he searched, until at last,
completely baffled, he came back to the edge. The sound was so
much plainer there, that he suddenly leaned, caressing the eggs
with his beak; then the Cardinal knew! He had heard the first