not so busy. He then could find time frequently to mount to the
top of the dogwood, and cry to the world, "See here! See here!"
for the cardinal babies were splendid. But his music was broken
intermittent vocalizing now, often uttered past a beakful of
food, and interspersed with spasmodic "chips" if danger
threatened his mate and nestlings.

Despite all their care, it was not so very long until trouble
came to the sumac; and it was all because the first-born was
plainly greedy; much more so than either his little brother or
his sister, and he was one day ahead of them in strength. He
always pushed himself forward, cried the loudest and longest, and
so took the greater part of the food carried to the nest; and one
day, while he was still quite awkward and uncertain, he climbed
to the edge and reached so far that he fell. He rolled down the
river bank, splash! into the water; and a hungry old pickerel,
sunning in the weeds, finished him at a snap. He made a morsel
so fat, sweet, and juicy that the pickerel lingered close for a
week, waiting to see if there would be any more accidents.

The Cardinal, hunting grubs in the corn field, heard the
frightened cries of his mate, and dashed to the sumac in time to
see the poor little ball of brightly tinted feathers disappear in
the water and to hear the splash of the fish. He called in
helpless panic and fluttered over the spot. He watched and
waited until there was no hope of the nestling coming up, then he
went to the sumac to try to comfort his mate. She could not be
convinced that her young one was gone, and for the remainder of
the day filled the air with alarm cries and notes of wailing.