The Cardinal was so inordinately proud, and made such a brave
showing of teaching them to fly, bathe, and all the other things
necessary for young birds to know, that it was a great mercy they
escaped with their lives. He had mastered many lessons, but he
never could be taught how to be quiet and conceal himself. With
explosive "chips" flaming and flashing, he met dangers that sent
all the other birds beside the shining river racing to cover.
Concealment he scorned; and repose he never knew.

It was a summer full of rich experience for the Cardinal. After
these first babies were raised and had flown, two more nests were
built, and two other broods flew around the sumac. By fall the
Cardinal was the father of a small flock, and they were each one
neat, trim, beautiful river birds.

He had lived through spring with its perfumed air, pale flowers,
and burning heart hunger. He had known summer in its golden
mood, with forests pungent with spicebush and sassafras;
festooned with wild grape, woodbine, and bittersweet; carpeted
with velvet moss and starry mandrake peeping from beneath green
shades; the never-ending murmur of the shining river; and the
rich fulfilment of love's fruition.

Now it was fall, and all the promises of spring were
accomplished. The woods were glorious in autumnal tints. There
were ripened red haws, black haws, and wild grapes only waiting
for severe frosts, nuts rattling down, scurrying squirrels, and
the rabbits' flash of gray and brown. The waysides were bright
with the glory of goldenrod, and royal with the purple of asters