went
through the cabin arranging the furniture the best she could, then
dressed and went to the swinging couch. It was so wide and heavy a light
wind rocked it gently, and from it she faced the fern and lily carpeted
hillside, the majesty of big trees of a thousand years, and heard the
music of Singing Water as it sparkled diamond-like where the sun rays
struck its flow. Across the drive and down the valley to the brilliant
bit of marsh it hurried on its way to Loon Lake.

There were squirrels barking and racing in the big trees and over the
ground. They crossed the sodded space of lawn and came to the top step
for nuts, eating them from cunning paws. They were living life according
to the laws of their nature. She knew that their sharp, startling bark
was not to frighten her, but to warn straying intruders of other species
of their kindred from a nest, because the Harvester had told her so. He
had said their racing here and there in wild scramble was a game of tag
and she found it most interesting to observe.

Birds of brilliant colour flashed everywhere, singing in wild joy, and
tilted on the rising hedge before her, hunting berries and seeds. Their
bubbling, spontaneous song was an instinctive outpouring of their joy
over mating time, nests, young, much food, and running water. Their
social, inquiring, short cry was to locate a mate, and call her to good
feeding. The sharp wild scream of a note was when a hawk passed over, a
weasel lurked in the thicket, or a black snake sunned on the bushes. She
remembered these things, and lay listening intently, trying to interpret
every sound as the Harvester did.

Birds of wide wing hung as if nailed to the sky, or wheeled and sailed
in grandeur. They were searching the landscape below to locate a hare
or snake in the waving grass or carrion in the fields. The wonderful
exhibitions of wing power were their expression of exultation in life,
just as the song sparrow threatened to rupture his throat as he swung
on the hedge, and the red bird somewhere in the thicket whistled so
forcefully it sounded as if the notes might hurt him.

On the lake bass splashed in a game with each other. Grebes chattered,
because they were very social. Ducks dived and gobbled for roots and
worms of the lake shore, and congratulated each other when they were
lucky.

Killdeer cried for slaughter, in plaintive tones, as their white breasts
gleamed silver-like across the sky. They insisted on the deat