hen she refused to swallow another particle, he
perched on a twig close by the nest many times in a day; and with sleek
feathers and lowered crest, gazed at her in silent worshipful adoration.

Up and down the river bank he flamed and rioted. In the sumac he
uttered not the faintest "Chip!" that might attract attention. He was
so anxious to be inconspicuous that he appeared only half his real
size. Always on leaving he gave her a tender little peck and ran his
beak the length of her wing--a characteristic caress that he delighted
to bestow on her.

If he felt that he was disturbing her too often, he perched on the
dogwood and sang for life, and love, and happiness. His music was in a
minor key now. The high, exultant, ringing notes of passion were
mellowed and subdued. He was improvising cradle songs and lullabies.
He was telling her how he loved her, how he would fight for her, how he
was watching over her, how he would signal if any danger were
approaching, how proud he was of her, what a perfect nest she had
built, how beautiful he thought her eggs, what magnificent babies they
would produce. Full of tenderness, melting with love, liquid with
sweetness, the Cardinal sang to his patient little brooding mate: "So
dear! So dear!"

The farmer leaned on his corn-planter and listened to him intently. "I
swanny! If he hasn't changed his song again, an' this time I'm blest
if I can tell what he's saying!" Every time the Cardinal lifted his
voice, the clip of the corn-planter ceased, and Abram hung on the notes
and studied them over.

One night he said to his wife: "Maria, have you been noticin' the
redbird of late? He's changed to a new tune, an' this time I'm
completely stalled. I can't for the life of me make out what he's
saying. S'pose you step down to-morrow an' see if you can catch it for
me. I'd give a pretty to know!"

Maria felt flattered. She always had believed that she had a musical
ear. Here was an opportunity to test it and please Abram at the same
time. She hastened her work the following morning, and very early
slipped along the line fence. Hiding behind the oak, with straining
ear and throbbing heart, she eagerly listened. "Clip, clip," came the
sound of the planter, as Abram's dear old figure trudged up the hill.
"Chip! Chip!" came the warning of the Cardinal, as he flew to his mate.

He gave her some food, stroked her wing, and flying to the dogwood,
sang of the love that encompas