to.

Cicely sat rapt while he pictured the bird's winter pilgrimage, with
glimpses of the seas and islands that fled beneath him till his long
southern flight ended in the dim glades of the equatorial forests.

"Oh, what a good life--how I should like to be a wander-bird, and look
down people's chimneys twice a year!" Justine laughed, tilting her head
back to catch a last glimpse of the tanager.

The sun beamed full on their ledge from a sky of misty blue, and she had
thrown aside her hat, uncovering her thick waves of hair, blue-black in
the hollows, with warm rusty edges where they took the light. Cicely
dragged down a plumy spray of traveller's joy and wound it above her
friend's forehead; and thus wreathed, with her bright pallour relieved
against the dusky autumn tints, Justine looked like a wood-spirit who
had absorbed into herself the last golden juices of the year.

She leaned back laughing against a tree-trunk, pelting Cicely with
witch-hazel pods, making the terrier waltz for scraps of ginger-bread,
and breaking off now and then to imitate, with her clear full notes, the
call of some hidden marsh-bird, or the scolding chatter of a squirrel in
the scrub-oaks.

"Is that what you'd like most about the journey--looking down the
chimneys?" Amherst asked with a smile.

"Oh, I don't know--I should love it all! Think of the joy of skimming
over half the earth--seeing it born again out of darkness every morning!
Sometimes, when I've been up all night with a patient, and have seen the
world _come back to me_ like that, I've been almost mad with its beauty;
and then the thought that I've never seen more than a little corner of
it makes me feel as if I were chained. But I think if I had wings I
should choose to be a house-swallow; and then, after I'd had my fill of
wonders, I should come back to my familiar corner, and my house full of
busy humdrum people, and fly low to warn them of rain, and wheel up high
to show them it was good haying weather, and know what was going on in
every room in the house, and every house in the village; and all the
while I should be hugging my wonderful big secret--the secret of
snow-plains and burning deserts, and coral islands and buried
cities--and should put it all into my chatter under the eaves, that the
people in the house were always too busy to stop and listen to--and when
winter came I'm sure I should hate to leave them, even to go back to my
great Brazilian forests full of or