when age should have developed him, and experience awakened his
emotions. He was an excellent musician for a youngster.

He soon did so well in caring for himself, in finding food and in
flight, and grew so big and independent, that he made numerous

excursions alone through the Limberlost; and so impressive were
his proportions, and so aggressive his manner, that he suffered

no molestation. In fact, the reign of the king promised to end
speedily; but if he feared it he made no sign, and his pride in

his wonderful offspring was always manifest. After the Cardinal
had explored the swamp thoroughly, a longing for a wider range

grew upon him; and day after day he lingered around the borders,
looking across the wide cultivated fields, almost aching to test

his wings in one long, high, wild stretch of flight.
A day came when the heat of the late summer set the marsh

steaming, and the Cardinal, flying close to the borders, caught
the breeze from the upland; and the vision of broad fields

stretching toward the north so enticed him that he spread his
wings, and following the line of trees and fences as much as

possible, he made his first journey from home. That day was so
delightful it decided his fortunes. It would seem that the

swamp, so appreciated by his kindred, should have been sufficient
for the Cardinal, but it was not. With every mile he winged his

flight, came a greater sense of power and strength, and a keener
love for the broad sweep of field and forest. His heart bounded

with the zest of rocking on the wind, racing through the
sunshine, and sailing over the endless panorama of waving corn

fields, and woodlands.
The heat and closeness of the Limberlost seemed a prison well

escaped, as on and on he flew in straight untiring flight.
Crossing a field of half-ripened corn that sloped to the river,

the Cardinal saw many birds feeding there, so he alighted on a
tall tree to watch them. Soon he decided that he would like to

try this new food. He found a place where a crow had left an ear
nicely laid open, and clinging to the husk, as he saw the others

do, he stretched to his full height and drove his strong sharp
beak into the creamy grain. After the stifling swamp hunting,

after the long exciting flight, to rock on this swaying corn and
drink the rich milk of the grain, was to the Cardinal his first

taste of nectar and ambrosia. He lifted his head when he came to
the golden kernel, and chipping it in tiny specks, he tasted and

approved with all the delight of an epicure in a delicious new
dish.

Perhaps there were other treats in the next field. He decided to
fly even farther. But he had gone only a short distance when he

changed his course and turned to the South, for below him was a
long, shining, creeping thing, fringed with willows, while

towering above them were giant sycamore, maple, tulip, and elm
trees that caught and rocked with the wind; and the Cardinal did

not know what it was. Filled with wonder he dropped lower and
lower. Birds were everywhere, many flying over and dipping into

it; but its clear creeping silver was a mystery to the Cardinal.
The beautiful river of poetry and song that the Indians first

discovered, and later with the French, named Ouabache; the
winding shining river that Logan and Me-shin-go-me-sia loved; the

only river that could tempt Wa-ca-co-nah from the Salamonie and
Mississinewa; the river beneath whose silver sycamores and giant

maples Chief Godfrey pitched his campfires, was never more
beautiful than on that perfect autumn day.

With his feathers pressed closely, the Cardinal alighted on a
willow, and leaned to look, quivering with excitement and

uttering explosive "chips"; for there he was, face to face with a
big redbird that appeared neither peaceful nor timid. He uttered

an impudent "Chip" of challenge, which, as it left his beak, was
flung back to him. The Cardinal flared his crest and half lifted

his wings, stiffening them at the butt; the bird he was facing
did the same. In his surprise he arose to his full height with a

dexterous little side step, and the other bird straightened and
side-stepped exactly with him. This was too insulting for the

Cardinal. Straining every muscle, he made a dash at the impudent
stranger.

He struck the water with such force that it splashed above the
willows, and a kingfisher, stationed on a stump opposite him,

watching the shoals for minnows, saw it. He spread his beak and
rolled forth rattling laughter, until his voice reechoed from

point to point down the river. The Cardinal scarcely knew how he
got out, but he had learned a new lesson. That beautiful,

shining, creeping thing was water; not thick, tepid, black marsh
water, but pure, cool, silver water. He shook his plumage,

feeling a degree redder from shame, but he would not be laughed
into leaving. He found it too delightful. In a short time he

ventured down and took a sip, and it was the first real drink of
his life. Oh, but it was good!

When thirst from the heat and his long flight was quenched, he
ventured in for a bath, and that was a new and delightful

experience. How he splashed and splashed, and sent the silver
drops flying! How he ducked and soaked and cooled in that

rippling water, in which he might remain as long as he pleased
and splash his fill; for he could see the bottom for a long

distance all around, and easily could avoid anything attempting
to harm him. He was so wet when his bath was finished he

scarcely could reach a bush to dry and dress his plumage.
Once again in perfect feather, he remembered the bird of the

water, and returned to the willow. There in the depths of the
shining river the Cardinal discovered himself, and his heart

swelled big with just pride. Was that broad full breast his?
Where had he seen any other cardinal with a crest so high it

waved in the wind? How big and black his eyes were, and his
beard was almost as long and crisp as his father's. He spread

his wings and gloated on their sweep, and twisted and flirted his
tail. He went over his toilet again and dressed every feather on

him. He scoured the back of his neck with the butt of his wings,
and tucking his head under them, slowly drew it out time after

time to polish his crest. He turned and twisted. He rocked and
paraded, and every glimpse he caught of his size and beauty

filled him with pride. He strutted like a peacock and chattered
like a jay.

When he could find no further points to admire, something else
caught his attention. When he "chipped" there was an answering

"Chip" across the river; certainly there was no cardinal there,
so it must be that he was hearing his own voice as well as seeing

himself. Selecting a conspicuous perch he sent an incisive
"Chip!" across the water, and in kind it came back to him. Then

he "chipped" softly and tenderly, as he did in the Limberlost to
a favourite little sister who often came and perched beside him

in the maple where he slept, and softly and tenderly came the
answer. Then the Cardinal understood. "Wheat! Wheat! Wheat!"

He whistled it high, and he whistled it low. "Cheer! Cheer!
Cheer!" He whistled it tenderly and sharply and imperiously.

"Here! Here! Here!" At this ringing command, every bird, as far
as the river carried his voice, came to investigate and remained

to admire. Over and over he rang every change he could invent.
He made a gallant effort at warbling and trilling, and then, with

the gladdest heart he ever had known, he burst into ringing song:
"Good Cheer! Good Cheer! Good Cheer!"

As evening came on he grew restless and uneasy, so he slowly
winged his way back to the Limberlost; but that day forever