breeze that fanned her cheek was laden with subtle perfume of
pollen and the crisp fresh odour of unfolding leaves. Curling

skyward, like a beckoning finger, went a spiral of violet and
gray smoke from the log heap Abram was burning; and scattered

over spaces of a mile were half a dozen others, telling a story
of the activity of his neighbours. Like the low murmur of

distant music came the beating wings of hundreds of her bees,
rimming the water trough, insane with thirst. On the wood-pile

the guinea cock clattered incessantly: "Phut rack! Phut rack!"
Across the dooryard came the old turkey-gobbler with fan tail and

a rasping scrape of wing, evincing his delight in spring and
mating time by a series of explosive snorts. On the barnyard

gate the old Shanghai was lustily challenging to mortal combat
one of his kind three miles across country. From the river arose

the strident scream of her blue gander jealously guarding his
harem. In the poultry-yard the hens made a noisy cackling party,

and the stable lot was filled with cattle bellowing for the
freedom of the meadowpasture, as yet scarcely ready for grazing.

It seemed to the little woman, hesitating in the doorway, as if
all nature had entered into a conspiracy to lure her from her

work, and just then, clear and imperious, arose the demand of the
Cardinal: "Come here! Come here!"

Blank amazement filled her face. "As I'm a livin' woman!" she
gasped. "He's changed his song! That's what Abram meant by me

bein' invited. He's askin' folks to see his mate. I'm goin'."
The dull red of excitementsprang into her cheeks. She hurried

on her overshoes, and drew an old shawl over her head. She
crossed the dooryard, followed the path through the orchard, and

came to the lane. Below the barn she turned back and attempted
to cross. The mud was deep and thick, and she lost an overshoe;

but with the help of a stick she pried it out, and replaced it.
"Joke on me if I'd a-tumbled over in this mud," she muttered.

She entered the barn, and came out a minute later, carefully
closing and buttoning the door, and started down the line fence

toward the river.
Half-way across the field Abram saw her coming. No need to

recount how often he had looked in that direction during the
afternoon. He slapped the lines on the old gray's back and came

tearing down the slope, his eyes flashing, his cheeks red, his
hands firmly gripping the plow that rolled up a line of black

mould as he passed.
Maria, staring at his flushed face and shining eyes, recognized

that his whole being proclaimed an inwardexultation.
"Abram Johnson," she solemnly demanded, "have you got the power?"

"Yes," cried Abram, pulling off his old felt hat, and gazing into
the crown as if for inspiration. "You've said it, honey! I got

the power! Got it of a little red bird! Power o' spring! Power
o' song! Power o' love! If that poor little red target for some

ornery cuss's bullet can get all he's getting out o' life to-day,
there's no cause why a reasonin' thinkin' man shouldn't realize

some o' his blessings. You hit it, Maria; I got the power. It's
the power o' God, but I learned how to lay hold of it from that

little red bird. Come here, Maria!"
Abram wrapped the lines around the plow handle, and cautiously

led his wife to the fence. He found a piece of thick bark for
her to stand on, and placed her where she would be screened by a

big oak. Then he stood behind her and pointed out the sumac and
the female bird.

"Jest you keep still a minute, an' you'll feel paid for comin'
all right, honey," he whispered, "but don't make any sudden

movement."
"I don't know as I ever saw a worse-lookin' specimen 'an she is,"

answered Maria.
"She looks first-class to him. There's no kick comin' on his

part, I can tell you," replied Abram.
The bride hopped shyly through the sumac. She pecked at the

dried berries, and frequently tried to improve her plumage, which
certainly had been badly draggled; and there was a drop of blood

dried at the base of her beak. She plainly showed the effects of
her rough experience, and yet she was a most attractive bird; for

the dimples in her plump body showed through the feathers, and
instead of the usual wickedly black eyes of the cardinal family,

hers were a soft tender brown touched by a love-light there was
no mistaking. She was a beautiful bird, and she was doing all in

her power to make herself dainty again. Her movements clearly
indicated how timid she was, and yet she remained in the sumac as

if she feared to leave it; and frequently peered expectantly
among the tree-tops.

There was a burst of exultation down the river. The little bird
gave her plumage a fluff, and watched anxiously" target="_blank" title="ad.挂念地；渴望地">anxiously. On came the

Cardinal like a flamingrocket, calling to her on wing. He
alighted beside her, dropped into her beak a morsel of food, gave

her a kiss to aid digestion, caressingly ran his beak the length
of her wing quills, and flew to the dogwood. Mrs. Cardinal

enjoyed the meal. It struck her palate exactly right. She liked
the kiss and caress, cared, in fact, for all that he did for her,

and with the appreciation of his tenderness came repentance for
the dreadful chase she had led him in her foolish fright, and an

impulse to repay. She took a dainty hop toward the dogwood, and
the invitation she sent him was exquisite. With a shrill whistle

of exultant triumph the Cardinal answered at a headlong rush.
The farmer's grip tightened on his wife's shoulder, but Maria

turned toward him with blazing, tear-filled eyes. "An' you call
yourself a decent man, Abram Johnson?"

"Decent?" quavered the astonished Abram. "Decent? I believe I
am."

"I believe you ain't," hotly retorted his wife. "You don't know
what decency is, if you go peekin' at them. They ain't birds!

They're folks!"
"Maria," pled Abram, "Maria, honey."

"I am plumb ashamed of you," broke in Maria. "How d'you s'pose
she'd feel if she knew there was a man here peekin' at her?

Ain't she got a right to be lovin' and tender? Ain't she got a
right to pay him best she knows? They're jest common human

bein's, an' I don't know where you got privilege to spy on a
female when she's doin' the best she knows."

Maria broke from his grasp and started down the line fence.
In a few strides Abram had her in his arms, his withered cheek

with its springtime bloom pressed against her equally withered,
tear-stained one.

"Maria," he whispered, waveringly, "Maria, honey, I wasn't
meanin' any disrespect to the sex."

Maria wiped her eyes on the corner of her shawl. "I don't s'pose
you was, Abram," she admitted; "but you're jest like all the rest

o' the men. You never think! Now you go on with your plowin'
an' let that little female alone."

She unclasped his arms and turned homeward.
"Honey," called Abram softly, "since you brought 'em that

pocketful o' wheat, you might as well let me have it."
"Landy!" exclaimed Maria, blushing; "I plumb forgot my wheat! I

thought maybe, bein' so early, pickin' was scarce, an' if you'd
put out a little wheat an' a few crumbs, they'd stay an' nest in

the sumac, as you're so fond o' them."
"Jest what I'm fairly prayin' they'll do, an' I been carryin'

stuff an' pettin' him up best I knowed for a week," said Abram,
as he knelt, and cupped his shrunken hands, while Maria guided

the wheat from her apron into them. "I'll scatter it along the
top rail, an' they'll be after it in fifteen minutes. Thank you,

Maria. 'T was good o' you to think of it."
Maria watched him steadily. How dear he was! How dear he always

had been! How happy they were together! "Abram," she asked,
hesitatingly, "is there anything else I could do for--your