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until he almost crowded her from the eggs。 He pestered her with
caresses and cooed over his love…song until every chipmunk on the
line fence was familiar with his story。 The Cardinal's temper
was worn to such a fine edge that he darted at the dove one day
and pulled a big tuft of feathers from his back。 When he had
returned to the sumac； he was compelled to admit that his anger
lay quite as much in that he had no one to love as because the
dove was disgustingly devoted。
Every morning brought new arrivalstrim young females fresh from
their long holiday； and big boastful males appearing their
brightest and bravest； each singer almost splitting his throat in
the effort to captivate the mate he coveted。 They came flashing
down the river bank； like rockets of scarlet； gold； blue； and
black； rocking on the willows； splashing in the water； bursting
into jets of melody； making every possible display of their
beauty and music； and at times fighting fiercely when they
discovered that the females they were wooing favoured their
rivals and desired only to be friendly with them。
The heart of the Cardinal sank as he watched。 There was not a
member of his immediate family among them。 He pitied himself as
he wondered if fate had in store for him the trials he saw others
suffering。 Those dreadful feathered females！ How they coquetted！
How they flirted！ How they sleeked and flattened their plumage；
and with half…open beaks and sparkling eyes； hopped closer and
closer as if charmed。 The eager singers； with swelling throats；
sang and sang in a very frenzy of extravagant pleading； but just
when they felt sure their little loves were on the point of
surrender； a rod distant above the bushes would go streaks of
feathers； and there was nothing left but to endure the bitter
disappointment； follow them； and begin all over。 For the last
three days the Cardinal had been watching his cousin；
rose…breasted Grosbeak； make violent love to the most exquisite
little female； who apparently encouraged his advances； only to
see him left sitting as blue and disconsolate as any human lover；
when he discovers that the maid who has coquetted with him for a
season belongs to another man。
The Cardinal flew to the very top of the highest sycamore and
looked across country toward the Limberlost。 Should he go there
seeking a swamp mate among his kindred？ It was not an endurable
thought。 To be sure； matters were becoming serious。 No bird
beside the shining river had plumed； paraded； or made more music
than he。 Was it all to be wasted？ By this time he confidently
had expected results。 Only that morning he had swelled with
pride as he heard Mrs。 Jay tell her quarrelsome husband that she
wished she could exchange him for the Cardinal。 Did not the
gentle dove pause by the sumac； when she left brooding to take
her morning dip in the dust； and gaze at him with unconcealed
admiration？ No doubt she devoutly wished her plain pudgy husband
wore a scarlet coat。 But it is praise from one's own sex that is
praise indeed； and only an hour ago the lark had reported that
from his lookout above cloud he saw no other singer anywhere so
splendid as the Cardinal of the sumac。 Because of these things
he held fast to his conviction that he was a prince indeed； and
he decided to remain in his chosen location and with his physical
and vocal attractions compel the finest little cardinal in the
fields to seek him。
He planned it all very carefully： how she would hear his splendid
music and come to take a peep at him； how she would be captivated
by his size and beauty； how she would come timidly； but come； of
course； for his approval； how he would condescend to accept her
if she pleased him in all particulars； how she would be devoted
to him； and how she would approve his choice of a home； for the
sumac was in a lovely spot for scenery； as well as nest…building。
For several days he had boasted； he had bantered； he had
challenged； he had on this last day almost condescended to
coaxing； but not one little bright…eyed cardinal female had come
to offer herself。
The performance of a brown thrush drove him wild with envy。 The
thrush came gliding up the river bank； a rusty…coated； sneaking
thing of the underbrush； and taking possession of a thorn bush
just opposite the sumac； he sang for an hour in the open。 There
was no way to improve that music。 It was woven fresh from the
warp and woof of his fancy。 It was a song so filled with the joy
and gladness of spring； notes so thrilled with love's pleading
and passion's tender pulsing pain； that at its close there were a
half…dozen admiring thrush females gathered around。 With care
and deliberation the brown thrush selected the most attractive；
and she followed him to the thicket as if charmed。
It was the Cardinal's dream materialized for another before his
very eyes； and it filled him with envy。 If that plain brown bird
that slinked as if he had a theft to account for； could； by
showing himself and singing for an hour； win a mate； why should
not he； the most gorgeous bird of the woods； openly flaunting his
charms and discoursing his music； have at least equal success？
Should he； the proudest； most magnificent of cardinals； be
compelled to go seeking a mate like any common bird？ Perish the
thought！
He went to the river to bathe。 After finding a spot where the
water flowed crystal…clear over a bed of white limestone； he
washed until he felt that he could be no cleaner。 Then the
Cardinal went to his favourite sun…parlour； and stretching on a
limb； he stood his feathers on end； and sunned； fluffed and
prinked until he was immaculate。
On the tip…top antler of the old stag sumac； he perched and
strained until his jetty whiskers appeared stubby。 He poured out
a tumultuous cry vibrant with every passion raging in him。 He
caught up his own rolling echoes and changed and varied them。 He
improvised； and set the shining river ringing； 〃Wet year！ Wet
year！〃
He whistled and whistled until all birdland and even mankind
heard； for the farmer paused at his kitchen door； with his pails
of foaming milk； and called to his wife：
〃Hear that； Maria！ Jest hear it！ I swanny； if that bird doesn't
stop predictin' wet weather； I'll get so scared I won't durst put
in my corn afore June。 They's some birds like killdeers an'
bobwhites 'at can make things pretty plain； but I never heard a
bird 'at could jest speak words out clear an' distinct like that
fellow。 Seems to come from the river bottom。 B'lieve I'll jest
step down that way an' see if the lower field is ready for the
plow yet。〃
〃Abram Johnson；〃 said his wife； 〃bein's you set up for an honest
man； if you want to trapse through slush an' drizzle a half…mile
to see a bird； why say so； but don't for land's sake lay it on to
plowin' 'at you know in all conscience won't be ready for a week
yet 'thout pretendin' to look。〃