use of its song an' colour, an'
pretty teeterin' ways, but I ain't so slow but I see I'm paid in what
they do for me. Up go these signs, an' it won't be a happy day for
anybody I catch trespassin' on my birds."

Maria studied the signs meditatively. "You shouldn't be forced to put
'em up," she said conclusively. "If it's been decided 'at it's good
for 'em to be here, an' laws made to protect 'em, people ought to act
with some sense, an' leave them alone. I never was so int'rested in
the birds in all my life; an' I'll jest do a little lookin' out myself.
If you hear a spang o' the dinner bell when you're out in the field,
you'll know it means there's some one sneakin' 'round with a gun."

Abram caught Maria, and planted a resounding smack on her cheek, where
the roses of girlhood yet bloomed for him. Then he filled his pockets
with crumbs and grain, and strolled to the river to set the Cardinal's
table. He could hear the sharp incisive "Chip!" and the tender mellow
love-notes as he left the barn; and all the way to the sumac they rang
in his ears.

The Cardinal met him at the corner of the field, and hopped over bushes
and the fence only a few yards from him. When Abram had scattered his
store on the rail, the bird came tipping and tilting, daintily caught
up a crumb, and carried it to the sumac. His mate was pleased to take
it; and he carried her one morsel after another until she refused to
open her beak for more. He made a light supper himself; and then
swinging on the grape-vine, he closed the day with an hour of music.
He repeatedly turned a bright questioning eye toward Abram, but he
never for a moment lost sight of the nest and the plump gray figure of
his little mate. As she brooded over her eggs, he brooded over her;
and that she might realize the depth and constancy of his devotion, he
told her repeatedly, with every tender inflection he could throw into
his tones, that she was "So dear! So dear!"

The Cardinal had not known that the coming of the mate he so coveted
would fill his life with such unceasing gladness, and yet, on the very
day that happiness seemed at fullest measure, there was trouble in the
sumac. He had overstayed his time, chasing a fat moth he particularly
wanted for his mate, and she, growing thirsty past endurance, left the
nest and went to the river. Seeing her there, he made all possible
haste to take his turn at brooding, so he arrived just in time to see a
pilfering red s