THE DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSE

AND IS CALLED

THE CONSCIOUS AMANDA

VIII

THE CONSCIOUS AMANDA

One morning, as John Gayther was working in the melon-bed, the Daughter
of the House came to him, and greeted him with such a glow on her face
that John knew she had something pleasant to tell him.

"Yes, miss," John replied to her greeting; "it is a beautiful morning,
and I know of something more beautiful than the morning."

"I do not see any very great beauty in muskmelons," said the Daughter of
the House, demurely.

"Muskmelons are not in my mind at this minute," John replied, letting
the hoe fall upon the ground as he looked at her pretty face, all aglow.

"I have something in my mind, John--a very original story. Papa said
yesterday I must tell a story, and I have one all ready. I do not
believe you ever heard one like it. Come to the summer-house; mamma and
papa are already there."

She tripped away, and John followed her, stopping on the way to pick up
a basket of seed-pods. He had just established himself on his stool,
facing the family group, and had taken some pods to shell as he
listened, when his hand was arrested and all the party silenced by a
burst of song from the tall lilac-bushes near the hedge. They could not
see the bird, but it was evident that he was enjoying his own melody.
Such pure, sweet notes--now rippling softly, now with a gay little
quiver of joy, now a tender prolonged note, now a succession of trills,
high and low, that set the air throbbing, and every now and then a great
burst of seraphic music, as if his little heart was so full of happiness
he was compelled to pour it forth to all who chose to listen. Our party
would gladly have listened for a long time, and have omitted the story
altogether; but after some minutes of delicious song the strains
suddenly ceased, and a little whirring noise in the lilacs indicated
that the bird had flown away.

The Daughter of the House gave a deep sigh. "I was afraid to breathe,"
she said, "lest he might fly away."

"I have heard nothing like that this summer," said the Mistress of the
House.

"It is the red thrush," said John Gayther, who had listened rapturously.
"A pair of them were here in the early spring. I wonder why this one has
come back."

"Perhaps," said the Daughter of the House, "it is one of the young ones
come back to visit his birthplace. I am afra