s; are you?"

"What do you suppose they think about us?"

"I'd rather not know."

Georgiana tells me that the birds in unusual numbers are wintering
among the trees, driven to us with the boldness of despair. God and
nature have forgotten them; they have nothing to choose between but
death and man. She has taken my place as their almoner and nightly
renders me an account of what she has done. This winter gives her a
great chance and she adorns it. It seems that never before were so
many redbirds in the cedars; and although one subject is never
mentioned between us, unconsciously she dwells upon these in her talk,
and plainly favors them in her affection for the sake of the past.
There are many stories I could relate to show how simple and beautiful
is this whole aspect of her nature.

A little thing happened to-night.

Towards ten o'clock she brought my hat, overcoat, overshoes, mittens,
comforter.

"Put them on," she said, mysteriously.

She also got ready, separating herself from me by so many clothes that
I could almost have felt myself entitled to a divorce.

It was like day out-of-doors with the moon shining on the snow. We
crept towards the garden, screened behind out-buildings. When we
reached the fence, we looked through towards the white pyramids. All
that part of the ground was alive with rabbits. Georgiana had spread
for them a banquet of Lucullus, a Belshazzar's feast. It had been done
to please me, I knew, and out of a certain playfulness of her own; out
there are other charities of hers, which she thinks known only to
herself, that show as well the divine drift of her thoughtfulness.

She is asleep now--for the sake of the Secret. After she had gone to
bed, what with the spectacle of the rabbits and what with our talk
beforehand of the many cardinals in the cedars, my thoughts began to
run freshly on old subjects, and, unlocking my bureau, I got out my
notes and drawings for the work on Kentucky birds. Georgiana does not
know that they exist; she never shall. With what authority those
studies call me still, as with a trumpet from the skies! and I know
that trumpet will sound on till my ears are past hearing. Sometimes I
look upon myself as a man who has had two hearts; one lies buried in
the woods, and the other sits at the fireside thinking of it. But
sleep on, Georgiana--mother that is to be. The dreams of your life
shall never be disturbed by the old dreams of mine.