morning, although their notes have a softer sweetness than have those of their 

 red-robed lords. A man who was at work clearing land back of the cardinals' 

 retreat said that the redbirds were more plentiful than ever. Here was some 

 recompense for days spent in stufify Chicago justice shops in the effort to secure 

 the punishment of receivers of stolen goods in the shape of trapped and caged 

 cardinals. 



On our right was a great field whose soil was pierced with standing stalks 

 of withered corn. One of the cardinals left his undergrowth retreat, and crossing 

 our path lighted on one of the stalks about midway of its height. An ear of corn 

 that the gleaners had overlooked was still clinging to the stem. The cardinal at 

 once began the process of husking and shelling. With his powerful beak he 

 pulled a strip of the husk outward and downward, and then he attacked the dis- 

 closed kernels. The sun struck the bird full and fair. His plumage was like fire, 

 and a brilliant picture it made against the contrasting brown of the corn. The 

 cardinal shelled at least a dozen kernels and dropped them one by one to the 

 ground. Then he took to the ground himself and began the work of cracking the 

 provender; at least I think he cracked it. He went through a process that was 

 remarkably like chewing, but even a strong field-glass did not enable me to 

 determine positively whether or not he swallowed the kernels whole. In a few 

 minutes he left his feeding-place and went back to his friends in the underbrush. 

 I went down into the field and examined his breakfast-table, but he had cleared 

 it so thoroughly that not a crumb remained. 



It was hard to leave the whistling redbirds behind, but there were other 

 feathered friends and feathered strangers to be looked for, and forsooth, all the 

 cardinals of southern Indiana are not confined to one bit of underbrush. We left 

 the railroad track for the highroad. Soon we were overtaken by an attenuated- 

 looking native, seated on a load of hickory staves drawn by a pair of fat horses. 

 He politely offered the strangers a "lift," for he was going a "right smart way." 

 His invitation was speedily accepted, for March mud makes tired tramps. The 

 driver confided to his guests who sat on the body of the load that he worked from 

 sunrise to sunset cutting and drawing hickory for the sum of sixty cents a day. 

 On this he fed, clothed, and housed a wife and four children. We felt no need 

 to commiserate this man on his lot, because he said he was contented. What is 

 there more than this? This hewer of wood was a man of sentiment. My heart 

 went out to him. 



"Some people think I am queer," he said, "because I stop work when the 

 brown thrush sings, and because I don't let my boys go bird-nesting." 



Bless him! It is good to know that the small army of "cranks" has recruits 

 where they are most needed. 



From a beech at the left of the road came a sharp "Quank, quank." Quick 

 as a flash our Hoosier stave-splitter said : "That's a nuthatch. Most people here- 

 abouts call it a sapsucker. It ain't." 



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