A NOOK IN THE ALLEGHANIES 173 



And with another of her trifles let me be 

 done with this part of my story. There was 

 still the end of the afternoon to spare, and, 

 the rain being over, I skirted the woods, 

 walking and standing still by turns, till all 

 at once out of a thicket just before me came 

 the voice of a bird, — a brown thrasher, I 

 took it to be, — running over his song in the 

 very smallest of undertones ; phrase after 

 phrase, each with its natural emphasis and 

 cadence, but all barely audible, though the 

 singer could be only a few feet away. It 

 was wonderful, the beauty of the muted 

 voice and the fluency and perfection of the 

 tune. The music ceased ; and then, after a 

 moment, I heard, several times repeated, 

 still only a breath of sound, the mew of a 

 catbird. With that I drew a step or two 

 nearer, and there the bird sat, motionless 

 and demure, as if music and a listener were 

 things equally remote from his conscious- 

 ness. What was in his thoughts I know not. 

 He may have been tuning up, simply, mak- 

 ing sure of his technique, rehearsing upon 

 a dumb keyboard. Possibly, as men and 

 women do, he had sung without knowing it, 

 *-— dreaming of a last year's mate or of sum- 



