54 THE GOLDHAMMER 



the day before, but in the country and especially in 

 July, one grows soon intimate. The fresh morning- 

 air, the bright sunshine, the delicious scent of new 

 mown hay which came from the meadows set us yet 

 more at ease, and we were walking under the trees in 

 the garden chattering like a couple of old friends. She was 

 of a merry disposition, very inquisitive and talkative; 

 I rather timid and of a more romantic mood, easily 

 inflamed and concealing under very awkward maimers 

 a hilent tenderness which only demanded an opportunity 

 to show itself more openly 



While we were loitering aboiit, the song of a bird 

 in the bowers struck our ear — a song consisting of short 

 phrases, but of an exquisitelv mellow sound. Wc could 

 only compare it to the notes of a golden llute. It was 

 a pure and full sound, wavering and yet tender at the 

 same time. 



The young girl stopped to listen. 



« What bird is that singing so prettily.^ » asked she. 



« It is a goldhammer. « 



(( Reallv, what is it like!^ 1 have never seen one. » 



She made me desc-ribe to her the bird that was so 

 fond of cherries. I tried to picture its beautiful yellow 

 breast with its black wings; its half black and half 

 yellow tail. 1 tried to give her an idea of the goldhammer, 

 with its broad, wide open, purple-hued bill, its open nos- 

 trils, its large, round, dewy eye, red as a heart-cherry 



