pretty heads appear above the ground, 

 and, smiling back at him, out they 

 spring dressed in their new mantles of 

 purple and yellow." 



At, this moment from the topmost 

 branch of an adjoining maple came a 

 low, sweet, tremulous note very much 

 indeed like a sigh. 



"Ah," said he, survej'ing the new- 

 comer with flattering attention, "that 

 is the young daughter of Mr. and Mrs. 

 Bluebird who nested in Lincoln Park 

 last summer. For some reason they 

 decided not to go South this season 

 but remained in Chicago all winter. 

 She strikes me as being a very pretty 

 young lady bird, and certainly it will 

 be no more than friendly upon my part 

 to fly over there and inquire how she 

 and her family withstood the rigors 

 of a Northern winter." 



From Miss Bluebird's demeanor, 

 when he alighted upon a twig beside 

 her, I concluded she greatly disap- 

 proved of his unceremonius approach. 

 Prettily lifting her wings and lightly 

 trembling upon her perch she made as 

 if to fly away, but instead only changed 

 her position a little, coyly turning aside 

 her head while listening to what the 

 young gentleman had to say. 



Encouraged by this Mr. Bluebird's 

 manner became very friendly indeed, 

 and very soon, reassured by his respect- 

 ful demeanor and sentiments uttered in 

 a voice of oh, such touching sweetness, 

 the young-lady bird unbent, respond- 

 ing at length in a very amiable man- 

 ner, I noticed, to her companion's 

 remarks. 



The conversation which followed 

 may have been very commonplace or 

 very bright and sparkling, but as there 

 is always an undercurrent of sadness in 

 the bluebird's note, and an air of pen- 

 siveness expressed in its actions, one 

 could only conjecture what the tenor 

 of this one might be. 



The pair, to my intense satisfaction, 

 the next day met again in the top of 

 the maple tree exchanging confidences 



in low, tremulous strains of surpassing 

 sweetness, uneasily shifting their sta- 

 tions from time to time, lifting their 

 wings, as is their pretty habit, and 

 trembling lightly upon their perches as 

 though about to rise and fly away. 



The following morning, which was 

 the fourteenth day of February, Mr. 

 Bluebird's manner when he greeted his 

 new acquaintance appeared to offend 

 her very much. She was cold and dis- 

 tant, whether from maidenly coyness 

 or a laudable desire to check his too 

 confident, proprietorship sort of air, 

 who can say? In no way daunted, that 

 gay bachelor pressed his suit warmly, 

 picturing in tones of peculiar tender- 

 ness the snug little home they would 

 establish together, what a devoted 

 husband he would be, attentive, sub- 

 missive, following her directions in all 

 things. Miss Bluebird shook her head. 



It was all very well, she replied, for 

 him to talk of poetry and romance, 

 but he knew well enough that upon her 

 would devolve all the serious cares of 

 life. While he would be very active in 

 hunting for tenements, submitting, no 

 doubt, to her choice, was it not the 

 custom of all the Mr. Bluebirds to fly 

 ahead in quest of material, gayly sing- 

 ing, while their mates selected and car- 

 ried and builded the nest? What poetry 

 would there be in life for her, she would 

 like to know, under such circumstan- 

 ces, and then, when all was done, to sit 

 for hours and days on the eggs she had 

 laid in order to rear a brood. Oh, no! 

 She was not ready to give up all the 

 pleasures of life yet, and then — and 

 then — Miss Bluebird lowered her eyes 

 and stammered something about being 

 too young to leave her mother. 



What argument Mr. Bluebird brought 

 to bear against this latter reason for 

 rejecting his suit I cannot say, but be- 

 ing a wise bird he only stifled a laugh 

 behind his foot and continued more 

 warmly to press it. Again and again 

 he followed her when she took a short 

 flight, quavering tt'u-al-ly, tnt-al-ly, no 



60 



