„ amazingly sweet that it could only be a 

 ' Christmas message, yet so out of place that 

 Q^ the listener stood doubting whether his ears 

 Cnr/srmos ^vere playing him false, wondering whether 

 the music or the landscape would not sud- 

 denly vanish as an unreal thing. The song 

 was continuous — a soft melodious warble, 

 full of sweetness and suggestion; but sug- 

 gestion of June meadows and a summer sun- 

 rise, rather than of snow-packed evergreens 

 and Christmastide. To add to the unreality, 

 no ear could tell where the song came from ; 

 its own muffled quality disguised the source 

 perfectly. I searched the trees in front; 

 there was no bird there. I looked behind; 

 there was no place for a bird to sing. I 

 remembered the redstart, how he calls some- 

 times from among the rocks, and refuses to 

 show himself, and runs and hides when you 

 look for him. I searched the wall; but not 

 a bird track marked the snow. All the while 

 the wonderful carol went on, now in the air, 

 now close beside me, growing more and more 

 bewildering as I listened. It took me a good 

 half-hour to locate the sound; then I under- 



