72 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 
sent the allegory of diurnal transmutation, for his 
sable pinions close around the brightness of his 
vesture, as night encompasses golden hues of sunset, 
while the clear white space enfolded in these tints 
foretells the dawn of the morrow.” 
That morning I knew nothing of the history or 
the habits of this unknown and misrepresented bird. 
All I knew was that for me the twenty-ninth day of 
January, 1917, would be marked in my calendar 
forever by a bird from the north, all dusky gold and 
velvet black and ivory white — the Day of the Even- 
ing Grosbeak. 
At last the time came to leave them. As I started 
back for home, the sun showed through the trees 
like a vast red coal, with a smoke of clouds drifting 
across its face, and I traveled back to town in the 
full glory of a clear winter morning, filled with the 
measureless content of a great discovery. It was 
good to be alive and to look forward to more work 
and to more glorious, adventure-filled runaway days. 
