The Song of the Cardinal | Page 8

and slugs infested the bark. Feasting was almost as good
as in the Limberlost, and always there was the river to drink from and
to splash in at will.
In those days the child and the old man lingered for hours in the
orchard, watching the bird that every day seemed to grow bigger and
brighter. What a picture his coat, now a bright cardinal red, made
against the waxy green leaves! How big and brilliant he seemed as he
raced and darted in play among the creamy blossoms! How the little
girl stood with clasped hands worshipping him, as with swelling throat
he rocked on the highest spray and sang his inspiring chorus over and
over: "Good Cheer! Good Cheer!" Every day they came to watch and
listen. They scattered crumbs; and the Cardinal grew so friendly that he
greeted their coming with a quick "Chip! Chip!" while the delighted
child tried to repeat it after him. Soon they became such friends that
when he saw them approaching he would call softly "Chip! Chip!" and
then with beady eyes and tilted head await her reply.
Sometimes a member of his family from the Everglades found his way
into the orchard, and the Cardinal, having grown to feel a sense of
proprietorship, resented the intrusion and pursued him like a streak of
flame. Whenever any straggler had this experience, he returned to the
swamp realizing that the Cardinal of the orange orchard was almost
twice his size and strength, and so startlingly red as to be a wonder.
One day a gentle breeze from the north sprang up and stirred the orange
branches, wafting the heavy perfume across the land and out to sea, and
spread in its stead a cool, delicate, pungent odour. The Cardinal lifted
his head and whistled an inquiring note. He was not certain, and went
on searching for slugs, and predicting happiness in full round notes:
"Good Cheer! Good Cheer!" Again the odour swept the orchard, so
strong that this time there was no mistaking it. The Cardinal darted to
the topmost branch, his crest flaring, his tail twitching nervously. "Chip!
Chip!" he cried with excited insistence, "Chip! Chip!"
The breeze was coming stiffly and steadily now, unlike anything the
Cardinal ever had known, for its cool breath told of ice-bound fields

breaking up under the sun. Its damp touch was from the spring showers
washing the face of the northland. Its subtle odour was the
commingling of myriads of unfolding leaves and crisp plants,
upspringing; its pungent perfume was the pollen of catkins.
Up in the land of the Limberlost, old Mother Nature, with strident
muttering, had set about her annual house cleaning. With her efficient
broom, the March wind, she was sweeping every nook and cranny
clean. With her scrub-bucket overflowing with April showers, she was
washing the face of all creation, and if these measures failed to produce
cleanliness to her satisfaction, she gave a final polish with storms of
hail. The shining river was filled to overflowing; breaking up the ice
and carrying a load of refuse, it went rolling to the sea. The ice and
snow had not altogether gone; but the long-pregnant earth was
mothering her children. She cringed at every step, for the ground was
teeming with life. Bug and worm were working to light and warmth.
Thrusting aside the mold and leaves above them, spring beauties,
hepaticas, and violets lifted tender golden-green heads. The sap was
flowing, and leafless trees were covered with swelling buds. Delicate
mosses were creeping over every stick of decaying timber. The lichens
on stone and fence were freshly painted in unending shades of gray and
green. Myriads of flowers and vines were springing up to cover last
year's decaying leaves.
"The beautiful uncut hair of graves" was creeping over meadow,
spreading beside roadways, and blanketing every naked spot.
The Limberlost was waking to life even ahead of the fields and the
river. Through the winter it had been the barest and dreariest of places;
but now the earliest signs of returning spring were in its martial music,
for when the green hyla pipes, and the bullfrog drums, the bird voices
soon join them. The catkins bloomed first; and then, in an incredibly
short time, flags, rushes, and vines were like a sea of waving green, and
swelling buds were ready to burst. In the upland the smoke was curling
over sugar-camp and clearing; in the forests animals were rousing from
their long sleep; the shad were starting anew their never-ending journey
up the shining river; peeps of green were mantling hilltop and valley;

and the northland was ready for its dearest springtime treasures to come
home again.
From overhead were ringing those first glad notes, caught nearer the
Throne than those of any other