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The thrush's song is lovely, still one cannot always listen to the thrush. The fields are but large open spaces after a time to many, unless they know a little of insects, when at once they become populous, and there is a link found between the birds and the flowers. It is like opening another book of endless pages, and coloured illustrations on every page.
But he waltzed with a sort of serious alertness that was not so bad as it might have been. Kate danced well. Her slight body seemed as full of the spirit of the waltz as a thrush's body is of song. Peter Roeder moved along with her in a maze, only half-answering her questions, his gray eyes full of mystery.
The church got at it and added to it a saint's name; but for all its little world it remained Bébée Bébée when it trotted no higher than the red carnation heads; Bébée when its yellow curls touched as high as the lavender-bush; Bébée on this proud day when the thrush's song and the cock's crow found her sixteen years old.
You said that Love would open the shutters some day. Listen, Sylvia, do you hear that?" Across the still water rang the woodland bells that preceded the triumphant flourish of the thrush's song. "I should like that for my wedding music," said Dunham slowly, after a minute. "Those are the only bells that should chime upon my wedding if I had my wish." Sylvia's heart beat fast.
What a delight it was to handle the precious bits of things, like porcelain in their daintiness! to sort out the tender blue of the robin, the speckled beauty of the sparrow; to put the pee-wee's and the thrush's each in its place, with a swift throb of regret that there would have been another little soft throat bursting with a song, if some one had not taken this pretty egg.
I prefer the hermit-thrush to the nightingale, not because the thrush's notes are sweeter, but because he knows when to leave off, and let his song vanish, at the exquisite moment, into the silence of mysterious twilight." "You seem to be proving," I said, "what most men will admit without argument, that 'enough is as good as a feast."
The new school of nature writers will afford many samples of the former method; read Thoreau's description of the wood thrush's song or the bobolink's song, or his account of wild apples, or of his life at Walden Pond, or almost any other bit of his writing, for a sample of the latter. In his best work he uses language in the imaginative way of the poet.
"And I, on the contrary, am glad," she interrupted, with a laugh that reminded him of the liquid chuckle in a thrush's song, or of water swirling down a deep pool; "for it tells me I have grown out of recognition, and that is just what I wanted." This puzzled him, and he frowned a little. "You know the Islands?" he asked. "This is not your first visit?"
What secret sorrow can you have on a day like this?" He laughed, but made no reply. "Ah, listen!" she cried, "what bird is that? Oh, isn't it beautiful? almost equal to the thrush's song. He seems to sing as if his notes were written for him in couplets."
Solomon explained hastily that what he meant was not one of the cumbrous boats that humans use; the proposed boat was to be simply a thrush's nest large enough to hold Peter. But still, to Peter's agony, the thrushes were sulky. 'We are very busy people, they grumbled, 'and this would be a big job. 'Quite so, said Solomon, 'and, of course, Peter would not allow you to work for nothing.
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