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Presently his mate appeared, and with a sharp note he called her down beside him. Then both birds hopped and twittered about the rail, with apparently never a care in the world. The male especially seemed just in the mood for a frolic.
Birds twittered over her head, and a squirrel leaped across the path ahead of her. On benches here and there sat men, women, and children. Through the trees flashed the sparkle of the sun on water; and from somewhere came the shouts of children and the sound of music. Once again Pollyanna hesitated; then, a little timidly, she accosted a handsomely-dressed young woman coming toward her.
There was scarcely a sound, though now and then a bird twittered somewhere in the foliage and once he beard the mournful hoot of an owl far away to his left. "I wonder if that could have been a signal, or was it a real bird," whispered Tad to himself. "I have heard of a certain band of outlaws that always used the hoot of the owl as their signal to each other."
One thing she learned that the French woman did not teach her to whistle! She remembers answering the sea-gulls who mewed outside in the harbor and the sparrows who twittered in the ivy and the tiny pair of love-birds who dwelt in a cage at her mother's bedroom window.
The schoolroom was still Anna's special room, although it had changed its character of late years. It was a large, cheerful front room, two floors above the drawing-room, and Anna had made it very pretty and comfortable. Here she kept her books and all her treasures, and here her canaries twittered and sang in the sunshine.
Not even a night bird twittered to help him out of his predicament. With a bold face, he made a start at random. He fell into some tangled wood where he was held fast. Manstin let go his bundle and began to lament having given away his two eyes. "Friend, my friend, I have need of you!
That was the summer dream of winter, and the sun scattered the hoar frost from the boughs. "When will spring come?" asked the sparrows. "The spring!" sounded like an echo from the hills on which the snow lay. The sun shone warmer, the snow melted, and the birds twittered, "Spring is coming!" And aloft through the air came the first stork, and the second followed him.
His face was scarlet now, and his shining eyes looked down on the dancer's throat and breast with a mingling of eagerness and horror. Slowly she raised herself, turned, bent forwards quivering, and presented her face to him, while the women twittered once more in chorus. He still stared at her without moving.
Carmel looked after them with shining eyes. "It's like St. Francis of Assissi and his 'little sisters the birds," she said softly. "Have you read the Little Flowers of St. Francis, and how he preached to the swallows and they all flocked round him and twittered? I've never seen birds so tame as this! They aren't in Sicily, you can hardly ever get near them there."
The little wren stood and sung to his sitting wife his loud, ecstatic song, made all of her own name, Matilda, Urilda, Lucinda, Belinda, Adaline, Madaline, Caroline, or Melinda, as the case might be, singing as though every bone of his tiny body were a golden flute. The hummingbirds hung on invisible wings, and twittered with delight as they feasted on woodbine and honeysuckle.
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