THE SONG OF THE CARDINAL, by GENE STRATTON-PORTER.

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                         The Song of the Cardinal

                           Gene Stratton-Porter

                             Grosset & Dunlap
                                 New York

                       Copyright 1903, 1906, 1915 by
                         Doubleday, Page & Company



                   Printed in the United States of America



                             IN LOVING TRIBUTE
                        TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER
                                MARK STRATTON

"For him every work of God manifested a new and heretofore
unappreciated loveliness."



                                Chapter 1

            "Good cheer! Good cheer!" exulted the Cardinal

HE DARTED through the orange orchard searching for slugs for his
breakfast, and between whiles he rocked on the branches and rang
over his message of encouragement to men. The song of the
Cardinal was overflowing with joy, for this was his holiday, his
playtime. The southern world was filled with brilliant sunshine,
gaudy flowers, an abundance of fruit, myriads of insects, and
never a thing to do except to bathe, feast, and be happy. No
wonder his song was a prophecy of good cheer for the future, for
happiness made up the whole of his past.

The Cardinal was only a yearling, yet his crest flared high, his
beard was crisp and black, and he was a very prodigy in size and
colouring. Fathers of his family that had accomplished many 
migrations appeared small beside him, and coats that had been shed 
season after season seemed dull compared with his. It was as if a 
pulsing heart of flame passed by when he came winging through 
the orchard.

Last season the Cardinal had pipped his shell, away to the
north, in that paradise of the birds, the Limberlost. There
thousands of acres of black marsh-muck stretch under summers' sun
and winters' snows. There are darksome pools of murky water, bits
of swale, and high morass. Giants of the forest reach skyward,
or, coated with velvet slime, lie decaying in sun-flecked pools,
while the underbrush is almost impenetrable.

The swamp resembles a big dining-table for the birds. Wild
grape-vines clamber to the tops of the highest trees, spreading
umbrella-wise over the branches, and their festooned floating
trailers wave as silken fringe in the play of the wind. The birds
loll in the shade, peel bark, gather dried curlers for nest
material, and feast on the pungent fruit. They chatter in swarms
over the wild-cherry trees, and overload their crops with red
haws, wild plums, papaws, blackberries and mandrake. The alders
around the edge draw flocks in search of berries, and the marsh
grasses and weeds are weighted with seed hunters. The muck is
alive with worms; and the whole swamp ablaze with flowers, whose
colours and perfumes attract myriads of insects and butterflies.

Wild creepers flaunt their red and gold from the treetops, and
the bumblebees and humming-birds make common cause in rifling
the honey-laden trumpets. The air around the wild-plum and redhaw
trees is vibrant with the beating wings of millions of wild bees,
and the bee-birds feast to gluttony. The fetid odours of the
swamp draw insects in swarms, and fly-catchers tumble and twist
in air in pursuit of them.

Every hollow tree homes its colony of bats. Snakes sun on the
bushes. The water folk leave trails of shining ripples in their
wake as they cross the lagoons. Turtles waddle clumsily from the
logs. Frogs take graceful leaps from pool to pool. Everything
native to that section of the country-underground, creeping, or
a-wing--can be found in the Limberlost; but above all the birds.

Dainty green warblers nest in its tree-tops, and red-eyed vireos
choose a location below. It is the home of bell-birds, finches,
and thrushes. There are flocks of blackbirds, grackles, and
crows. Jays and catbirds quarrel constantly, and marsh-wrens
keep up never-ending chatter. Orioles swing their pendent purses
from the branches, and with the tanagers picnic on mulberries and
insects. In the evening, night-hawks dart on silent wing;
whippoorwills set up a plaintive cry that they continue far into
the night; and owls revel in moonlight and rich hunting. At dawn,
robins wake the echoes of each new day with the admonition,
"Cheer up! Cheer up!" and a little later big black vultures go
wheeling through cloudland or hang there, like frozen splashes,
searching the Limberlost and the surrounding country for food. The
boom of the bittern resounds all day, and above it the rasping
scream of the blue heron, as he strikes terror to the hearts of
frogdom; while the occasional cries of a lost loon, strayed from
its flock in northern migration, fill the swamp with sounds of
wailing.

Flashing through the tree-tops of the Limberlost there are birds
whose colour is more brilliant than that of the gaudiest flower
lifting its face to light and air. The lilies of the mire are not
so white as the white herons that fish among them. The ripest
spray of goldenrod is not so highly coloured as the burnished
gold on the breast of the oriole that rocks on it. The jays are
bluer than the calamus bed they wrangle above with throaty
chatter. The finches are a finer purple than the ironwort. For
every clump of foxfire flaming in the Limberlost, there is a
cardinal glowing redder on a bush above it. These may not be more
numerous than other birds, but their brilliant colouring and the
fearless disposition make them seem so.

The Cardinal was hatched in a thicket of sweetbrier and
blackberry. His father was a tough old widower of many
experiences and variable temper. He was the biggest, most
aggressive redbird in the Limberlost, and easily reigned king of
his kind. Catbirds, king-birds, and shrikes gave him a wide
berth, and not even the ever-quarrelsome jays plucked up enough
courage to antagonize him. A few days after his latest
bereavement, he saw a fine, plump young female; and she so filled
his eye that he gave her no rest until she permitted his caresses,
and carried the first twig to the wild rose. She was very proud
to mate with the king of the Limberlost; and if deep in her heart
she felt transient fears of her lordly master, she gave no sign,
for she was a bird of goodly proportion and fine feather herself.

She chose her location with the eye of an artist, and the
judgment of a nest builder of more experience. It would be
difficult for snakes and squirrels to penetrate that briery
thicket. The white berry blossoms scarcely had ceased to attract
a swarm of insects before the sweets of the roses recalled them;
by the time they had faded, luscious big berries ripened within
reach and drew food hunters. She built with far more than
ordinary care. It was a beautiful nest, not nearly so carelessly
made as those of her kindred all through the swamp. There was a
distinct attempt at a cup shape, and it really was neatly lined
with dried blades of sweet marsh grass. But it was in the laying
of her first egg that the queen cardinal forever distinguished
herself. She was a fine healthy bird, full of love and happiness
over her first venture in nest-building, and she so far surpassed
herself on that occasion she had difficulty in convincing any one
that she was responsible for the result.

Indeed, she was compelled to lift beak and wing against her mate
in defense of this egg, for it was so unusually large that he
could not be persuaded short of force that some sneak of the
feathered tribe had not slipped in and deposited it in her
absence. The king felt sure there was something wrong with the
egg, and wanted to roll it from the nest; but the queen knew her
own, and stoutly battled for its protection. She further
increased their prospects by laying three others. After that the
king made up his mind that she was a most remarkable bird, and
went away pleasure-seeking; but the queen settled to brooding, a
picture of joyous faith and contentment.

Through all the long days, when the heat became intense, and the
king was none too thoughtful of her appetite or comfort, she
nestled those four eggs against her breast and patiently waited.
The big egg was her treasure. She gave it constant care. Many
times in a day she turned it; and always against her breast there
was the individual pressure that distinguished it from the
others. It was the first to hatch, of course, and the queen felt
that she had enough if all the others failed her; for this egg
pipped with a resounding pip, and before the silky down was
really dry on the big terracotta body, the young Cardinal arose
and lustily demanded food.

The king came to see him and at once acknowledged subjugation. He
was the father of many promising cardinals, yet he never had seen
one like this. He set the Limberlost echoes rolling with his
jubilant rejoicing. He unceasingly hunted for the ripest berries
and seed. He stuffed that baby from morning until night, and
never came with food that he did not find him standing a-top the
others calling for more. The queen was just as proud of him and
quite as foolish in her idolatry, but she kept tally and gave the
remainder every other worm in turn. They were unusually fine
babies, but what chance has merely a fine baby in a family that
possesses a prodigy? The Cardinal was as large as any two of the
other nestlings, and so red the very down on him seemed tinged
with crimson; his skin and even his feet were red.

He was the first to climb to the edge of the nest and the first
to hop on a limb. He surprised his parents by finding a slug, and
winged his first flight to such a distance that his adoring
mother almost went into spasms lest his strength might fail, and
he would fall into the swamp and become the victim of a hungry
old turtle. He returned safely, however; and the king was so
pleased he hunted him an unusually ripe berry, and perching
before him, gave him his first language lesson. Of course, the
Cardinal knew how to cry "Pee" and "Chee" when he burst his
shell; but the king taught him to chip with accuracy and
expression, and he learned that very day that male birds of the
cardinal family always call "Chip," and the females "Chook." In
fact, he learned so rapidly and was generally so observant, that
before the king thought it wise to give the next lesson, he found
him on a limb, his beak closed, his throat swelling, practising
his own rendering of the tribal calls, "Wheat! Wheat! Wheat!"
"Here! Here! Here!" and "Cheer! Cheer! Cheer!" This so delighted
the king that he whistled them over and over and helped the
youngster all he could.

He was so proud of him that this same night he gave him his
first lesson in tucking his head properly and going to sleep
alone. In a few more days, when he was sure of his wing strength,
he gave him instructions in flying. He taught him how to spread
his wings and slowly sail from tree to tree; how to fly in short
broken curves, to avoid the aim of a hunter; how to turn abruptly
in air and make a quick dash after a bug or an enemy. He taught
him the proper angle at which to breast a stiff wind, and that he
always should meet a storm head first, so that the water would
run as the plumage lay.

His first bathing lesson was a pronounced success. The Cardinal
enjoyed water like a duck. He bathed, splashed, and romped until
his mother was almost crazy for fear he would attract a
watersnake or turtle; but the element of fear was not a part of
his disposition. He learned to dry, dress, and plume his
feathers, and showed such remarkable pride in keeping himself
immaculate, that although only a youngster, he was already a bird
of such great promise, that many of the feathered inhabitants of
the Limberlost came to pay him a call.

Next, the king took him on a long trip around the swamp, and
taught him to select the proper places to hunt for worms; how to
search under leaves for plant-lice and slugs for meat; which
berries were good and safe, and the kind of weeds that bore the
most and best seeds. He showed him how to find tiny pebbles to
grind his food, and how to sharpen and polish his beak.

Then he took up the real music lessons, and taught him how to
whistle and how to warble and trill. "Good Cheer! Good Cheer!"
intoned the king. "Coo Cher! Coo Cher!" imitated the Cardinal.
These songs were only studied repetitions, but there was a depth
and volume in his voice that gave promise of future greatness,
when age should have developed him, and experience awakened his
emotions. He was an excellent musician for a youngster.

He soon did so well in caring for himself, in finding food and in
flight, and grew so big and independent, that he made numerous
excursions alone through the Limberlost; and so impressive were
his proportions, and so aggressive his manner, that he suffered
no molestation. In fact, the reign of the king promised to end
speedily; but if he feared it he made no sign, and his pride in
his wonderful offspring was always manifest. After the Cardinal
had explored the swamp thoroughly, a longing for a wider range
grew upon him; and day after day he lingered around the borders,
looking across the wide cultivated fields, almost aching to test
his wings in one long, high, wild stretch of flight.

A day came when the heat of the late summer set the marsh
steaming, and the Cardinal, flying close to the borders, caught
the breeze from the upland; and the vision of broad fields
stretching toward the north so enticed him that he spread his
wings, and following the line of trees and fences as much as
possible, he made his first journey from home. That day was so
delightful it decided his fortunes. It would seem that the swamp,
so appreciated by his kindred, should have been sufficient for
the Cardinal, but it was not. With every mile he winged his
flight, came a greater sense of power and strength, and a keener
love for the broad sweep of field and forest. His heart bounded
with the zest of rocking on the wind, racing through the
sunshine, and sailing over the endless panorama of waving corn
fields, and woodlands.

The heat and closeness of the Limberlost seemed a prison well
escaped, as on and on he flew in straight untiring flight.
Crossing a field of half-ripened corn that sloped to the river,
the Cardinal saw many birds feeding there, so he alighted on a
tall tree to watch them. Soon he decided that he would like to
try this new food. He found a place where a crow had left an ear
nicely laid open, and clinging to the husk, as he saw the others
do, he stretched to his full height and drove his strong sharp
beak into the creamy grain. After the stifling swamp hunting,
after the long exciting flight, to rock on this swaying corn and
drink the rich milk of the grain, was to the Cardinal his first
taste of nectar and ambrosia. He lifted his head when he came to
the golden kernel, and chipping it in tiny specks, he tasted and
approved with all the delight of an epicure in a delicious new
dish.

Perhaps there were other treats in the next field. He decided to
fly even farther. But he had gone only a short distance when he
changed his course and turned to the South, for below him was a
long, shining, creeping thing, fringed with willows, while
towering above them were giant sycamore, maple, tulip, and elm
trees that caught and rocked with the wind; and the Cardinal did
not know what it was. Filled with wonder he dropped lower and
lower. Birds were everywhere, many flying over and dipping into
it; but its clear creeping silver was a mystery to the Cardinal.

The beautiful river of poetry and song that the Indians first
discovered, and later with the French, named Ouabache; the
winding shining river that Logan and Me-shin-go-me-sia loved; the
only river that could tempt Wa-ca-co-nah from the Salamonie and
Mississinewa; the river beneath whose silver sycamores and giant
maples Chief Godfrey pitched his campfires, was never more
beautiful than on that perfect autumn day.

With his feathers pressed closely, the Cardinal alighted on a
willow, and leaned to look, quivering with excitement and
uttering explosive "chips"; for there he was, face to face with a
big redbird that appeared neither peaceful nor timid. He uttered
an impude