The following morning Buddy Brown-Thrasher was up bright and early—even earlier than was his habit. And for once in his life he did not pause to sing his morning-song from his favorite perch in the tree-top. He did not even wait to have his breakfast, but flew straight to the clump of young pines where—as he knew—Jasper Jay made his home.
It was so early in the morning that a gray light half veiled the mountains; and a white mist hung over the river. The Jay family was just beginning to awaken. And soon Buddy heard Jasper's harsh voice calling to some friend who lived a little distance away.
Jasper was still somewhat sleepy. Though Buddy Brown-Thrasher could not see him, he could hear Jasper talking to his wife in a low tone, which was quite different from the noisy squawk that people at once thought of at the mere mention of Jasper Jay's name. And soon a few sweet, flute-like notes came floating out from Jasper's tree and fell upon the ears of Buddy Brown-Thrasher, where he lay snugly hidden among the boughs of a young pine.
Buddy was delighted. You see, he was a real music-lover; and seldom had he heard any sound so beautiful as those rare notes of Jasper Jay's.
"Bravo!" Buddy cried, without thinking what he was doing. And in the next instant Jasper Jay thrust a towsled head through the pine-needles that screened his sleeping-place.
"Who's there?" he shouted in a hoarse and angry voice.
Buddy Brown-Thrasher did not answer. He kept still as a mouse. And waited for some time—hoping to hear Jasper's sweet notes again—but he waited in vain.