The minstrel will not stay.
But the spot is no “banquet-hall deserted,” for all that; the departure of the summer birds is but to make way for those who have gladdened Canadian woods for many weeks. The purple finch will soon be here, and tree-sparrows in great companies, and the gentle white-throat; and these, with our stately cardinal for a leader, will hold forth melodiously, though the north winds blow and the angry east wind brings the snow upon its wings.
In the smile of winter sunshine there will be enacted another drama, but now it is comedy rather than tragedy. There are no conflicting interests now, no serious quarrels, no carking cares—the world is really in good humor and our days of early darkness are misunderstood.
Let him who doubts—and there are but few who do not—turn from the worn lines of travel, go well out of the beaten path, and find, in the way-side nooks his neighbors have neglected, most excellent company: birds of brave heart that can sing in the teeth of a storm; and many a creature, wrapped in his furry coat, laughs at the earnest efforts of winter to keep him from his outings.
Did I dare sit in this same oak when the leaves have fallen, I should have strange tales to tell,—tales so strange that the summertide would be commonplace in comparison.
CHAPTER
SECOND