"One's all right, maybe ... yes, it sounds nice, it really does ... but a bunch of them together can drive you nuts."
There was never more than one, though, all that month, and every day Portia listened for its song. It meant something special to her, perhaps because it was the little music of this first lovely morning....
Finally the racket of the birds even got through to Foster, and he woke up. Hearing conversation just below his window, he hopped up and looked out to see his sister and his cousin; then he, also in his pajamas, ran down the stairs and out of doors to join them.
"Hi, Fang!" Julian greeted him. "How are you today?"
"I have scrofulous humours," Foster said.
"You have what?"
"Something she read off a bottle," Foster explained, indicating his sister. "I haven't really got them. I don't think I have."
"I don't think so either."
"Well, I'm going up to dress," Portia said. "My pajama legs are soaked with dew. Have you had breakfast, Jule?"
"Ye-es." Julian sounded doubtful. "But—"