“'Tis said that whatever sweet feeling
May be throbbing within the fond heart,
When listening to a whippoorwill s-pieling,
For a twelvemonth will never depart.”
“Spieling doesn't seem specially in the whippoorwill's line.”
“It's exactly in his line. Years ago when I was a little girl he proved it. One evening at dusk I was sitting in an arbor when he, not suspecting my presence, alighted within a few feet of me and began his song. It was wonderfully interesting to watch his little throat puff and puff with the notes as they poured forth, but the thing that astounded me was the length of time he sang without ever pausing for breath. And so he is a genuine spieler. I will add, however, that the line is ‘When listening to a whippoorwill singing.’ But my literary conscience will never let me rhyme singing with feeling, hence the sudden change.”
“Now I'll speak my piece,” announced the doctor:
“De frogs in de pon' am a singin' all de night;
Wid de hallelujah campmeetin' tune;
An' dey all seem to try wid deir heart, soul and might