CHAPTER XI
BANNERTAIL AND THE ECHO VOICE
THE Hunger-moon, our February, was half worn away when again the sky gods seemed to win against the powers of chill and gloom. Food was ever scarcer, but Bannertail had enough, and was filled with the vigor of young life. The sun came up in a cloudless sky that day, and blazed through the branches of still, tense woodland, the air was crisp and exhilarating, and Bannertail, tingling with the elation of life, leaped up for the lust of leaping, and sang out his loudest song:
"Qua, qua, qua, quaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" from a high perch. Ringing across the woodland it went, and the Woodwales drummed on hardwood drums, in keen responsiveness, to the same fair, vernal influence of the time.
Though he seemed only to sing for singing's sake, he was conscious lately of a growing loneliness, a hankering for company that had never possessed him all winter; indeed, he had resented it when any hint of visitors had reached him, but now he was restless and desireful, as well as bursting with the wish to sing.
"Qua, qua, qua, quaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" he sang again and again, and on the still, bright air were echoes from the hills.
"Qua, qua, quaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" He poured it out again, and the echo came, "Qua, quaaaaa!" Then another call, and the echo, "Quaaa!"