The little brown thrush felt the eagle quiver and begin to drop toward the earth.
Then away flew the little brown thrush. The air was so light it seemed easy to fly. On and on he went, for he was not tired. He had had a ride almost to heaven.
"Now," he thought, "I will go on and will get the song."
For some time, the little brown thrush flew along the Great Sky Trail. All at once the air seemed full of song. He knew he was nearing the Happy Hunting Ground.
He listened. One song seemed more beautiful to him than the rest. Again and again he listened. He caught the notes. He sang them many times, until he was sure that he could carry the song to earth.
Then down, and down, and down, he floated, through clouds and storms and sunshine, back to Mother Earth.
Very happy, he flew toward the council wood. He was so full of his beautiful song and the wonderful Sky Trail, he thought he must pour out his song at once.
But when he reached the council wood, he dared not open his mouth! He remembered that he had stolen his ride part way to heaven,—and he knew the other birds knew it.
But that song! he must sing it! He thought his throat would burst, if he did not sing!
So the little brown thrush flew off by himself, into a deep, dark part of the wood. There, hidden by the brush and the bushes, he poured forth the song he had heard on the Great Sky Trail.