She began to croon a soft little song; she unclasped her hands and held them out before her. A second nuthatch left the branch of a pine tree nearby and descended to settle on her left hand. She gave an indistinct gurgle of joy, and put her right hand over it.
“Why, she’s a wonder,” I said to myself, “a wonder—girl!” I hesitated, and then exultantly I murmured: “A wonder woman!” and turned and beat a hasty retreat to the cabin.
Arrived there I sat down rather breathlessly on the steps. I saw light at last!
It was under the stars that night that I told Wanza of my discovery. Joey was sleeping peacefully indoors, watched over by Mrs. Olds, the doctor had just left, after assuring me that my lad would soon be convalescent, and Wanza and I walked on the river bank.
“Wanza,” I said, “is that a russet-backed thrush singing?”
“I think so, Mr. Dale.”
“His notes are wonderfully liquid and round, aren’t they?” I gave a sigh of pure happiness. “I feel like a ‘strong bird on pinions free,’ myself to-night. I feel emancipated—as though life were beginning all over for me. I am in love with life, Wanza. I want to awake to-morrow and begin life all over.”
“Do you, Mr. Dale?”
“Isn’t the world beautiful washed in this moonlight! The sky seems so near—like a purple silk curtain strung with jewels. But it is quite dark here beneath the pines, isn’t it, Wanza? I have to guess at the flowers under our feet. There is white hawthorn nearby, I swear, and the yellow violets are in the grass, and the wild forget-me-not, and I smell the wild roses—”
“How you go on, Mr. Dale!”